Love in Time

CHAPTER ONE

I've been waiting for him for about four hours now. Been sitting here on his couch, in his apartment, thinking about him and what we're gonna do when he gets home. Or, more accurately, what I hope we're gonna do when he gets home.

See, he doesn't actually know that I'm here. As his partner-in-law and his lover, we're either together, or we know exactly where the other is. But he was pulled back temporarily to the Narcotics division to work an old case. He's been working for them now for three days, and I haven't seen him since he started.

So, here I am, on his couch, in the dark that you only get at one in the morning, thinking about how gorgeous he is and how much I want to see him. All of him. But I know his drive and ambition, and know that if he's too tired, I'll just stay the night, holding him in my arms and letting him catch his sleep. Come morning, however, I'll give him a wake up call like he's never had in his life.

I finally hear his key in the lock, and I stir a little. I had almost fallen asleep waiting for him. I can feel the jittery excitement run through me as I stand up and run to the door before he can unlock the second deadlock. As I open the door for him, he reaches for his gun, only to find it's me.

"John," he starts in a very relieved voice. "What are you doing here?" His mind, as I knew it would, shoots directly to work. "Is everything okay? Is everyone okay?"

I nod and stand aside as he walks into his apartment. "Everyone but me," I say as I close the door.

He turns to me, worried. "What's wrong w-"

That's as far as he gets before my lips shut him up. I grab him by the shoulders and press myself up against him, hoping against hope that right now he's not too tired to want this. After a few tremulous seconds I feel him give way under me and his lips open. I thrust my tongue past the breach in the lips seeking his own, and bring my hands up to hold his face. I hear him sigh against me, drop his keys to the floor and wrap his arms around my waist, pulling me in closer.

We stay there in each others embrace, kissing sweetly, showing our love and devotion towards each other. I know that this is right. This is the purpose of life. To be loved like this and to love like this. Without inhibitions and with only the purest of intentions.

After not enough time we break, and I can see the tiredness in his eyes has all but evaporated. My stomach does a turn knowing that I can do the same things to him that he can do to me.

"Have you been here all night?" His voice is low, almost a whisper.

"Not too long," I lied. "Just about an hour." If he knew that I'd been waiting here for so long, he'd feel bad for not calling.

He looks at me suspiciously. "I promise. I didn't have to wait that long." Now I'm not lying. Even though waiting a minute for him would be too long for an impatient prick like me, when he's finally here, holding me close, it seems like seconds since we last saw each other.

He seems satisfied, and I'm relieved. All he really had to do was check his machine. I'd left a message when I first left home. Now I'm gonna have to find a way to erase it before he notices. But that's not exactly the priority right now.

He's still got his arms around me, and he pulls me into a hug, pressing his face to my neck. His right hand travels lightly up and down my back, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders. "How long have I been away from you?"

"Too damn long." I answer. Cliched, I know, but some things are cliches for a reason. Besides, three days is too damned long.

"I missed you." His hand now moves all the way up to bury itself in my hair. I love it when he does that and he knows it. I know he can feel the shivers it sends through my body. One of my two weak spots. Lucky for me, Odafin has about thirty weak spots all over.

I sigh at the feeling of his lips on my neck, at the feeling of him kissing me tenderly. We have to work so many hours and so many days that we rarely have time like this together. We are devoted to our jobs, devoted to making a difference and catching the bad guys, but a little extra time on the side with each other would make our worlds complete.

I feel the change in his mood the instant it shifts. His mouth is hungrier now, using his tongue on my skin, and his hand is just that much rougher in my hair. The real proof of his transformation is not just the hand now clutching my ass, but the hardening body part pressing against the front of my pants, meeting my own evidence of desire.

I gently pull on his ponytail, tipping his head back and let my lips take their turn on his throat. I use my tongue in swirls, tasting the taste that I've come to know as uniquely him. His hands tighten as I move my tongue slowly up his neck, then to the hollow behind his ear, one of his many erotic spots.

He tugs on my hair, harder than I did with him, and captures my mouth. I just let him take over. I really have no other choice with him. His kisses are so powerful, so passionate and needy that I melt into him, feeling my face flush at his obvious love and craving. When he kisses you, the world could end, but the only thing you'll miss is that kiss.

