A/N: Guys, please be aware that the rating has changed on this from "T" to "M". There's a little plot, but mostly it's just lemons. Since I won't be posting the final chapter of Three Parts Dead until June 12th., I wrote a little prequel to chapter 20 to tide you over. So, read, review, and (hopefully) enjoy. Since this is in Tobias' POV it's a little crasser than what you're used to, but he's a guy and it's more natural that way; even if he doesn't speak that way it doesn't mean he doesn't think that way, you know?

Tris is still in a sleepy heap on the bed when I get out of the shower, sheets and blankets rumpled around her hips and hair sprawling messily across the pillows. And I can't help feeling a little proud at the sight of her because I wore her out. It's a stupid thought full of embarrassing male bravado, the kind of thing you're supposed brag about to your buddies over beers, but knowing that doesn't make it go away.

Unlike when I got in the shower though her eyes are open, watching me languidly as I lean over her. She reaches out to catch me, one hand slipping around my neck to finger the raven tattooed on the back. "Morning," I mumble against her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to them.

"You're up early."

"I have a meeting," I sigh, pulling away from her to get dressed.

"You sound thrilled," she deadpans as I sit at the foot of the bed next to a pile of clean clothes.

"Oh, yeah, thrilled. Every time I meet with the Abnegation leaders..." I trail off, huffing in exasperation. "Just the whole time I know they're silently judging me about Marcus, about siding with Evelyn during the war, everything. I fucking hate it." I was born for Abnegation and the fact that they don't think so stings, though I would never admit that to anyone, even Tris; I'll barely admit it to myself.

I feel Tris kick the blankets away and the shifting of the bed as she sits up to press her lips against the nape of my neck, right over her tattoo. I'm not even sure if she realizes how fond she is of that particular patch of skin. Still, it has the desired effect, easing the tension I feel building and replacing it with something sweeter; a persistent aching need for her that I'm so familiar with it feels like second nature. It makes me feel loved, wanted; something I never felt until her.

Her lips are always a little chapped and the rough edges of it snag across my skin as she kisses her way across my shoulder and over, sinuously moving so that she in front of me so she can continue her path across my sternum and down my abdomen. By the time her fingers tug at the knot in the towel wrapped around my hips I'm hard. "I'll be late," I say, but it's a half-hearted protest.

"I'll be quick," she mumbles, never removing her lips from my skin.

At the first touch of her tongue I lose any pretense of arguing with her. I've never been with another girl like this, so I have nothing to compare it to, but the wet, welcoming warmth of her mouth feels like heaven, and whatever she lacks in skill she makes up for in enthusiasm.

And besides, we've done this enough that she knows exactly what I want. It's a practiced pattern by this point, alternating the pull of her mouth with the stroke of her hand to give her the freedom to lick up my chest to flick the point of her tongue or the gentle rasp of her teeth across my nipple - the fact that my anatomy was similarly sensitive to hers had been a pleasant surprise - and then up to nibble on my neck and ear before going back down to bob between my legs.

But the sight of her crouched in front of me, my finger tangled in her hair to keep it out of her face, and my shirt hanging off her scarecrow shoulders is enough to make my body bow over her, enough to leave me panting and desperate. Combine that with her tongue dancing over me, searching and circling and mapping out parts of me by feel alone and her looking up at me with those dirty ice eyes eaten black with lust and I know this will be over far sooner than I want it to be.

I want to touch her, to tear away the scraps of cloth covering her and pull her up until she's straddling me, bringing me off with other parts of her that are just as warm and welcoming as her mouth. What I really want though, more than anything, is for her to touch herself while she does this. She's blushingly told me, voice stilted with embarrassment, how turned on pleasing me like this makes her. Just the thought of her small, strong hands disappearing into the fabric of her panties to stroke at herself with tender fingers makes me throb and twitch in her mouth.

Despite walking in on her pleasing herself I still haven't worked up the nerve to ask her for that yet. But it's fine. Someday I'll ask her, maybe, but for now I have this and this is more than enough. We've done this enough that she can read my body, so in the space of the heartbeat it takes for my orgasm to manifest in the hot spurt of sticky liquid she pulls away to finish me with her hand.

It's almost ridiculous how chaste her kiss is as she wipes her hand off on the towel spread out under me on the bed. I grab at her weakly as she gets to her feet, but she dodges me with a coy smile and disappears behind the locked bathroom door, leaving me weak-kneed and woozy and unable to repay the favor even if I didn't have a meeting to get to.

"Expecting a little 'afternoon delight'?" Zeke asks, a smirk firmly plastered across his face, making me regret ever telling him - however vaguely - about Tris and I having sex in here. Especially since his sage advice when I was freaking out that I'd really fucked thing up between us was 'fuck if I know'.

All I can do is stare at him stupidly for a moment before asking where Tris is. She's made a habit lately of eating lunch with me in the Control Room, and truthfully I was expecting her when I heard the door open.

"She's with Christina," he says, handing me a plate with a sandwich and salad. "She asked me to bring you lunch since, and I quote, 'he'll forget all about eating if he's coding'. You should know there was an whole eyeroll that went along with that statement, but I'm not sure if it was aimed at you or Christina."

