I don't know why he does it. He knows I can't concentrate when he's sitting next to me. Not that that stops him, no. Rather I think it eggs him on. He'll sit there, crossing, uncrossing his legs, trying to find a comfortable spot even though we both know it's just for show. And I just can't keep my eyes to myself. How could I? The low leather just drags your eyes downward from the lovely V above it. You can't help but watch the stretch and movement of the leather as his position changes. The tightness of the leather doesn't help either; it just shows off the muscled thighs beneath it. Like I said, his legs, thighs especially, are distracting, and he knows it! He'll sit there fidgeting while I'm trying to play my video game. Just "innocently" fidgeting.

Eventually, it's just easier to give in than to resist. That's another thing about him- he never gives up. Not at anything. He'd rather die. And he's come dangerously close to doing so. The fucktard just doesn't have the word 'give' in this vocabulary, from 'give up' to 'giving' in general. It's just not in him to give, but asking is a different matter.

He asks all the time, sometimes silently, sometimes vocally. Answering isn't always so easy. He has a habit of being unpredictable at times. Answer wrong and you might be raped up the ass by a gun. Answer right and you might see a smile. That same beautiful smile will be replaced with a smirk in half a second though. Another thing about answers, one that's right one day may not be right to the same question no the next day.

I finally give up my attempts at ignoring him (not like they were working anyway, video games just can't compete) and swing my leg over. I end up straddling him, with my cigarette still dangling from my mouth. I'm not over him a second before he plucks the cigarette out of my mouth and flicks it onto the ground... great, another burn mark on the carpet. His arms settle around me, pushing me forward before his lips settle on mine. The kiss was demanding as usual, always bruising, biting, and fast. Everything about him is like that. I pull away, citing need of air as the reason when I see the pout on his face. His hands move downward, groping my ass. I take the moment to slip off my vest and shirt, and then attack his neck, dragging my tongue to his collarbone. The grip on my ass tightens as I'm pushed up against his hips.

I'm still nibbling when his hands leave my ass only to pull the zipper of his own shirt open and shrug it off. I lean down, hoping to catch his nipple in my mouth, as my hips rock against his, trying to get a reaction beyond the bulge already there. The only thing I get is one hand roughly cupping my chin and bringing it upward while the other hand shoves my hips backwards to stop the friction. He kisses me again, shoving his tongue into my mouth. His hands grab my wrists and before I realize it, I'm laying under him on the couch with my wrists held above my head. He's leaning over me, smirking that damn hot smirk. One of his hands floats down, running over my face, brushing my lips, tickling my neck, and then stops to tweak my nipple. I can't help it, I moan. The guy over me snickers before dropping his hand to rest over the swell in my pants. He lets go of my wrists and drops his head to my chest, taking a nipple into his mouth. I grind my hips against his hand, but then it moves to keep my hips still, holding them down as he teases, bites, licks my nipple. I take the hint and remain still as he kisses down my chest, dipping his tongue into my belly button. I whimper softly, hoping he won't hear me. His hands work on the clasp of my pants, finally getting them off after what seems like eternity.

He sits up, smirking as I whimper below him. I make an effort to sit up only to get pushed back down by a now standing certain blond in leather. I know I'm staring as he peels off the leather pants. No boxers, not really a surprise to me. How could any underwear fit under his tight pants? Never wanting to get caught staring, I look away. Too late. He straddles my knees, holding my face in one hand. The other hand pulling at my boxers. He manages to get them off. The hand on my chin slowly starts descending, tracing a feather line straight down my chest. I wriggle and immediately the hand not busy tracing presses down on my stomach to hold me still. His hand continues its slow journey downward, stopping just before having to go up in a different way. I bite my lip and try not to whine. He likes it better when I'm patient with him, when I lay still and quiet and let him have his way. His hand moves back up to rest on my hip, but his head goes down, tongue out, panting slightly.

I gasp when his tongue swipes over the tip of my cock; the only things keeping me from bucking into his mouth are the hands placed forcefully on my hips. His tongue retreats and his lips surround me; his mouth sucking on me, his tongue darting around me. I'm moaning, groaning, trying to force my way further into his mouth. The only things in my way are the slender, strong hands digging into my flesh. Damn, I'm going to have some bruises tomorrow. It's disappointing when I feel his hot mouth lift off my cock. It's now him kneeling over my hips, shoving his fingers in my face for me to suck on. So I do. It's easier to submit than to fight, after all.

I do, however, rake my hands down his chest, ending only to palm his dick roughly. He groans the first noise I've heard him make all night. His hand leaves my mouth, his other hand lifting me, flipping me over so I'm on my knees before him. It's him who shoves two slick fingers into me. It's his kisses I feel on my shoulder blade, trying to distract me from the pain I should be used too. It's him hurrying to find my sweet spot, because he never wants me to feel the pain. He told me so once. And then he hits it. If it wasn't for the hand supporting me, I would have fallen forward right then. And then it's me gasping, me rocking backwards to meet his fingers. And then they're gone, replaced by a slight pressure on my asshole that could only be one thing.

I smile. Finally. His mouth is nibbling the place where my neck meets my shoulder one hand clutching me around the waist, the other hand grasping around my dick for when he pushes in. I still have to bite back a curse when he enters me. You figure it wouldn't hurt anymore, but it still does. He's rocking slowly against me, waiting for me to say its ok. I open my mouth to tell him it's alright, but all that comes out is a low growl and a whispered harder. He takes my word for it; the next thing I feel is him out and then slamming into me again. It's him moaning, gasping, groaning now. At least, until he hits it again. It doesn't take him long to find that one spot again. My hands grab the edge of the couch of their own accord. He's back, slamming into me with his usual bruising force. It's his hand reaching below me, him now pumping my cock. I'm still taking it as usual, taking it but enjoying every minute of it, pitching backwards to meet him. It's me doing most of the moaning, most of the whimpering and groaning. It always is. I shriek, shuddering, coming into his hand. I think the scream set him off. He's coming soon after, collapsing over me and panting harshly.

Mello rolls off the couch, choosing to lie on the ground beside it. I clamber after him, lying next to him. It's his hand that snakes around my waist, pulling me close. It's my head he's resting his chin on. And no matter how much of a distraction he is, no matter what he can't give, no matter what he asks me to do or what he asks for, I know that its because of times like these, when he's peaceful, when I can smell sex in the air, that I know I'll always do what he wants.