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28 January 2007 @ 01:28 pm

The Sandy Pearl, 9:00 o'clock, I told him.

We had to talk, I told him.

Or really, what I told Cordelia was that I needed a hand and could she tell Wesley (the gentleman in me always tries to call him Mr. Pryce, but the one time I did that, I ended up talking to his brother on the phone, and if that wasn't a nightmare...) to meet me at the pier at nine sharp or the deal was going to fall through.

Code. We had no choice. It wasn't paradise, but...it worked.

The Sandy Pearl on the other hand was a dive. Sure seemed like you had just been spit out of a clam shell and tossed on the beach on some deserted island. Not much in the way of amenities, but the beds were clean and the night manager made a point of not looking at his customers.

Like I said, we had no choice, but I had to see him.

It was our usual room...for this motel. Sometimes we went to others, but this one was easiest for both of us to get to. At least he'd know which room to come to. Too many things in code and one of us would get confused.

The room was dark, light dusting in through the old, faded curtains with palm trees and native gals on them. I sat at the end of the bed and waited, trying not to smell the dust over everything or the faint scent of bleach from the bathroom, most likely covering up something far more unpleasant.

[Open to Wesley]
Current Location: The Sandy Pearl Motel
Current Mood: pensivepensive
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on January 28th, 2007 08:01 pm (UTC)
Christ, I was still pissed off about this whole ordeal. I couldn't believe William actually admitted talking to that a-moral harpy in the hopes to 'get lucky'. The boy really had *no* taste, and not to mention no self esteem. Good lord.

But he had insisted that he'd not told the woman anything about the case. The only ones left who knew were Lindsey and Cordelia. I doubt Lindsey goes around throwing in his own glass house. Cordelia I trusted fully. It did help that she disliked Miss Morgan with a passion and would get within ten feet of her.

I was still seething when I got back from my meeting with William. Only to be greeted by a rather, extremely sniffly looking Cordelia. She'd given me a message and then declared she was taking the rest of the day off. She left me to glance at my watch and notice it was already past five in the afternoon. Cordelia must've really been out of it. If I didn't know any better I'd say...

...Nah, all she does is harp at McDonald. Poor sniffling chap that he was. From the cold, of course.

The time that was left before I it was time to meet Liam was spend righting all the files Cordelia had her sweet hands on. I seriously do not get that woman's filing system. It makes no sense! Of course that only caused my aggravation to grow so I was rather glad to see it was time to The Sandy Pearl.

I hated that hotel. I hated the fact that we constantly had to sneak around. I hated the fact that he was married. I hated the fact that Willow was seeing his son. It's times like these I hated what I was. I wondered if Liam didn't feel guilty at all. I sure as hell did. Can't even begin to count the many times I was determined to tell him that we should stop.

That never happened though.

When I finally arrived at the hotel - having parked my car a few blocks away - I watched the entrance for a few moments. Then I took a deep breath and went inside. The chap at the front desk didn't even look up as I past him and went to the usual room. When I entered Liam was already waiting.

"No matter how many times we end up here," I sighed, wrinkling my nose at the room at large. "The décor will always be horrible," I said, pulling my fedora off.
Keep Me: det callaghan_keep_me on January 28th, 2007 10:09 pm (UTC)
The door sung as it opened, and a long shaft of light fell into the room. Guess I shouldn't really have been sitting around in the dark, but I do my best thinking in the dark. Plus, keeps me from looking in the mirror before we do...things like this. It's not my favorite look. Hell, I'm a good Catholic, I don't even know how I got myself into this mess. But one look at his face when he sets his hat down... cheating on Darla, lying to my son, lying to the world... it all seems to fade away.

"Yeah," I smiled wryly, "no chance of this place ever getting any class." I stood finally, the bed creaked as my weight left it, and I went to help Wes with his coat. Could never really get my head around calling him Wesley. He didn't seem like a Wesley to me. Definitely a Wes. Slipping the long trenchcoat onto the honest-to-God coat rack to join mine, I came back and slid my hands over his shoulders from behind and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"Glad you came," I said, feeling whatever accusations I had in me, wanting to seep out. Yeah, I was a little red at the thought of him not telling me he was working *my* case. I was more than a little red at finding it out in Morgan's rag of a newspaper. but I'd had some time to cool off. I was going to try to be a gentleman about this.