Wordlessly, I accept the plate of food and toggle over to the security cameras in the dining hall, trying to catch a glimpse of her at least.

"God, that's creepy," Zeke mutters, settling in the chair next to mine and starting in on his own lunch.

"Everyone would do this is they could," I say flatly. It's an argument we've had more than once, his discomfort with me 'stalking' Tris on the security cameras. It's not like I am eavesdropping on her conversations intruding upon private moments; the cameras are only in public spaces where anyone could see her, the fact I am doing it through a lens didn't make much of a difference.

"She's not even there. Christina was dragging her up to her apartment when I ran into her."

I frown at the screen, tapping at the keyboard with irritation, feeling robbed after spending the morning thinking about her. More than once I found myself immersed in thoughts of her as the Abnegation leaders droned on, working out the details of turning one of the buildings surrounding the Pire into their new home.

"If you're that desperate why don't you go down to the training rooms later like Tori and Harrison do?"

"Maybe," I say indifferently. In all honesty I've been avoiding the place. I don't want people saying that Tris earned her position as a training by sleeping with me, the same way I didn't want people saying the same thing about her ranking during initiation. Still, with a free afternoon and thoughts of Tris plaguing me I find myself slipping discreetly into the training room. Harrison and David - our guard from Amity - are at the top of the room, demonstrating the proper way to use a knife in hand-to-hand combat since it's their area of expertise.

Tris and Christina stand off to the side, joining in with their pupils to learn a new skill. I can't help the surge of pride I feel seeing her; her skills as much as her demeanor set an example of the new Dauntless we're all working so hard to create. And the students in the room respect that and her. There's no whispering or fidgeting, they're all as politely attentive as the example she's setting.

Soon enough they're pairing up, striking out at each other with special knives that have a flat edge instead of a sharpened blade; it wouldn't do anyone any favors to have them gutting each other. Naturally Christina and Tris work together, but I can't watch. Even if I was under a simulation at the time I haven't been able to watch Tris like this since I assaulted her in the Control Room. Looking at her like a target, figuring out her weaknesses and exploiting them, makes me sick, reminds me too much of someone she says I'm not and could never be.

Harrison and David work their way through the crowd, patiently schooling the people who need it, and encouraging those who are doing well. After a while David makes his way to where I'm sitting on a rarely used table pushed against the back wall. His handshake is firm as he greets me.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he says, his voice deep and gravelly. He's an imposing guy, what with his height and obvious strength to say nothing of the tattoos and icy demeanor. But in private he's quick to laugh, and is fiercely loyal with a strong sense of right and wrong. I don't know if he would have gone so far as to join the factionless as I was planning on doing before the war, but he certainly wasn't happy with the way Dauntless was then.

"Thought it was about time I showed my face," I say with a shrug.

"I don't think Four is needed here. Your girl's pretty intimidating all on her own," he says approvingly.

I try to keep the grin off my face so I don't look like a complete idiot at the term 'your girl'. I'm only partially successful. "I wouldn't want to cross her," I say a little smugly. After a few minutes chatting he goes back to helping people, and I go back to watching everyone but Tris. Some of the people I know, but others are just a name and picture in a file and I take my time matching each living, breathing person up with the stack of inanimate paper I know them from.

By the time Harrison calls it a day a few of them stand out, not so much for their skill as their attitude, and not always because it's good, but I supposed it's easier to make a bad impression than a good one. As people file out the door past me they all nod or say a quiet 'hello'. It's the kind of treatment Marcus used to receive and it used to bother me, though I've kind of accepted that it comes with the territory of being a leader and made some peace with it.

Once the room is empty of trainees and she's close enough I weave my fingers into Tris' keeping her by my side as I go over the plans for next week with Harrison one last time. It's customary for our friends to give us wedding presents, but we don't really need anything. Our apartment came furnished and we've bought a few things for it besides, so we've told everyone not to bother and asked Tori and Harrison for the one thing that can't be bought: privacy. Two days to just be alone together with nothing to do and nowhere to go. They readily agreed, but I still remind Harrison that he will be aiding Christina with the trainees on Monday and Tuesday.

"Aren't you guys coming to dinner?" Christina asks, confused when I start leading Tris in the opposite direction from the dining hall.

"I'd rather stay in tonight," I say quietly, but significantly, my gaze never moving from Tris' face. "Do you mind?" Of course if she says she'd rather eat with everyone else I'd go along with it, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.

"No, it's fine," she says to me before turning back to Christina. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have fun," Christina says pointedly and flounces off, probably in search of her latest Erudite boyfriend.

The compound is crawling with people, everyone getting off work and going to dinner or home so that we don't have a private moment until we're through the door of our apartment. As soon as the lock is thrown I press Tris against the wall, trapping her in with my arms and claiming her lips with mine.

