A/N: this took forever to write, then forever to type up, and forever to procrastinate over, but it's here. Does that count for anything...?

He's too close. This entire party is packed with sweaty, drunken teenagers. But somehow he's found his way to where I'm propping up the wall. He hasn't seen me because his protective covering of clinging females is blocking the view. They smell of perfume and cosmetics and liquor. That means I can't smell him, and that gaping hole in my world screams in my ear louder than the music. That's what makes me glare at them, not the way the redhead with scarlet lipstick is breathing in his ear. He's paying more attention to the two blondes, their manicured fingers running through his silky black hair, hips bumping together to the captivating beat of the music. Everyone can feel it with their heartbeat. A second heart, the music in its own erotic dance. His body thrums to the beat as I watch.

My chest burns, and I force myself to look away. To my left there are two brunettes making out for the money being tossed at their bare feet — they kicked off their stilettoes an hour ago. At least they're pretending to do it for the bills. It's a damn good excuse for homos, if you think about it. I don't think anyone else can tell. I don't care. My eyes and gut and something deeper force me to look back to him and his body, skin glistening with sweat.

Oh fuck, that wasn't a good idea. I bite my lip until blood wells up and tell myself to calm down. I shrink further back into the wall, wishing I could just melt into the wood paneling. Cause maybe those girls have it in them to pretend they're nearly fucking for the cash, but I don't. So I should just look away from him and his body.

Or just find an empty bathroom to get off.

No, no. That's just short of admitting it. So I watch him and somehow expect myself to manage. He's watching the girls now. I'm not surprised. Apparently, most guys are turned on by that. Oh hell, he doesn't even have to do anything for me to—

He turns then, only a little, as if hesitating. I feel comfortably anonymous, watching him from my little corner of this loud, drunk, over-sexed party. Nothing about me stands out. Everyone's a little horny by now, no matter who they are. We're all part of one beast here. One mass of human sin and desire. We reverberate with it, and drink it in. The bass pounds inside my skull.

I watch his face as he watches the gay girls. Angular and finely chiseled. So male.

Oh. He knows. He realizes what they're doing. I gulp, suddenly alarmed for no reason. Who cares if he knows the girls are gay, not just putting on some parlor trick for a bunch of drooling young men.

And then his black, smoldering eyes bore directly into mine. I gasp at the sight of them, bottom suddenly dropping out of stomach, and not in the familiar hungover-and-about-to-puke-my-guts-out sort of way. This is new. My body feels hot. I can feel my pulse in my fingertips and chest and temples. Oh no, he's coming.

Please, I beg. Please don't do this to me. Enough torture!

But he is already so close that I can feel his breath on my neck. And I know this will be the breaking point for me.

I try to hold the rush back, pleading with myself that I'm not past the point of no return. Biting my lip again doesn't work this time. And the he is the one to push me over the edge.

"Hello, Elric." He speaks over the music, but his voice is like his eyes — black velvet. Only more, and it makes me shiver. Black velvet set ablaze. He sees the shudder and it burns all the brighter.

He studies me, smirking, taking in everything. And fuck, by now the bulge of my cock has to be showing. I glare, flushed and exited and indignant. For all he knows, I am turned on by the brunettes' show.

He leans in a flicks his tongue along my ear.

Okay, now quite possible that he knows that is not the cause. I gasp and feel my eyelids flutter. Desperately, I try to hang onto my shreds of pride.

He bites the lobe lightly and runs his hot tongue down my neck to my pulse. I don't mean to throw my head back and moan.

There was still time. I could turn him down and never have to put myself through this. Really, this was masochism! Eventually I'll have to wake up and I learned long ago that good dreams just make the loss a sharper ache.

He puts his arms around me and pulls me teasingly towards him, grinding his thigh against my crotch. I lose it. My hands are fisted in a death grip on the back of his shirt and I'm crying out, high and thin, pressing against his chest, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut.