"I know we don't talk about work, but it seems work got thrust in my face today." His skin smelled so good, so close like this. I don't know what kind of cologne he wore, if he did wear any, but I would be getting him some more if it kept him smelling like this. I couldn't help rubbing my nose against his jaw. I know I'm trying to have a serious discussion here, but the man really...he just does me in.

"When'd you start working the Preston case?" I murmur, hands still resting on his shoulders, mouth still scant inches from his jaw, ear, neck, whatever I might care to put it on. And why did I have to find out about it in the paper this morning?
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on January 28th, 2007 10:25 pm (UTC)
"Of course I came," I mumbled, giving him a slight frown. He always said the same thing and I always wondered if he thought I wouldn't one day. If he thought the guilt would have finally gotten the better of me, convincing me that we really needed to end this. The moment I walked into the same room when it was just Wes and Liam thought?

I knew that wasn't ever going to happen. At least not any time soon. And that was the reason I couldn't look into Darla's eyes on those rare occasions I did meet the woman. She seemed a nice enough woman, descent, very pretty if you like that sort of thing. And I wasn't going to think about to deeply. Certainly not now. Certainly not when I could see the guilt in *his* eyes even if it was only for a brief moment.

The struggle out of my coat was sped up with his help. He seemed eager and hesitant at the same time. Mixed signals, that's something we weren't very good at. Something always got lost in the translation. We've had many an argument, but mostly about work, despite our pact. So I wasn't really surprised when he brought up work.

"We're not talking about work," I tried feebly, eyes closing when I felt breath tickle my skin. I could still feel my skin burn from the small kiss. And that's exactly what this man does to me. He burns me and I enjoy every moment of it. I turned around, dislodging his hands from my shoulders in the process. Eyes narrowed as I pressed myself closer to him.

"McDonald asked us a day ago. We are *not* talking about work," I repeated, leaning in to press my lips against his throat.
Keep Me: angel gets his man_keep_me on January 28th, 2007 11:22 pm (UTC)
I did always say the same thing, and he always gave me the same answer and the same hurt frown. I'd never know though, would I? The day he didn't show up, would it be the day he decided enough was enough, or would it just be the day when a case ran away from him and he got iced, or his throat slit, lying in some gutter. This world? You never knew.

I could tell he was as close as I was to just giving up the pretense of talking and going right for the carnal sin. He made my heart flutter just with that weak protest. I wasn't surprised when he turned and faced me though; Wes always faced this relationship head on. At least when it was just the two of us. He didn't try to talk himself out of it once he was here. Me, I did in my head a few times, but Wes was always here to bring me back.

I groaned the instant his mouth touched my skin, hands flying to his slender hips, thumb teasing at the waistband. We both always wore too many clothes for these assignations - suit jackets, ties, buttons on top of buttons - sometimes I think that was part of the fun of it. To see how long we could last until it was skin on skin. To see if we could last that long.

"You know that's my case," I persisted, but I didn't want to make any accusations. The angry part of me did, but I couldn't just... My fingers were pulling at his shirt to get it out of his slacks, his mouth still doing unholy things to my throat. "You know who told Morgan, yet?" Yeah, I was a dumb pig cop, but sometimes I couldn't help pushing him to the point where he'd make me shut my yap.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on January 28th, 2007 11:38 pm (UTC)
There were times when I wondered what I saw in him. Big oaf of a man who put his foot in his mouth any chance he get. Temper of a bear and a very short fuse. I've seen him snap at his men, I've seen him stare down McDonald - not one to mess with either - and have the other man back away. He could be irritating, annoying and downright rude if he had to be.

But also gentle, and tender and caring. I'm guessing there are only three people who know that side of him, aside from his mother. His son, Darla and then there was me. There were times when I thought he only used me to get rid of all this pent of frustration he carried around inside him. Because what other reason could he have for pushing me and pushing me every damn time until I broke and gave him what he silently demanded.

"I know," I murmured, feeling the tension grow inside of me. Our number one rule. No talking about work. The one rule we constantly seemed to be breaking. Bloody hell. "We are not," I repeated again, punctuating each work with a sharp nip against his throat, "talking about work."

My hands moved down to his slacks, - neatly pressed, always immaculate, Darla's work. I wasted no time to get his belt loose, followed by lowering his zipper down. His shirt was out before he even had time to think, one hand down his pants cupping his growing erection. "And we're certainly not talking about wench, Liam," I added sternly.