He starts to walk backwards, dragging me with him towards the couch as he rips my suspenders off my shoulders. I follow his lead, trying desperately to rid him of his bulky leather jacket that keeps my itching fingers from touching the carved muscle beneath. The jacket slides down, but he refuses to remove his hands from my waist, leaving it hanging off his arms. I tug fiercely at the button-down dress shirt and the undershirt. After a moment they come lose from his pants and I lead my hands under. We bump into the back of the couch, and he grunts as the jarring impact forces our erections together. I can feel his hot skin as my fingers traipse over the outty that always brings a blush to my love's face. My fingers, hungry for contact, press against well-defined abs, up to the chest, and through the small tufts of hair that are scattered about perfectly.

We break our kiss and Oda gazes with longing into my eyes. As I always do, as if I fear the heat will blind me, I look away. I've never been that great at sharing emotions, and him looking at me like that was most certainly him sharing his soul with me. I'll be ready some day, but I'm not now, not just yet.

His face lights with a small and impossibly knowing smile, and, shedding the leather jacket, he kisses my cheek.

Taking my hand, he pulls me with him to the front of the couch. He sits and tries to pull me with him, but I let go of his hand. Instead, I lower to my knees in front of him, and sit back on my heels. I watch as his eyes shut and his breath quickens just at the sight of me there. "John." His voice comes out lower than usual and with a sexy grate to it.

I put my fingers to his lips. "Shh... Just keep your eyes closed."

"But I-"

"Shh..." I say and press my fingers to his lips a little more firmly. He takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly, but obeys. I can tell he's try to get control of himself, but if I'm successful, he won't have that choice.

I take off my glasses and place them on the coffee table, then put both hands on his face and let them travel slowly to the back of his neck, where they massage the rigid tendons. He moans softly and his breath slows, and I can tell why. I've never felt him this tense. Never.

"Work?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah." The word comes out in his rickety whisper, and I know there is nothing more to say. Not right now, anyway.

I let my fingers continue to massage for a minute, enjoying the relaxation that shoots though him, then move on to knead his shoulders. He becomes tense as I start, then once again relaxes into my hands.

Sensing his state of calm, I begin to unbutton his shirt. As I reach the third button I, still on my knees, get off my heels and move to kiss his throat. He lifts his hand to my head, trying to push me ever so gently down to his lap, but I playfully shove it away. He grumbles something, but keeps his eyes shut.

"What?"

"I said 'this is driving me crazy'."

"That's the point." I unbutton two more buttons and use my tongue to stroke a nipple, then nip at it. Oda inhales sharply, and his hand shoots back up.

Again, I push it away, chuckling at his insistence. "In time."

I unbutton the rest of the shirt and stare greedily at the body that is all mine. I run my fingers through the sparse chest hair, then pinch the nipples. A low growl begins to emit from my partner and I know he's on edge. I unbutton and unzip his pants, to pull out his hardened penis from the flap in his underwear. He whimpers softly as he feels the contact of my hand on him, and I start to rub him. Slowly at first, but then with more vigor, up and down. He tightens his hands into fists, breathing harder, panting, and my name comes out softly from his lips. He starts to move his hips a little, preparing to keep time with my hand.

Then I stop.

"John!" He cries out squirming forcibly on the couch and grabs the back of my head. I grab both his hands and pin them solidly to the couch.

"Don't move." I say, and he throws his head to the back of the couch, trying to control his squirming. I can hear him whispering something over and over, and I'm surprised when I realize what it is.

"Oh, god, John. Oh, god-"

I lean forward and lick the top of his dripping penis. He manages to control his hips, and his hands go to hold the back of the couch.

I put the crown in my mouth and lightly suck. Even though he tries to stop it, his hips jerk forward a little and send more of the hot rod into my mouth. I place my hands on his hips and start to move lower, feeling his shaft enter deeper and deeper into my mouth. I start to suck adamantly and he squirms weakly against my hands. He starts to thrust his hips harder, then I hear him crying out my name moments before I feel the rush of the warm, thick liquid pour into my mouth. I let it go down my throat and wait until my partner is empty before releasing him from my mouth.

I zip his pants back up as he sits there, just panting, and I lay my head in his lap. I have to calm myself because, even though he has been satisfied, I'm harder than ever and still eager to go. I feel his hand ramble through my hair, stroking my head, and I take a deep breath, firming my resolve to wait until he's ready.