I think for a second that I felt his lips press the top of my head, but I can't be sure because coherent thought doesn't come easily. I'm probably imagining. His deep, burning voice breathes in my ear.

"Let's get out of here before someone a little bit sober sees us."

I nod, then realize my eyes are still closed, then open them. He's watching me with such an intense gaze. I wonder what the hell there is to see.

His hand snakes down and squeezes my crotch once, and I yelp and glare. He licks his lips right there in my face, and I tremble.

Then his hot hand takes mine and I stumble along behind him, through the writhing crowd — the beast. I'm getting to the point where it's a bit painful to walk, but I refuse to take my eyes off of him.

When we come to the stairs I groan and he looks back at me with a "well, what can we do?" face. I wonder if he's hard too, but I can't tell from here. I feel myself flush and I stare at his ass instead. His eyes rake me, and I look up again in time to see his tongue flick out. This time, I try very hard not to shiver.

We hurry up the stairs, my hand still engulfed in his. I wonder, staring at his movements, how long I can hold out. We reach the second floor and bypass all the doors. It's an easy guess that they're all occupied. I want to know how he's going to find an empty space.

He fishes around in his back pocket with his free hand and holds out a key in the dim light, smirking at me. That smirk does funny things to my insides. We head to the last door on the left. He notices that it's slightly ajar and looks irritated.

Fuck, someone actually picked the lock. He shoves the key back into his pocket with a grimace (I figure there are some kids fucking in his bed). Then he pulls us towards the very last door. I'm panting and starting to consider just jumping him here and now, before just looking at him; the twitch of his hips, drives me over the edge.

He opens the door and a breeze of cool night air hits me. It's an outdoor stairwell with a few flower boxes perched precariously on the railing.

More. Stairs.

He sees my look and bends down, breathing in my ear, fingertips tracing my lips, the scent of his fine black hair overwhelming me.

"Come on, Elric," he whispers. I tremble in his grasp and he nips my ear again, making me squeak. There's a noise deep in his throat and he pulls away, threading our fingers once more. We begin down and I hiss.

Bastard. He just made it worse. I wonder if I imagined a low chuckle in front of me.

We start across the lawn. He guides me, hand on my ass now — a little more insistent, a little more needy — towards the trees at the back of his property.

"You're not going to take me out here and kill me or something, are you?"

He laughs and points up. Nestled in the branches of a towering old oak is a tree house. He steps deeper into the shadows and I can't see what he does, but there's a hiss of ropes through air, and then a rope ladder tumbles down.

This is where I put my foot down. I am not going to attempt to climb a rope ladder with a raging erection wearing skin tight black jeans. It didn't exactly help that they were from the fucking girls' section. He looks faintly amused, but seems to think he knows my weakness. His breath's in my ear again.

"Get on my back Elric."

"What?" I yelp, thinking to refuse. But then the hand not bracing me strokes from my hip to my inner thigh, making me shudder, making my breath come like fire in my lungs. Then he picks me up and swings me onto his back and starts up. I shout and swear and hold on tight, trying not to moan as I'm rubbed against him as we dangle in the air.

He closes the trap door behind us, flipping a brass latch. The only illumination comes from the small skylight in the roof, where bits of moonlight filter in. The noise of the party has receded to a dull throb in the distance. I slide off of him and onto the floor, lying on the cool wood his eyes drink me in. My cock twitches at that look, and I'm past telling it to shut up. Hell, I'm past most sanity. First, however, a little revenge.

Swiftly I reach over and squeeze his cock without warning. There, smug bastard who made me hike all this way. Then my brain listens to what my nerves are telling it. He is hard. Much so.

He sits and waits and watches me. I gulp and flush a deeper shade of red, trying to sit up. Then slowly he smiles and pounces.

I'm slammed to the floor with a loud thunk, arms pinned, heavy, grounding weight on my chest. Oh hell. He licks my lips, kisses them, bites them. One arm pulls me up to sitting position and I scrunch my nose as he pulls my black T-shirt over my head.