No, I didn't know who told Morgan. All I knew was that it's hadn't been William, or Cordy. Seems to me our good friend McDonald has a leak. Or the police department. But since I had no desire to end up beaten within in an inch of my life, or worse dead, I wasn't going to bring *that* up.
(no subject) - _keep_me on January 29th, 2007 12:10 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on January 29th, 2007 10:35 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on January 29th, 2007 01:47 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on January 29th, 2007 08:05 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on January 29th, 2007 10:57 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on January 30th, 2007 10:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on January 30th, 2007 11:12 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on January 31st, 2007 12:11 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on January 31st, 2007 01:00 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on January 31st, 2007 10:29 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on January 31st, 2007 07:06 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on January 31st, 2007 09:40 pm (UTC)
He really is craving for touch. It makes me briefly wonder if Darla never touches him and if perhaps his marriage isn't all that prefect as the world thinks it is. Or even as Darla thinks it is. I know it's not, otherwise he wouldn't be here. In bed. With me. But to see him craving my touch so much does fill me with a strange sort of glee.

It also immediately nearly floors me with guilt. I never wanted to be a home wrecker, I have no intention of becoming one. But what can you do when your addiction keeps getting fed? And Liam very much is an addition. One I cannot do without. Sometime that frightens me as much as it angers me.

"I still hear audible words coming out of your mouth," I inform him. My grip on his cock tightens and the way he jerks up into my hand makes my own erection throb with need. "You're not being a very good boy, Liam." A flick of the wrist and my pulls on his hard on change, making it difficult for him to follow along.

Of course he then has to challenge me. I hate it when he does that.

The hand around his shaft moves away fast as I sit back on my knees. My own cock is bobbing up and down, pre-come leaking from the head and begging for some friction. It'll have to wait though. "If you can't," I inform him calmly, "then you don't get to come."

Fingers curl around my own erection, lazily stripping it. A groan gets out, breath growing shallow. "And you don't get to watch me come either. Because I'll blindfold you and your mouth...my dear Liam, will be to occupied with something other then talking."
Keep Me: angel gets his man_keep_me on February 1st, 2007 12:12 am (UTC)
He plays me. He plays me like he knows exactly what I need. Like he knows what I'm thinking. But how could he, how could he think that the great detective Callaghan was at the end of his rope? He wouldn't. If there's one thing Wes and I have, it's respect, but dear lord I am not thinking about that at all right now when he squeezes my shaft so tight, so tight I can't get any friction, can't move inside that heat.

I give a sharp yelp of surprise as he changes techniques and keeps me guessing, keeps me out of my own head. My fingers curl into the tacky bedspread and I want so badly to moan and curse and tell him how good it feels, but I desperately want to be good for him, just do what he asks, please someone, damn it. Do something right.

I gasp though as all of that stimulation is gone. My eyes pop to his, and down, down, down to the perfect hand on his erection, pace slow, lazy, as if he could care less. My mouth opens, and I ache for that cock to fill it. My own pulses with need, but the need to be needed, to be useful overrides it- Not getting to see Wes though...that makes it a tougher choice, as if there's a choice, and I feel the words rising up in my throat even as I want to beat them down.

He looks gorgeous, a lithe god lost in a shadowed and imperfect word. A Pan come to visit me, only me, and it's only here that I can indulge these fantasies, ignore reality and just be with him, just pretend that it's the two of us, and I can live among something better than trash and back alleys and people dying to make a living.

"I can't," I whisper, showing the ultimate rebellion and reaching up to touch my own cock, thumb smearing pre-come over the head, eyes looking up from under submissive lashes. Something no one, no one see but him. I trust him with those eyes.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on February 1st, 2007 09:35 am (UTC)
Oh he really is out to annoy and irritate the bloody hell out of me tonight. Get what he needs because he knew just the right buttons to push. He does know the exact right buttons to push when it comes to me, most of the time. In private. Knew better then to try it professionally, when it’s Detective Callaghan and Mister Pryce.

But he’s really annoying me right now. Part of me wants to just get off him, go to the bathroom and wank off before turning on my heels to get out and leave him here. Needy, wanting, annoying me. He does it for a reason, it’s a game he wants me to play. I game I detest because it’s one I need on occasion. It’s a little uncomfortable to see this man the way he is now though. And if I could I’d thank god on my bare knees there’s no one else who sees him like this.

He’d be destroyed in an instant. And what about you? What if people find out about you? He still has his wife to fall back on, who do you have?