"Come here." His voice is as weak as the hands trying to pull me up, and I stand. He pulls me into his lap, my legs spread to either side of him, and I bite my lips at the pressure of his body to my groin. He pulls me to him, and kisses my mouth sweetly pulling at my lips with his own. After a moment he presses his tongue to me, wanting me to open my mouth, not at all shy about what I have just swallowed. As I open to him, his tongue finds mine and I can't help but trying to devour him, thrusting my tongue deep within his mouth, fiercely probing. This time it is me with the kiss that could take a person over, and I hear him weep delicately into me.

He pulls away, and I let him, reluctantly. Right now the only thing that I want in his mouth other than my tongue is about a foot and a half down, and covered in polyester. He grins with a wicked glint in his eyes, knowing exactly what I'm thinking. I cry out in surprise as his large, rough hand grabs my stiff appendage, and stars shoot through my vision.

"Oda-" I start gruffly. "I-"

"Shh," he says through my distorted world, and I can feel his fingers on my lips. "In time."

CHAPTER TWO

"Shh," he says through my distorted world, and I can feel the fingers of his unoccupied hand on my lips. "In time."

He's taunting me, giving me a taste of my own medicine, I suppose. I give him a half-hearted glare and he laughs.

My eyebrows to raise. Laugh at me, will you?

Still sitting on his lap, I dip down to lightly brush my lips against his forehead; he's a sucker for that old trick. He mumbles appreciatively, and I move my hand to the hollow right behind his knee and rub lightly, but insistently. My effective use of this sensitive part of his body rids the smile from his handsome face. I give him my own smug grin, then feel him unzipping my slacks. I hold my breath in anticipation, as he deliberately takes his time with the zipper. Suddenly, his hand finds my wooden shaft and strokes it, teasingly soft at first but then tightens to a vise-like grip. My eyes shut and I see hyper stars moving within a mass of black.

I blindly attack his mouth again, driving him roughly into the back of the couch, and start to siphon myself, humping the warm hand. My stomach does flips, and I try to ignore the pain in my bones and muscles from the uncomfortable position.

Afterwards, that's when I can worry.

Oda senses my urgency and decides to toy with me, removing his hand and stopping the kiss. I whimper and press my face to his neck, still jerking my hips at him. I hope that he will help with my desire, but he instead pushes me away, standing me up. This is new territory for me. I'm usually the one that teases him, not visa versa, and right now I really can't take it. I growl out what is meant to be his name, but even I can't understand just what exactly comes out.

He stands up, grinning, and takes me into an embrace. Rubbing the back of my neck with one hand and grabbing my butt with his other, he pushes me forwards and grinds harshly into me. With my exposed groin I can feel his own as it hardens through his pants. What a sex drive.

I'm starting to lose energy in my legs. "Oda," I whisper heavily in his ear. "I can't stand this much longer."

He kisses me sweetly on the mouth and takes my hand, leading me on shaky legs to his bedroom. He closes the door behind me and goes to shut the blinds.

"Leave them open." I hope he won't ask why; I just think he looks so wonderful in the starlight, dress shirt unbuttoned and hanging open.

He stands there for a moment just looking at me not saying a word. Then he starts towards me, so sure of himself with a stride suddenly evident in his walk. He comes close and grabs my face, his eyes pleading with mine not to look away. A few seconds is all the intensity that I can take, and he knows this. He lifts two fingers of one hand and shuts my eyes, then presses his lips to mine. We kiss for what had to have been the hundredth time that night, the billionth all together, and it still leaves my heart sore from desire. Just our lips touching and pulling, I can feel in his kisses what I mean to him, and that alone is almost too much to take.

Odafin is so open with his soul, so willing to trust me, to love me. So believing that I feel the same, and I do, but how do I show him? I've always had a problem with that. Even though in the moment of passion I can take his heart with mine, how do I make him know it's still the same when we're not in each others arms? How do I show him my own soul like he does with me?

He pulls away from the kiss and bends down. As I see him go down on his knees, a hot slick feeling runs through my stomach and my knees buck. He's up and his hands are around my waist before I can even begin to topple, and he helps me to his bed. He quickly sheds the open shirt and I watch as it flutters to the floor.