His hand cups my cock through my jeans and I whimper and he moans into my lips. His hand moves slowly, teasing, sending jolts of need into my stomach and up my spine. His long fingers are talented, slow, steady, and awfully rhythmic.

This is torture! Cruel and unusual punishment! Illegal in America! Fucking slow!

I whine and try to buck into him, but he just keeps up his steady pace. My mind comes up with two options — an incredible feat since I can feel his cock against my leg, twitching every time I make a noise.

1. More revenge

2. Unbutton it yourself, you idiot!

Since the first one is rather general, I go with number two, but he grabs one of my reaching hands with his that's not busy, and suddenly my other hand is in his mouth. I stare up at it, confused, lustful. He sucks on my fingers, licks them with a rough, catlike tongue. My stomach swoops and I gasp through clenched teeth. Fascinated, I watch as his teeth brush on my knuckles, mouth hot and wet.

Then while he's not concentrating, I jolt my leg up to rub against his crotch and he moans, falling back onto me, my fingers falling from my lips. I stare up at him, dazed.

Swiftly, his arms snake under my back and flip us over in one dizzying motion, so that my head is on his broad, warm chest. I can feel how fast his heart's beating, how quickly breath is flooding his lungs. I scramble, trying to get the buttons of his shirt undone. He's breathing too hard to laugh properly, so he just reaches up to tug on the cloth. Finally I just pull and hope he can sew those buttons back on. They scatter loudly over the floor. He doesn't seem to mind because he grabs my ass and grinds me against he, hard and feverish. Still holding me, pounding his hard cock into mine, making me deathly afraid I would cum right there, he reaches down and finally — finally! — undoes my jeans and slides them and my boxers down to my ankles where I eagerly kick them off. Then he reaches down and frees himself, hissing at the very real contact of skin on skin.

His tongue battles with mine and I cry into his mouth, over and over, feeling his chest rumble beneath me. I have one hand in his hair, its scent heady in my nose. I'm tracing his chest with the other, experimentally pinching a nipple and smiling triumphantly at his gasp.

I'm nearing the edge now and he seems to know. He slows, licking my neck, feeling me shudder. He sits up and kisses me full on the lips, settling me on my back while he stares down at me. I grab his hand and tug impatiently. He threads our fingers and offers his other hand.

"Suck," he breathes. I comply, taking those long fingers in my mouth, massaging them, playfully nipping at them. His groan is loud and spurs me on. I suck as hard as I can, tease him, getting him back for taking so damn long to get my pants off.

Finally he takes them back, wet with saliva. I lick my lips and anticipate. The first finger pierces me and I yell something indiscernible because fuck those long, pale fingers. He adds two, spreading me, never tearing those blazing eyes away from mine. Then he leans in, kisses my lips, and slowly starts to move into me. Maybe it's painful, but it makes me burn just to feel his lips resting against me through a T-shirt (or so I learned five minutes ago), so how in the hell could I notice anything him and his hands and his lips and his hard dick inside me, thrumming, thrilling high. I put my hands around the back of his neck, my fingers trembling with the overwhelming feeling, the want that's suddenly bursting even more ferociously than before inside of me. I use my hands in his silky black hair to pull him to me.

"Fast," I manage to choke out in a whisper.

And he does, battering me, making sure I'm going to hurt like hell in the morning, pushing me to the edge, the edge of something like an explosion, all light and heat and pungent pain, the smell of precum and his dick sliding in and out of me, his hands holding my hip bones hard enough to bruise, and his stomach, taught and slick and hot, sliding roughly over my erection as I try to pull closer. My muscles convulse in little group spasms.

"Hell!" I whisper-scream through clenched teeth. "Hellhellhellhellhell!"

Then finally, all together, in a rush of heat as he delves deep into me I come, hot and wet on our skin. I look up a him, stunned, and he moans at the look on my face and I feel his heat as he finally releases inside of me.

Panting open-mouthed he pulls me to him. I fall asleep watching the moonbeams from the skylight play on his sweat-soaked skin.