Those thoughts anger me, fuel the ones already going through me at his futile tries.

Grabbing his hands I slam them down on the pillow, pinning him to the mattress. He may be a strong bulk of a man. But I have speed and agility on my side and right now being a little less needy and horny as well.

“Shut up,” I growl through gritted teeth, scooting up his chest far enough that my cock is touching his lips. “Us that mouth for a better things,” I tell him, eyes shooting fire as I look down at him. The moment his mouth, no doubt to talk some more - bastard - I shove my shaft inside halfway, groaning at the heat surrounding already heated flesh.

“And you don’t get to watch,” I pant, looking down at him again, “close your eyes. Now.” It’s hard to find he right balance, keep control, make sure not to hurt him.
Keep Me: angel gets his man_keep_me on February 1st, 2007 01:41 pm (UTC)
It doesn't surprise me when my hands are ripped away from my shaft. Doesn't surprise me that the movements are frustrated, angry, violent. Doesn't surprise me that my pulse races a little too fast. Does surprise me that he actually does it. I know he hates this game. Makes his insides twist. But sometimes I need it, and I can't help wondering if he knows that, or if he thinks I do it to get him angry, maybe try to make him leave and never come back.

There's a frisson of heat that runs down my spine, leaving sweat gliding down the channel of my back as he moves up my chest without preamble. My eyes go to his shaft, devouring it, and when I feel it bump my lips I open my mouth, eager to take more, and he doesn't waste a second before thrusting in. I don't even have time to lick the slick, pre-come coated tip.

I moan loudly around his shaft at finally having something to do, something I can do right, and something I love doing for him. Love his cock in my mouth. I suck at him greedily, licking along the bottom of his thickness with the flat of my tongue before suckling tightly - savoring this - just at the head.

My eyes travel up him, drinking in the flush of his heated skin, the heated erection slipping in and out of my lips, a look of anger and annoyance on his face making my own cock throb. I struggle against his hands, and suck him in deep, wanting more. I want to cup his ass, shove more of him inside me, give him more of my mouth, but he keeps his grip on me, holds me tight. Won't let me fall apart.

I finally, finally do as he asked and close my eyes (too late anyway, my mind supplies, but I ignore it), working his shaft, practically worshipping it, just to get a few words of praise to fall from his lips.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on February 1st, 2007 11:11 pm (UTC)
Who would've thought that the great detective Callaghan loves to suck cock. Or that he'd even loves to be with a man. No one, and that's the way it should stay. The only one who knows is me. And the only one who's getting his shaft sucked is me. But not by the great detective Callaghan. No, when we're like this it's Liam and Wes. There's no room for the outside world when we’re like this.

This is our escape. Our only one.

I keep the grip on his hands tight, lacing our fingers together. If I don't he'll fall apart. I've never seen it happen, but I've seen him getting to close far to many times. I don't intent of it to ever happen. I'm not sure if I could handle it. Deal with it. Deep down inside I think I can't deal with it if it were to happen.

I watch him eagerly swallow in my heated erection. Tongue working hot flesh, lips rubbing over sensitive skin, his groan sending vibrations up my spine and tearing an echo of that same groan out of. The anger at William and the whole mess with that wench is still fueling inside me. Perhaps that's the reason I'm thrusting a little rougher then usually into his mouth. Taking, instead of letting him five. Still in control though, can't ever lose control.

Balls tighten and there's a tingle starting in my stomach and up my spine. I watch as he closes his eyes, a surge of added arousal taking me over at the submissiveness in that gesture. "Liam," I pant, feeling myself get closer while he works my cock. "God yes, harder...oh...Christ."

Tight balls draw up, all the tension of the day clumping together like a tight nit ball gathering inside my stomach. One thrust, two, hips frantically yet controlled moving and just like that I can feel myself explode, biting my lip hard to keep from crying out loudly.
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 1st, 2007 11:58 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 2nd, 2007 12:30 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 2nd, 2007 12:52 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 2nd, 2007 10:44 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 2nd, 2007 12:41 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 2nd, 2007 04:44 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 2nd, 2007 06:47 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 2nd, 2007 11:14 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 2nd, 2007 11:47 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 3rd, 2007 12:12 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 3rd, 2007 01:03 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 3rd, 2007 02:36 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 3rd, 2007 08:39 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on February 3rd, 2007 09:28 pm (UTC)
The blindfold thing isn’t something I want to do to often. It’s only on those rare occasions I know he needs it, otherwise it wouldn’t happen at all. I hate the dark, I’m afraid of the dark. Which is strange for someone in my profession, but usually I have all faculties with me when I’m in the dark. Now my hands are tied, I’m naked and unbalanced.