"I wanted to do that." I weakly call out.

"You've done enough." He grins and caresses my face, then pushes me to lie back on the bed. As I do, I feel him unbuttoning and tugging my pants down, boxers coinciding. He crawls on top of me, not actually touching me, but leaning over me. "Turn over." he whispers, and I do, a little confused. I thought it was my turn. I shiver from the cold, then feel his hands all over my lower back, lifting me to my knees, then traveling down to massage and spread my cheeks.

A second later I feel his hot tongue inside me. I call out loudly in surprise and grip the sheets tightly. He thrusts his tongue deeper inside and I squirm, everything about me now on fire. I can't keep from moaning loudly at the feeling of his wet warmth. I never knew this about myself, never knew that such a pleasure spot lived inside of me. He'd found my weakest spot, and one I had no idea existed. Until him. As he begins to thrust his tongue repeatedly in and out, I moan and whimper, call his name and start saying romantic things to him in Greek, also something I have never done. I'm telling him what he means to me, telling him what he does to me, and how much I love him. The pleasure is so intense, something that I have never encountered. I'm completely unable to control anything I do, and am merely hoping that I can stay on my knees long enough for this to commence. On one hand, I never want this to stop, ever. On the other hand, I need release and need it now.

"Oh, God, Oda." I barely have a voice but I am able to just barely squeak this out. I feel his grip instantly on me and he starts to pump, all the while ravishing me with his tongue and teeth, nipping at me here and there. I tremble, compelling my body to hold still and just let my lover take care everything, but my hips can't help moving a little. He continues to pump and pump, and suddenly I shout out his name as I come, feeling myself shaking and spasming as I empty.

I slump forward now so very weak. He helps me move under the sheets, sleep already starting to spread over my body and mind, warm and fuzzy in it's hypnotizing manner. Finn takes the top soiled comforter, and our clothes and leaves the room. I want him here before I go to sleep, want to fall there in his arms, so I force myself to sit up, my whole body shaking. I notice with chagrin that I still have my shirt and tie on. I am unbuttoning the last two buttons when he comes back into the room. Without a word he takes them from me, and after a moment, when my hearing comes fully back to me, I can tell that he's started the clothes washer. He walks back in, completely naked, and uncaring about this vulnerability. He climbs into bed with me and pulls me down to the pillow with him, putting his head on my chest and pulling the sheet up to my lower ribs.

"Without the comforter it's gonna be a little colder than normal, so I turned up the heat."

He had turned up the heat by getting into bed with me, but I'm not one to say such things. He is. I run my hand over his arm, the one wrapped around my chest, and kissed the top of his head sleepily. He's a sucker for that, too. Not just the forehead kiss, but any kind of subtle sentimental expression of love. He mumbles a little, like I knew he would and shifts slightly. I can feel his erection on my leg.

"Finn, would-"

"Shh..." he said putting his fingers to my lips. "You're sleepy."

"Yes, but you're-"

"Shh..."

His hand rubs my chest for a moment, soothingly, but he neither says nor does anything about his need. This surprises me greatly. He's not the type to wait, not the type to go unsatisfied. Even though he's always been an attentive lover, he's also so passionate and physical, never leaving any need unnattended to, even his own.

Unfortunately, he shifts again, and what he does takes all thought away. This time it's his right arm that moves, the left is still holding me, and his hand starts to run through my hair. As if I wasn't already sleepy enough, this sends waves of calm flowing sedately through me. Right before I go to sleep, I pull myself into Finn, and he wrapped the sheets tightly around our bodies.

"Luv ya, Tute," I yawn, half conscious.

I could feel his deep throated laughter vibrate against my chest and I smile.

"I love you too, John."

The last thing I do is flush, just like I do everytime he says that.

CHAPTER THREE

I wake up in his arms and with him in mine and, honestly, there's no place I'd rather be. Work had been so rough lately, so apprehensive. Not nearly as bad as the SVU's worst, but still rough considering the reasons I left Narcotics. Recollections of my former partner and good friend, now more than a year dead, began sprouting up everywhere, and tension between myself and the crew I was leading had mounted to ridiculous heights.

All I could think about was getting some much needed shut-eye. Then he opened the door, and any thought of sleep vacated immediately.