— — —

In instances such as these — namely, getting done at a party — one fully expects to wake up alone, naked, and painfully hung over.

But my first musing beneath still-closed eyelids is as to why I'm hurting when I didn't drunk much.

...Or I think so anyway... the lack of memory could be a sign, I think drowsily.

I am naked however, and this further promotes the idea of getting drunk, since there is only one person I am anywhere near willing to get naked with and he—

...Is lying under me. The world sways and rocks in a way alcohol could never manage.

I struggle to full awareness, but when I squirm I find that there are strong arms wrapped solidly around me. They tighten as I move, and a head topped with a mop of silky black hair buries itself in my neck.

"God, Elric, it is way too early," he groans. I twist to look up at the skylight, trying to squint into the brightness that dazzles me. Half blind, I press my face into his smooth, warm chest.

"Early?! It's lunchtime, you idiot!"

"Mmm. Details. I don't see you moving."

"That's cause you've got me pinned!" Fucker.

"Hehe."

My stomach growls in response and he sighs and runs his hand down my spin before letting them fall off my body. I sight and close my eyes for a moment, then try to wiggle off of him, blushing profusely now that daylight streamed over his lean, muscled body. Suddenly I stop.

"Elric?"

I could feel the heat on my face.

"You're not going to tell me you're a girl or something are you?"

"Shut up! My hair's caught in the hinge of the damn door." I make an effort to roll off of him while my fingers scrabble frantically, trying to tear it out if I had to. Under me, his chest is shaking with laughter and I realize how goddamn weird this whole thing is, and give a weak chuckle of my own as I finally free my long, yellow hair from the fucking door hinge.

"What do you want?" he asks.

"Some clothes would be nice."

I catch a face-full of black jeans.

"I meant, what do you want for breakfast?"

Oh.

"Uh, melon. Pancakes. Watermelon. Chicken. Artichokes. Anything; I'm starving!"

He grunts, pulling yesterday's T-shirt over his head. The tree house smells like cum and his cologne. It's warm and so are my clothes and the wood beneath me. I try to pull on my jeans without standing up, as if to deny wakefulness and gravity for a little bit longer.

A cool hand combs through my hair, working at the knots and caressing my scalp. I lean into it with a sigh. When was the last time someone touched me, I wonder.

It seems terribly lonely when that hand leaves.

He goes down the ladder first, and I follow. Outside the tree house, a wind has started up, and I wish I'd brought a hoodie. We jog to the house, which looks even bigger and more extravagant in the light of day. The perfectly manicured lawn is an obstacle course of beer cans.

It also looks like a horde of rhinoceros charged through, each animal armed with its own six-pack and bag of chips. Even he, party host veteran, looks a little dumbfounded.

Then he wades over to the soft, blue plush couch and pokes the guy still sacked out on it. He turns to look at me, fine eyebrows raised.

"Ever cleaned up after a party Elric?"

I can only shake my head and watch the feeling of impending doom flood me. That smirk meant ill for the world.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Hey, bastard, why did I have to carry out the girl? For one thing, she puked!" I had dodged, but fuck.

"Please shut up."

"No."

He pushes me firmly into the nearest wall, lips a paper's width apart from mine. I grin in his face, boldly as I can manage.

"Still no!"

I don't think he really gives a shit about it anymore, as his lips crush mine hungrily. His are already swollen and bruised and his tongue rampages through my mouth, fiery and hot and my knees are growing weak and I want to—

A car horn honks impatiently — rudely — outside, and we break apart guiltily. We don't move until the girl's friend has helped her into the car and the tires have peeled off along the long driveway.

I let out a breath with him. Keeping my eyes downcast, I go back to stuffing everything in my path into a garbage bag.

He and I work side by side, letting our hot bodies brush, happy to ignore the rules society has so unfairly set up for two males amidst the filthy afterglow of a weekend college party. But outside this mansion-like house, there are rules. I know that. The world isn't so kind a place not to have them, ready and waiting for us to step outside the door. The silence weighs on me, so I break it.