Sitting there on my knees, straddling him and not knowing what’s to come takes a large amount of trust. Something that took painstakingly long to build up between the two of us but there you have it.

His mouth moves down and away from my throat where a mark would be oh so clearly visible. I could say it’s from a girl, but William isn’t a fool and neither is Cordelia. Even if they wouldn’t figure it out, the teasing would drive me up the wall and make me extremely…testy. So I’m rather glad that he moves down to much more pleasant places.

I find myself swaying a bit, head lolling back on my neck when he attacks my chest instead. “Liam,” I groan, already panting for air. “God…you…ah!” My body arches into his mouth and I have to fight to keep my balance with my hands out of commission. Nothing to hold onto, nothing to touch, just the way he wants it.

My head suddenly fills with a sense of vertigo when he pulls me tighter to him. I can feel myself nearly dropping to the left and quickly spread my legs to keep the balance. Wouldn’t be very arousing if I were to fall off of him now, even if the thought makes me grin.

A grin that’s quickly replaced by a look of concentration and pure lust when I feel his hands spread the cheeks of my rear and a slick finger tracing my entrance. “Liam…please,” I mumble, trying to press down and get that finger where it’s supposed to be right now.
Keep Me: angel gets his man_keep_me on February 4th, 2007 04:49 am (UTC)
I love that right now, Wesley Wyndam Pryce is totally dependent on me. There's just something about seeing a man so wholly independent brought down to a mere mortal that has a part of me feeling very smug. It's not often he'll let me do this so he must know, must sense something that I need this. And I do. Need to be needed tonight.

"Yes?" I prompt him as he groans out my name. Perfect. So perfect just for me. I tug sharply at his other nipple, squeezing and thumbing the previous one. So responsive. Beautiful. Forbidden. A sin. Many sins.

My hands fly to his waist when I feel him about to go off-balance. Totally dependent. "Please, what?" I say quietly against his ear, my chest pressed to his as my finger traces and circles and teases him. I can feel him pressing, and yes, I do know what he wants, but I want to hear it. Hear him say it.

One hand latches around his wrists and squeezes, pulls his arms down even a little bit more, pushing his chest out, making his back arch. What a sight. He would hate seeing himself like this. Hence the blindfold. I know I'm pushing him enough just getting him to do these things for me, he shouldn't have to watch.

My finger presses, pressing until I breach him. "Tell me what you want," I say harshly, finger sliding in deeper, but pulling out before he can get anything more pleasurable from that touch. "Tell me, Wes," I murmur, mouth returning to suckle at his throat lightly. Not enough to bruise the skin. Just enough to...encourage his mouth.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on February 4th, 2007 02:38 pm (UTC)
He’s pushing and he’s pushing to far. He knows it too, because he tries this every time he gets me in this position. And everytime I wonder why I let him do this to me when he knows how much I hate it. It’s humiliating, degrading and reminds me far, far to much of England. About what happened there. There’s a reason I stayed behind here in America and didn’t return. My father only being one of the reasons.

I don’t cope well with humiliation and degradation. I don’t cope well with shame and loss of control.

So his demands that I tell him what I want make me bristle inside, just like he knew it would. I can feel myself fighting the urge to climb off of him and demand he let me go. Now. Or else. He would, I know he would, but it would ruin any trust we’ve build up between us. Which is why it puzzles me that he keep doing this anyway. What’s he trying to see? How much it would take to break me? And then what? He gets to go home to his lovely family and I get to go home to nothing?

“Liam,” I warn him with a tone in my voice I’m sure he’ll recognize. A growl gets turned into a gasp when he pulls my arms down and our chests closer together. My mouth falls open as I pant for air at the same time he pushes a finger inside. I’m already giving him this, he can’t have any more. “No,” I get out through gritted teeth. “I will not…oh god… Liam….please.” And that’s the only thing he’ll get out of me. Please.
Keep Me: angel gets his man_keep_me on February 4th, 2007 07:43 pm (UTC)
I know I'm pushing, I know I'm asking for too much. Asking for things he can't say. But I want it. I need to hear something that tells me we're not just... That I haven't broken all of my vows for nothing. I tug at his arms more, looking for some part of him that I can control. My finger slides in deep and I scrape his skin with my teeth just below his collarbone. Invisible marks, invisible connection.