I was surprised to find him in my apartment. Seeing as I had been thinking about him constantly for two days, I thought at first it was a mirage or dream or something. But I quickly realized that it was actually him, my John. I missed his touch, his cynical jokes and, more than anything, the way his eyes look at me. Sometimes, right after a particularly romantic moment, I swear all I want to do is succumb to those eyes. Those incredibly shy and cryptic eyes, that shroud themselves from too much love and emotion. But I'm patient. Not too patient, but patient enough for him.

I hope.

The crisp light of a New York winter morning falls on John's peaceful face, making his Jewish features more prominent. I never would have thought anyone could look better than he did in a nice black suit, black shirt and gold or maybe red silk tie, but I was wrong. He looked a million times better than even himself when he was naked in my arms, in my bed, and without those damned tinted lenses obscuring his beautiful green eyes. Of course now, with him being asleep and all, I still can't see those forest greens, but I will soon enough.

A low moan rides up my throat and escapes my lips as I realize his naked body, pressed loosely against me, is technically in my possession. The moan becomes a quiet but passionate growl of ownership. Just as he has claim on my own body and soul, I know he's mine and with only that knowledge I can feel myself responding, my body's senses awaking. His legs are entwined with mine and every slight shift in position can be felt. His breathing is sedated and slow, contradicting the shallow pace I am starting to adapt. I place my hand to his chest and feel his heart thumping softly within, and surprisingly feel a sting in my eyes. I just want to kiss him, wake him, tell him my every thought is of him. Instead I push my face into his smooth, warm throat, feeling his strong pulse and hearing his sleepy chuckle as I try to meld us together.

The memories of last night start to seep into my head, beautiful and sweet. My lover's voice echo's through the memories as he calls my name out in such passion, then starts speaking one of his many fluent tongues. I shift against him, trying to stop the stirring of my libido. I don't want this marvelous feeling of love and devotion to morph into lust, not now, but it seems I awake as I fell to sleep: with the man I love warm in my arms, and a very, very pressing need.

Well, have time for that later, I think. Right now I want to be able to think and let him get his rest.

He's going to need it.

I slide out from under the sheets, smiling at my partner's meager protests. I find it endearing that, even in his sleep, he wants me near. I don't, however, find the cold morning air to be that endearing. Especially since I'm butt naked. So, I hurry out the bedroom leaving the door just a crack open, and plan to run straight to the bathroom, but a blinking light on the counter stops me, and I glance towards the phone. There are a few messages and John always calls before coming over.

The moment of truth. I walk towards the answering machine. Let's see what time he really got here.

I forward through a message from my sister, the SVU captain- after making sure there was no emergency- and two adverts before I come to his. I hear his voice leave a message about coming over, then the electronic voice states the time. I quickly calculate how long it would have taken him to get here in the evening traffic.

I knew that he had been here longer than an hour, but roughly four? I shake my head at his stubbornness and thoughtfulness, trying to suppress the rush of desire I feel throughout my body. The fact that he had pleased me first sexually, been attentive to my needs right away... After four hours of waiting for him, I would have jumped him in the hallway, ignoring the curious and horrified glances of innocent bystanders.

I feel like an idiot for not beeping or calling him on the job, and I figure he knew this would be my reaction, leaving his decision to keep quiet about his wait. I smile and walk to the bathroom, equipped with a washer/dryer type thing that had taken me more than two weeks to learn to operate. I put on the clothes that I had been wearing yesterday, leaving the top three buttons on my shirt open. Grabbing the comforter I head back to the bedroom to place it over my sleeping love, knowing that without me to keep him warm he'll get cold.

He's so thin. I tuck the comforter around his figure, my heart warming. Scrawny is a more accurate adjective.

I smile at the absurdity of my heart's choice in men. I have never been this enamored with another human being; not in my entire existence. Strange that the last person I would have ever thought to look to as a possible romantic interest was a white, Jewish cop about ten years my senior. But the moment he opened up to me, I felt something for him, something deep and binding. And to find he feels it for me... I have no more wishes for my life other than to keep on this same track.

I kiss his forehead, wondering just what it would take to fatten him up, then decide to make him a heavy breakfast, loaded with calories.

Could become routine. I'll have to work the fat off, of course, but it'll be worth it to see a little more meat on his bones.

