Title: Wrong
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Set during Season 4.  Jackie knows it's wrong and Hyde knows it's wrong.  But neither seem to care.
Feedback: As always, would be lovely.
Notes: This starts sometime in Season 4 and then goes wildly AU after the first sentence.  Sorry about the short chapters, but it was the easiest way to keep the different POVs separate.  And, as always, many thanks to Annie who pointed out that 'Jackie would never cuss like that', and generally making the fic better.

~*~

I don't know how it happened.  One minute I was sitting on that old nasty couch in the basement, playing with Michael's hair.  Then, BOOM! Out of the blue, I looked over at Steven, and I swear to God I wanted to jump him right then and there. 

And that's not supposed to happen.

So, I tried to calm my frantically beating heart and forced myself to focus on Michael.  My boyfriend.  Damn that was hard.  Shouldn't have been, but it was.

I feel so guilty.

It's not like I've never had lusty thoughts before, you'd have to be crazy not to.  But these just Won't. Go. Away.  I'm sitting there, eating dinner and Wham! Inappropriate thoughts pop into my head.  Like, I wonder what I would do if Steven grabbed me and fucked me on top of the Foreman's deep freeze.  (Trust me, that's the clean one.)  And I try to replace the image with Michael, 'cause that's the right thing to do.

Hasn't worked yet.

~*~

Did you know Steven does push-ups to stay in shape?  I didn't.  Until I walked in on him one afternoon.  –That- was a visual that didn't help my little problem.  He didn't notice me for a while, and I couldn't tear myself away.  I stood there, mesmerized for like an hour.  Ok. More like ten minutes, you get the point.  So now on top of everything else, I have a first hand knowledge of what a glistening, sweaty Steven looks like.

And I've put it to good use.

More than once.

I am. SO screwed.

I'm sure he can see it when he looks at me.  And this is nothing like that little 'I love you' phase I went through.  This is 'For the love of God, rip my clothes off and take me now'. 

I'd let him too.

~*~

Ok –that- will never happen again.  Left alone in the basement, just the two of us, watching TV.  Seems innocent enough, except for the raging pile of hormones I used to call my body.  Couldn't even tell you what we were watching, all I could concentrate on was how close our bodies were.  And what I could possibly do to get them closer.  I had to forcibly stop myself from getting up, walking over to his chair and straddling his lap.

How am I supposed to explain to Michael my sudden aversion to hanging out in the basement?

And my desire to not have sex.

With him at least.

~*~

I kissed him.  Surprised him too.  He was leaning on the deep freeze, which could have had something to do with it.  Anyway, I squared my shoulders, walked right up to him and planted a great big wet one on his lips.  He didn't even see it coming.

Wanna know a secret?

He kissed me back.

I may have surprised him, but once he got over the shock, he gave as good as he got.  I might have said I felt nothing the last time, this time totally made up for it.  Rocket ships were exploding in my stomach.   I didn't want it to stop.  But just as he was about to slide his hands under my shirt, somebody started walking down the stairs.

And it was Michael.

Crap.

I suppose I should be happy it was him.  Let's face it, anyone else and we would have been so busted.  Michael, sweet thing that he is, didn't have a clue.  Thought we were…I have no idea what he thought we were doing.  I'm sure the only thing that saved us was Fez, who came through the door at that exact moment. 

He thought we stole his candy.

I'm surrounded by morons.

~*~

I should probably be concerned that I'm, essentially, cheating on Michael.  But when a hot guy has one hand up your shirt and the other down your pants, all while kissing you 'till your knees quake, you tend not to think about much else.  Except that it feels so damn good and you don't want it to ever stop.

But it has to, always does. 

Even if you might not want it to.

We've graduated from sneaking around in the basement to sneaking around in his car.  Basement was getting a little too risky, I've never noticed the amount of people who just come and go as they please in that house.  After the fourth interruption he grabbed my hand and dragged me out the door. 

Donna would have been offended.

I got turned on.

~*~

The bastard gave me a hickey. 

I can't believe it.  A great big hickey.  And he's proud of himself.  I'm safe as long as I don't wear that cute little two piece bathing suit I just bought, or let anyone else watch me as I change.  Bastard.  So I got him back, sucked on his neck so hard he'll have a bruise for a month.  The highest turtle neck in the world won't help him.

Never even crossed my mind someone would ask how he got it.

And now I'm back to; SO screwed.

They're watching him like hawks now.  Poor thing can't even go to the bathroom without someone following him.  It's forced us to be creative.  In a thrown up against the bathroom wall kind of way.

~*~

Surprisingly, we didn't realize it had gone too far until the first time we had sex.  It was hard and dirty and I was so sore the day after.  We did stuff I wouldn't even consider doing with Michael.  And when it was all over, we just looked at each other and –knew-.

We had crossed a line.  It had to be over.

…For now anyway.