I can't push him any further. I hear the warning. I just hate that it's there. That maybe he doesn't trust me after all. Doesn't want me after all.

He's begging, Liam, shouldn't that be enough?

"That's enough," I say, no tone to my voice, not wanting to give anything away and make this worse. I pull the tie off his eyes and loop it around his mouth. Can't talk. Can't say what you don't want to. "I was the one who wanted to talk anyway, hmm," I give him a half smile, feeling again a wash of not being enough. Not enough for him, not enough for anyone. Spread too thin. I slide in another finger, and another, silently preparing him, silently taking what I want, eyes never leaving his. I lean aside to fumble for the condom, brain flipping a horrified switch at the thought that there could be someone else. He *could* move on. I don't-

"I want you," I murmur, positioning his hips, holding him up while I find the right position to ease inside him. It's the warmest thing I can say. The warmest thing Wes will let me say. He told me a long time ago that this could never be anything more... He wouldn't be a homewrecker. I wouldn't *let* him be. Catholics don't believe in divorce. They don't believe in this either. Darla out of the picture wasn't going to happen. Doesn't mean there weren't times when I had a bizarre wish that I could have it both ways. Have my family, *and* love him. Have him be part of my family.

"I want you," I murmur again, the tie thankfully keeping him from saying anything in response as I press inside of him achingly slowly until I'm buried in him, hands tight on his hips. "I need you," I whisper into his neck, thrusting up into him whether he's ready or not.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on February 5th, 2007 05:10 am (UTC)
The moment he say that’s enough, I can feel fear surge through me. That he’ll be the one to up and leave because I can’t give him what he wants, needs. Bet Darla can. Right. And that’s why he’s here with me and not at home with her isn’t’ it? There’s still that fear that clings onto me that he’ll just up and leave, leave me here bound and blindfolded because I can’t give him what he wants.

I’m paranoid, I know that. But it’s kept me alive so far.

When he pulls the blindfold down though, I blink at the suddenly light in my eyes, even if it’s dim. Blinking in confusion, I look at him, trying to gauge his mood. There’s only heat there, and lust and want, want, want. My mouth opens to ask him what’s wrong at the same time he pulls the tie down and prevents me from speaking. “Hmpt?”

What the… Eyes narrow at him, questioning him about the meaning of *that* particular move. It’s not new, but rather unexpected and I’m not sure what he’s trying to tell me. Liam can be selfish, I know that. But I also know it’s usually a lot of build up frustration. I’m not a whore though, I don’t like being used. What we have is so much more then that, even though there are moment I have my doubts. Sometimes I wonder if I’m only a body he shags to get off and nothing else. Not that there ever can be anything else…

…I’m trying to fool myself here again. You are so much more.

Our eyes are locked while he keeps pushing his finger inside, making me bite down on the tie between my teeth. There are no noises now, and the ones that do come out are muffled by the tie. The only noises in the room is my heavy breathing and Liam’s words. I can’t even say them back, he’s just taking what he needs right now. Wrists keep trying to pull the bonds away. There will be bruises, but I’ll worry later about the need to wear shirts with extra tight cuffs to make sure the sleeves wont ride up my arms.

Eyes narrow when I hear the tear of a condom wrapper, - he certainly came fully prepared again - it doesn’t take him long to prepare himself and then he’s suddenly pushing inside me. I feel my eyes flutter closed, sweat breaking out and my arms struggling to get lose, body trying to balance and keep upright. Before I have time to adjust he’s already puling out and thrusting inside. A cry gets muffled once more by the tie, narrowed eyes go wide as I look at him with something akin to shock before self preservation takes over.

He takes what he wants, I take what I want. The two are not always necessarily the same, doesn’t mean neither of us gets what he wants at one point in time. So I just slide my legs a little wider, better balance while he can reach more, clench around his throbbing cock and let him do whatever he wants. Needs. I can at least give him that.
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 6th, 2007 01:02 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 6th, 2007 05:06 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 7th, 2007 01:39 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 7th, 2007 05:58 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 7th, 2007 11:11 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 8th, 2007 05:31 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 8th, 2007 06:14 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _wes_pryce_ on February 8th, 2007 03:13 pm (UTC) (Expand)