As I get out eggs, bacon and the ingredients for pancakes, I smile at the possibilities of just how I might burn the extra calories. Most of them involve John and strenuous physical workouts. I keep myself engrossed for quite some time with these thoughts, plus trying to maintain the cooking between these daydreams. As I put the eggs, the last to finish, onto a plate, a pair of sheet-covered arms wrap themselves tightly around me, and I feel a nose making its way along the base of my neck. "Good morning."

I grin at his version of a morning greeting and think that he has no idea I'm already partly aroused. All his damn nuzzling is just making it harder for me to breath straight.

He chuckles a bit. Maybe he does know what he's doing. More attention like this and our breakfast will be as cold as my bare feet on the tile floor by the time we get to it. "Good morning, sleepy head."

He breathes in deeply. "With what you did to me last night, I'm astonished that I woke up before noon."

I smile, surprised that he brought it up. Usually talk of our sexual escapades makes him more than a little bashful.

"What smells so good?" He was still rubbing against me with his nose.

"Eggs? Bacon? Take your pick."

"No," he says and bites my neck. "I think it's Finn."

I laugh until his right hand drops the part of the sheet he's holding and presses itself to my stomach. My heart starts to work a little faster as it travels smoothly up my shirt and stops at the open neck where I left the top few buttons undone. It slides inside and rubs the skin and hair of my chest soothingly. I sigh, gratified and covetous at the same time, and his hand starts to move down the shirt, unbuttoning on its way down with amazing speed and dexterity.

Shirt open, butterflies start to flutter within my belly as the hand makes it's alluring way down my waist, fingertips forcing their way into my pants, near what was once a semi-aroused penis. I can now feel it thickening in anticipation of his touch.

I clear my throat, trying to level my voice. "Don't you want breakfast?"

He grunts a reply, and his hand goes deeper, massaging my inner thigh, brushing against but not quite touching where it counts. I feel his fingers lightly breeze their way up to massage my firm balls, and my head dizzily falls back to rest on his shoulder as he continues to stroke my body, eliciting delirious murmurs from deep within me. I tremble, hating it that I don't have as much control over my body as I once did. Something about John just does that; takes every semblance of restraint and command I thought I had over my own reactions and smashes it to bits.

"I made pancakes, too." I say desperately trying to sound normal but my voice is scarcely a whisper.

"Aren't you industrious?" His tone is one of contented calm, and I know that, after last night, he enjoys being the tease again instead of the subject. "Trying to fatten me up or something?"

I blink. "Actually, yes."

I feel him laugh a little against my back, then his hand inside my pants becomes a little firmer; less the aimless wayfarer, and more settled with a purpose. More effective, too.

"Hmm..." I realize that John's clothes are all in the washer, and that the sheet is the only thing keeping his naked body from my potential touch. I tug at it but his grip becomes iron.

"Cold?" I ask, tugging at the sheet some more.

"Not really."

I start to lift my head off his shoulder, but his left hand pulls it back down. The hand in my pants ventures down my thigh again, then up, intentionally rubbing against but still going past my throbbing erection, and smoothing over my abdomen.

"Oh, come on," I lament, as I feel his teeth tugging at my earlobe. "This isn't even close to playing fair."

"Who said I played fair?" As he starts to whisper things into my ear, more for the effect of the air than what the actual words mean, I get an idea.

"John?"

"Mmm, hmm?"

"What was that language you were speaking last night?"

"Oh, um... Greek." His voice wavers and his hand, which had been dipping back into my pants, becomes less sure of itself. I can tell my question has thrown him off a little, but it takes me a moment to figure out his hesitancy towards answering the question. He's uncertain, and maybe even a little embarrassed at his actions of the previous night, though he definitely has no reason to be. Saying those words, whatever they had been, was like throwing gun powder into a camp fire. It had jolted me from my pleasure-giving state right into my pleasure-acquiring state. It had taken all the discipline inside of me not to remove my tongue, replace it with a larger, less flexible object, and take him on the bed right then and there.

I feel him stiffen at my silence and understand he has the wrong impression. I turn around and, like a dog wanting to calm the nerves of another, do not meet his eyes. Instead, I concentrate on the sheet, opening it enough to slip my hands through and around his smooth body. I pull him to me, not surprised but still happy to find him hardening, and bring my lips to his ear. "Could you do it again?"

