Author: Scar

Beta-reader/ editor: Hannival Kinney
Characters: Roman Wild, Deniz Öztürk
Pairing: Deniz / Roman
Genre: missing moments
Rating: R, orange
Warnings: Slash, oneshot, lime
Notes: Missing moment of episode 448, time-line June / July 2008. Written in September 2011.
Summary: Deniz and Roman go to a party at Supper Club. During the night there's free beer for topless people. Deniz is the first to undress, but for an unknown reason he wakes up the next morning in the loft not remembering anything.


Free beer and a cup of coffee

.

.

.

.

11.00 p.m. Supper club. VIP entry.

Just very little for turning Deniz, and a night of revelry for him is my passport for getting him back again, just for me. Something tells me this will be the night when I'll get him again. And his enthusiastic eyes, after those magic words, convince me that I'm right.

Vanessa has finally left the field free. Just me and him. As before.

We meet near the club, a festival of lights, eager faces and several bodies leaning against each other.

Deniz signs a dozen autographs, I get to sign only two, but it doesn't bother me right now. I'm happy for the scenario that this evening promises.

He puts his arm around my shoulders and like an eagerly child pulls me inside, passing over the waiting queue and the bouncers' barrier. Our undisputed goal is the bar.

I order a 'sex on the beach' and the barman waits for Deniz's request.

"The same for me," he shouts, before turning his gaze to the dancefloor already in motion. But the night has to seriously take off yet.

Later, DJ's stentorian voice covers the music for a few seconds.

Free beer for topless people. Come on! Don't be shy!

Deniz looks at me with a sly smile. I figure his intentions, but I shake my head, vehemently. I don't want to show my nipples for a watered-down beer.

He curls his lips into a disappointed grimace, his mark as a bit spoiled puppy and a bit naughty. But he doesn't insist. He winks at me and he suddenly takes off his shirt, stucking it under the waistband of his jeans. I close my eyes for a moment taking breath voraciously, before that the sight of his bare back totally takes off the air from my lungs.

He catapults in the heart of the dancefloor and I watch him shaking, as a large group of people joins the dance, probably attracted by that sort of sexual lighthouse.

Fifty per cent are men, the bravest ones, the girls on the other hand simply flirting. A twinge of jealousy perforates my stomach, I force myself to not think about it and I dive into my cocktail.

Someone becomes bolder and starts rubbing himself against his hips. In a short time a boy and a girl begin to dance with him, or Deniz is dancing with them. What is certain is that those three don't know who they are dealing with. I finish my drink in a quick sip and I hasten joining them and, with the frown of a tiger, I grab Deniz by his waistband and pull him to me. He gives me a stupid smile, already drunk before drinking, and stretches his arms on my shoulders. We dance facing each other, nose to nose, and to be sure that no one else will have strange ideas, I remain clinging to his belt.

He approaches his lips to my ear, and I'm intoxicated by his warm breath and his panting, his skin is sweaty and has such an aphrodisiac smell I never felt.

"I'm going to get my beer," he tells me, making me realize I have to let him go.

Not bad, I think, but meanwhile I follow him up to the bar like I'm a dog.

A pint of beer is in front of him, I order a caipirinha, the last drink for me. I have to be lucid enough for preventing further incursions into my territory. Deniz drinks his beer in one shot, sighing with satisfaction. He was thirsty. The barman gives him another, and he starts sipping it more slowly.

"Too bad they don't give something more alcoholic," he says, with a slight tone of disappointment.

In the meantime inside of me it has began a duel between two small skaters, the one with golden wings and another one with horns and a wicked grin, the first one is defeated before he has the chance to cross his knives. I put my intact caipirinha under his nose.

He grabs it without hesitation, drinking it voraciously.

"A beer to my friend" he tells to the bar guy, which responds by lifting his eyebrows.

"Come on! I think I should also have one myself"

The guy sighs resignedly and refills me a glass. I wonder why I'm still surprised for the way he always manages to charm people with a single blink of his lashes.

He takes another for himself, then mentions a toast.

"To you," he starts. "To me. To us and to this cool night. "

I clink my glass with his. I couldn't agree more with him at this time.

The DJ puts on a compilation by 'Black Eyed Peas' and Deniz throws out a excited scream. He quickly empties his glass and drags me to the runway. We don't share the same taste about music, but who cares! The music is my last thought right now. And while he shakes his head and his arms on the rhythm of those weird sounds, I'm already seeing myself in a clear image which shows him, scented candles and a horizontal surface. I could also do without the candles, if necessary.

I lose my breath trying to keep up with him. Funny thing for a trained athlete.

While he's dancing nothing else matters for him, his mind seems to fly through far skies, and then occasionally he opens his eyes, looks at me and smiles. And I think that all I want is bring him out of here and imprisoning him in my room forever.

If Annette knew, she would say I'm mad. It's true, I'm mad for him, and I have no intention of get better.

At the end of the compilation, Deniz is breathless and, therefore, slows down, stumbles and leans on my shoulders. Our bodies touch each other, then suddenly I feel his fingers slipping under the collar of my shirt, getting down, he unbuttons the first, then the second button. I stop him.