"I thought for sure you had a maid you could do this shit for you! Why don't you have one?!"

"I'm not that rich, Elric," he says dryly.

"Edward," I say. His black eyes question me. "Elric was my father's name, may he burn in hell. I'm Edward." I'm different. I'm Edward, not him. We may look the same, but I'm not him!

"Alright. Edward."

I ignore the way my stomach is falling out of me over the way his voice flows over my name and look pointedly at all the ultra-expensive furniture and decorations.

"...And you really are 'that rich'."

He makes a sound that's half a laugh, half a sigh.

"I've seen you around campus a lot," he says, stuffing and entire pizza box into his garbage sack. My eyes dart to him and away again.

"I like to come visit my brother."

He pauses in his cleaning and those damn eyes order me to elaborate. I won't give in.

"Edward?"

Oh shit, the way he says that name!

"I don't go to University. I just work," I say, fumbling with a couple empty soda cans, dropping one. He picks it up for me, putting it in my bag.

"Do you want to go to school?"

I resist the urge to flop down on the now-vacated squishy blue sofa.

"Who asks a question like that? Doesn't everyone hate school?"

He sits down and watches me, stretching out his legs on the floor, kicking aside a liter of coke (which I happen to know is spiked with rum).

Black eyes burn into me, and I squirm.

"C'mere, little liar," he says, beckoning me with one hand, lounging against the foot of the sofa. I take one step in his direction, then plop down where I stand with a thump. He sighs.

"So, planning to work a Burger King for the rest of your life?"

"NO!" I yell because panic always consumes me at the idea. The truth behind those words makes every part of me sting. And then guilt floods me for wanting more than I deserve.

Suddenly I come back to myself, realizing that I've lurched forwards on my hands and knees. I sit back and try to control my fast, painful breaths. He reaches over and fondles a peacock feather that's settled in a priceless looking vase on his antique coffee table. The tree it was made out of was probably extinct.

"If," he says, "you went to the University, what year would you be in?"

"Freshman," I mutter.

"Really, then we're only a year apart." (A/n: heheheh...)

"Hmm."

The conversation is running out, leaving me with nothing to concentrate on but his body. His broad shoulders and chest. Those strong, muscular arms and his long fingers and that silky black hair that was soft even in my tightly fisted fingers as we—

"So, what happened to breakfast?" I ask, jumping up. His eyes look over my entire body in a careful way that leaves my insides burning. Then he slowly stands and walks too close behind me all the way to the kitchen.

He makes it through the doorway before he's all over me, his mouth and tongue hot. It's so weird that he wants me. I feel the small of my back hit the counter, and lean back onto it, panting, burning. He's good at this, god, so good. The way his lips and his body move, I'll never be able to get enough. At the University with Al I'd seen him, too. Studying or playing frisbee or just walking, the way his hips swayed. And now his lips — his body — are pushed up against mine.

"So," he breathes, his hands stroking every part of me he can reach, "did you even apply to school?"

My brain is working well enough to register confusion. Is this a normal conversation topic while making out on a counter top? "...The fuck?" I manage to slur. His tongue swipes the inside of my mouth in a flash of heat that leaves me wanting more — so much more. I try to redirect all his focus from the conversation, but he seems to have the upper hand.

"Cause I looked at some of your grades. Fucking genius."

I moan as his hands slip under my black tank top. "Why the hell—" I gasp, trying to hold back and focus as he tongues my pulse, "Why the hell did you look at — at my record?"

"I was curious, Edward. I told you, I saw you around campus before. I know your brother."

I don't know how to answer this. I do know I'm starting to get hard and if he's not planning on blowing me before breakfast, I'll need to jerk off. Really soon.

Apparently he knows too. Leaning even further in, he breathes in my ear. "I'll suck you off if you agree to be the maid. I'll pay you..."

"Give it a goddamn manlier name and get going."

A/N: Thanks for reading, now I'm going to go... crawl into a hole or something...