I could almost physically feel the impact my request has on him. I smile.

"What's the magic word?" he teases, but I can hear a mixture of relief and affection cracking his voice.

"Please?" I whine and a second later he opens the sheet, and wraps his arms around me. For a moment we just stand there, arms wrapped around each other, arousals pressing lightly together, just holding each other. I sigh into his neck, utterly peaceful and sanguine.

Then he starts in with the Greek.

I've no clue what he's saying. For all I know it could be numbers, or an address, or the alphabet. All I know is that I want to kiss him, and kiss him hard. But if I do it on the lips, the clandestine words will cease, and right now his sexy and slightly grating voice, speaking in a foreign tongue is what I want to hear, what I want to focus on. What I want to focus on other than his body, that is.

I grab his shoulders and push him away enough that our faces are a few inches apart. He quiets and looks away, flushing a bright red that I have never seen on him. My heart leaps and I rub my nose against his forehead, then use it to push my way down to his lips. I open his mouth with mine and mutter "Don't stop," into his lips before I kiss them. I break from him and he starts again, softly, wavering, still unable to meet my eyes.

I look away for his own mental comfort and turn us around, backing him up against the counter next to the fridge. The words, his voice, those demure verdant eyes: it's almost too much. I want to devour that mouth, make it mine, make it a part of me. But I have an idea. I open refrigerator and he looks up confused, stopping the Greek once again. He pulls the sheet around him as the cold air hits him and watches my face. I grab the maple syrup, closing the fridge. Moving up against him, I plant a small kiss on his forehead. "What were you saying?"

He ignores my prompting and points to the syrup. "What are you doing with that?"

"I made pancakes."

He looks at me confused, then begins to say something. Cupping his chin with my thumb and forefinger, I catch his partially opened lips with mine and slip my tongue in between, running it along the roof of his mouth. He shivers slightly, and I wonder if it's because I have found another sweet spot- he unfortunately has so very few compared to me- or if it's from the lack of cover from the chilly morning temperature.

I break from the kiss, and smile at him. "What were you saying?" I remind him, my eyes pleading with him.

He starts into the Greek once again, his eyes wary on the syrup. I reach up and put my hand over his eyes. He closes them obediently, once again deciding to let me tease and cherish his body.

As I start to open the syrup, John's voice gets stronger, the words more pronounced and I stop, thinking maybe it wasn't the best idea to have him speak another language. I feel hot all over, and my breathing rapidly increases speed, becoming shallower. I press my face to his neck and kiss him, then with my free hand tug the sheet from his almost unwilling hands. I pull him to me, let the sheet fall to the ground, then push him back against the counter. I watch him shiver slightly at the cool air surrounding his body, and it suddenly hits me just how much he trusts me.

In this relationship, there's pure equality, and to gain that, to achieve that, there must be absolute trust. I look at the naked and vulnerable man in front of me, clearly aroused by what I am doing to him, and I'm happy. Just happy. A feeling that is becoming more frequent the longer he stays in my life.

I stroke the head of his shaft with my fingertips, feather light, then grab the base, firmly moving my hand up and down. He moans loudly, and grabs my shoulders, but continues to keep his eyes shut. When I let go his hands tighten on my shoulders, but he does not complain. I twist the cap off of the chilly syrup bottle and press the glass container to my lover's abdomen, right above his groin. He gives a small gasp in recognition of the cold and I pull it away, the crystallized water drops leaving an imprint. I bend down and lick the water away, flicking my warm tongue over the cold spots, and can smell my partner's musk as it permeates the air. I start traversing lower down his stomach, and stop right above the satiny patch of hair, discreetly ignoring the throbbing erection so near. I pour an ample trail of the gelid nectar on his throbbing member, taking pleasure from the hiss that erupts from his lips.

I laugh genialy, savoring the moment. "Cold?"

He looks down to meet my eyes and speaks, the words alien to me, carrying some divine meaning kept from my uneducated ears. But the full purpose of the words is not lost; the emotion in the voice and the exotic language mix and I feel a rush of wicked adrenaline flow through me.

Before John can even look away I open my mouth and take him within me, using my tongue to seize all of the thick sugary substance coating him.