She makes a surprised noise in the back of her throat, but melts against me all the same. I lead her backwards through the apartment, almost falling over the coffee table in pursuit of the couch. By the time the backs of my knees slam into it she's got my shirt halfway off. "Guess you missed me too," I chuckle, the sound muffled by the layer of cotton she's pulling over my head.

"Don't get cocky," she scolds, but I can't stop laughing at her phrasing because, really. She starts to stand up, annoyed, but I cuff my hands around her thighs, holding her in place.

"Sorry," I say, pressing kisses along her exposed collarbone and up her neck. Obligingly, she lifts her arms so I can pull her shirt off and drop it to the floor with mine. "Let me make it up to you."

She groans softly in acceptance, knotting her hands in my hair not so much to guide me as ground herself. I can taste the savory saltiness of the little bit of sweat she worked up sparring with Christina, the bitter leftover perfume of her soap and lotion, and something that's uniquely her; it's elusive on her skin, but I know it will be heady between her legs.

For all the time I spent today fantasizing about exactly what I'd do to Tris when I got her alone again, all the ways I'd draw it out to revel in and worship her body, there's an almost frantic need that takes over. All too soon I find myself sliding down to sit on floor as she impatiently kicks off her jeans and spreads her legs over me, knees propped on the edge of the couch. I hold her steady with one hand hooked around each of her strong, shapely thighs.

She's still got her bra on, and I know that scrap of lace will stay there as long as possible. It makes me sad that she thinks she has anything to be ashamed of, but no matter how many times I tell her she's beautiful - not that I think she is, but that she is - it doesn't change her hiding certain parts of herself from me. Neither does lavishing them with the attention I would always give them in the rare moments they're uncovered. I try not to worry about it, hoping that if I don't make an issue of it, it will become less so for her, but I don't really know if that's the right thing to do or not.

I do, at least, know what to do with the parts of her closest to me at the moment though. I crane my neck up, reaching out with my tongue to give a tentative little lick up the seam of her sex. It makes the muscles of her thighs flutter involuntarily under my hands and it's all the encouragement I need. There's something about pleasing her with my mouth that is undeniably satisfying for me. Maybe because it's all about her and harkens back to our Abnegation upbringing, the mirror image of the almost fetishization I have of watching her masturbate because it's such a selfish thing.

But with the evidence of her desire spreading across my tongue intellectualizing it doesn't really matter much. What does matter is the little moans and half-pants she's bleeding out as I lick at the sensitive bare flesh in front of me. When I reach up and slip a finger inside of her while I trace shapes around her clit she lets out a gusted breath of relief that leaves me twitching in my pants.

Her body clutches at my fingers greedily, demanding the release that my body wants just as much. A few more minutes of care ministrations later and she has it. As I squirm gracelessly back onto the couch she's still shaking with the aftermath of her orgasm. She's soft and pliant as I line our bodies up, one hand holding onto her hip and the other one keeping myself steady as she braces herself against my shoulders.

She whimpers into my mouth as she slides down over me. I toss her bra away, safe in the knowledge that in his position she won't object since she's well hidden against me. The feel of the tight, peaked tips of her breasts sliding against my chest is enough to make me groan. She wraps her arms around my neck and I help her set a pace; surging up as she slides down, taking on half the work so she doesn't have to do it all.

After initiation when everyone was settling in and pairing up I never thought I'd have this. Even after I met Tris and we finally slept together I didn't understand the big deal. Sex was a physical need like being hungry or thirsty or sleepy. It was pleasurable, but done to satiate a need. I wanted it to be this, to be consuming and essential in a way that was more vital than breathing. After a while I decided that was a fantasy, a pretty romantic lie that didn't exist in real life. And I tried to convince myself of that to temper my disappointment, but then things shifted between Tris and I, and suddenly it wasn't a lie.

I still can't explain exactly how things changed. Part of it is that we're more honest with each other, less careful and more trusting, but there's something else too, something that's just out of reach; a little thought haunting the back of my brain that's as insubstantial and hard to grasp as smoke. Times like these though I feel like I'm closer to understanding it.

"Love you," Tris chokes out, rising like a swell in my arms and calling me back to reality.

"Love you too." My voice is barely coherent. I wrap my arms around her, spanning her back and grazing the scar of the bullet wound in her shoulder. Her hips jerk out an erratic rhythm, her body tightening around mine and pulling me with her. I hold her tight, snapping up into her as she tips her face against my shoulder, teeth gently worrying the bone under the flesh.

She says my name like a prayer when she comes, her body stuttering against mine and her fingers digging in where she's gripping me. It's not something I'll ever get sick of hearing, and in the moment before I come I realize after this weekend I'll always have it. But in the white hot light of my orgasm all thought is extinguished, all I can do is feel the surge of pleasure throb and pulse through my veins.

Tris collapses against me, sated and sleepy in my arms once we both catch our breaths. She rests her head on my shoulder and her fingers idly trace shapes on my biceps. Thankfully there are no tears. I rest my head against the back of the couch, nuzzling against the side of her head and letting her hair tickle my nose.

"Next time we have people over all I'm going to think about is what we did where they're sitting," she says sleepily.

"Yeah, me too," I chuckle.