"Oh, Oda." He calls out foregoing the Greek. His exclamation is a mixture of a whisper and a scream. "Oh... God, Oda."

As always his voice and my name are a dangerous mixture but his racy aroma and acrid taste mixed with the cloying syrup have my mind completely shut off. I don't think, I just do. Attacking John's erection, I use my tongue harshly with no regard to the strength he may have left to hold him up. I completely engulf him, devouring what I can, and my sphinx starts to yell my full name in pleasure. He starts to writhe violently beneath me, and if his hands weren't on the counter keeping him from falling to the ground, I have no doubt they'd be wrapped around my head, pushing himself in deeper. I take a deep breath and consume what little I left out, burying him deep in my throat.

"Odafin!" he yells. I feel his body stiffen and I pull back a little, not wanting to choke and destroy the moment. A millisecond later I feel him spasm and I welcome his milk into my mouth, swallowing every last drop. I know he'll have no strength left to stand, so I excavate him from my mouth, and help him tumble more gracefully to the ground than if I hadn't been here. Then again, if I hadn't been here, he wouldn't be falling to the ground, exhausted from such straining physical activity.

I grab him to me and pull the sheet over, tucking it tautly around us, my arms holding him tight. I'm still incredibly horny, the throbbing almost as viscerally painful as I have known it to be. Almost. It had hurt worse than this prior to my sexual relationship with John. Back when I was pining away nightly for him, never thinking he could be doing the same thing only thirty-five minutes away. I suffered through more agony and aches than one human should ever, both physically and mentally.

So I sit, painfully rigid, knowing I can't just pounce. I have to chill while he gets over the post-coital inertia. I want to ask him to help me out, just a little bit with his hand, but I know that's not his style. He's not opposed to a well appreciated quickie, but only when a time constraint says nothing else will suffice. At least I can fondle him. I press my face forcefully everywhere, like a needy cat wanting attention now. After a moment I even purr into his chest, then start to graze his nipple with my teeth.

He laughs, "You're so impatient."

"Can you blame me?" My voice sounds dark and grainy as I pick up his left hand and place it on the excruciating part of my body. I groan loudly at the contact and seal my eyes shut. I feel a slight intake of breath and know that this simple action has turned him on, at least a little.

"You're so hard." He sounds genuinely surprised, but his words are carefully chosen. He knows that this kind of talk, semi-dirty, always seems to increase my desire.

"Yes, but not insatiable." His hand starts to twist around my shaft. "Just to tease, not to please." I growl at him. His right hand lifts up and caresses my face. His lips press to mine with animal-like ferocity, but I keep mine closed. I don't care about kissing him after he's drunk of my cup. John, on the other hand, has never wanted to taste himself, which is understandable, but a little annoying too. At least for me because I love his tongue. Wherever it is I love it, but I love it most when it's moving around with mine. There's rarely anything more satisfying than the moan I procure when I take it into my mouth, and caress it with my own. A kiss can be one of the most intimate things in the world; you share everything in a good kiss, and can hide nothing. There are as many versions of a kiss as there are varieties of people and I want John to know every last one of mine.

He pulls back and I open my eyes. He's staring at my mouth, concentrating on something and running his thumb over my bottom lip. After a few seconds of deliberation he looks deeply into my eyes and says, "I want to kiss you."

He must see the pure and simple infatuation in my eyes, so quickly replacing the surprise, but he does not look away. I know it's too soon to think that he has gotten over all of his self-conscious tendencies, but he's looking at me now, in a very heated moment of lust, and his gaze isn't anxious or covert. It's bright and clear and sharp.

Purposeful.

He can probably hear my heartbeat at the moment; I can certainly hear nothing else. He leans in deliberately and my eyes shut of their own volition. I find myself trembling all over, and then kisses me. For once in my life I find myself unwilling and unable to take over a kiss. I want him to do it, have to have him do it because he has something to say. It's so sweet and slow. The most fulfilling kiss that I've ever been lucky enough to receive. And I can feel it with every bone and muscle and nerve ending in my body. I can feel his love and commitment.

When he pulls back I find myself deeper within his heart than ever. I feel both aroused and almost sated, like after a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner with everyone talking all at once, but it sill seems to make perfect sense.

We make sense. Together.

FIN