"I've already had enough beer," I say, as I try to button my shirt again.

"Come on" he purrs, and starts to undo my buttons for a second try. His hands linger on my chest and my nipples become instantly hard, while something between my legs starts protesting. He makes the shirt slip over my shoulders, then I take it off completely and, imitating him, I slip a piece of it under my belt.

My throat is dry and I've a little dizzy. I tell him to wait for me and make my way to the bar where another beer is ready for me. I drink it quickly, but when I turn towards the dancefloor, a guy all muscles and fake tan is trying to steal my prey. I shoot in my worst battle mood, but I stop myself when I realize that they exchange a few words, Deniz smiles to him, and eventually agrees to follow him to the bar.

"This is my friend … er … "

"Andi" the guy continues.

"He's offering me a drink" Deniz says, chuckling.

At this point I understand he's going too far. He's drunk, or wants just another free drink.

The guy orders three Margaritas, one of them for me. But I hate Margaritas, so Deniz drinks mine after his own drink.

Then he asks for another round of beer.

Now he can hardly stand up, laughs constantly, and he doesn't even realize that guy's hand is on his ass.

I've had enough.

"Deniz, it's time to go," I tell him, grabbing his arm and taking that bad imitation of an octopus and his tentacles away from him. But the guy doesn't seem to have the same opinion.

"Are you his boyfriend?"

"Yes!" I firmly say, while Deniz contradicts me at the same time.

"So are you together or not?"

Now we both answer affirmative to the question formulated otherwise.

"Fancy a threesome?"

I wide open my eyes, staring at him with pure hatred. Behind me I hear Deniz laughing heartly.

The guy gets his hands up. "Okay. Okay. But you two don't know what you're missing. "

That's all. Bye bye, Andi!

I breathe a sigh of relief, if only because the guy topped me at least for eight inches. In height.

I try to drag Deniz beyond the dancefloor, towards the armchairs, but he takes some cocktails from some unlucky stranger's hands along the way, and while he keeps getting drunk I have to repay for the stolen drinks.

Then I push him on the stairs directed to the exit, but the DJ's voice still fills the disco:

Two drinks of your choice if you challenge our guys on the dancefloor. Come on! The competition is for everyone, men and women.

Deniz frees himself from my grasp and runs back toward the center of the dancefloor. He jumps on the only empty platform and starts to dance. I'm exhausted, I never work this much, not even in the days of intensive training. I go back and I remain under the platform. "Deniz, please" I say, in front of the crowd's curious glances that start filling the space around me. He doesn't even see me. He starts unbuttoning his jeans and as these are hanging on his hips, showing something of his stuff, his own hands flow on his abs and his chest sensuously. People's excited shouts stun me. I shake my head and, when I have already toyed with the idea to ditch him on his fate, I feel Deniz grab me by my arm and pull me on the platform with him. I instantly feel myself turning red from the fire on my face, partially for irritation, partially for embarrassment.

Deniz holds me tight, clinging to the edge of my pants as he dances with me, mimicking a sex act in full rule. He sinks his nose in my hair, bites my neck, and the only thing I'd want to yell now is: OMG!

I feel my heart in my throat, I could hear its thunderous crash if the music wasn't so loud. His arms are the only support for my weak legs, so that when he goes away from me for jumping off the platform, I risk falling. I mentally recompose myself, I put on my shirt again and then I follow him, needless to say, to the bar.

The whistles and the applause of the audience have determined the winner and the man himself is walking before me in a tangle of legs, arms and phone numbers. I still wonder where the fuck is that boy who blushed for a kiss.

"Whisky?"

"And coke" he replies to me, speaking like he's full of it to the brim. "It's so eighties, but it's so cool. Did you use to drink? "

I arch an eyebrow and stretch my lips because of his question. I would remind him that I was barely born in the eighties, but I know he would forget it in a minute.

"Pass" I say, and so I push the glass away.

He puts his lips down, disappointed, then pushes the drink back to me. "Come on, just one sip. Together, as two old friends. "

He invites me to cross my arm with his and, of course, I can't refuse. We stare into each other's eyes. He smiles and looks at me as if he wants to eat me, and I look at him as if I had just won the lottery. I want him, and I want him to know, but he doesn't seem to pick up my invitation. He finishes his whisky and then catapult himself to dance again.

I need air. This night isn't as I wanted. I join him for telling him that I'm going to get out, hoping for him to follow me, but he doesn't even realize what I'm saying. I go away, but outside I don't have the strenght to go further. I sit down to take the moisture of the night on a bench nearby, and I wait for I don't know who, I don't know what, nor for how long.

Deniz gets out with two boys and a girl, tipsy like him. I look at them for a few seconds, then return watching my fingers, which are playing each other. I stand up with the intent to leave.

"Roman!"

I turn behind for my habit rather than for my will. Deniz joins me.

"Fancy having some fun with us?" He asks to me, his eyes clouded by something different from the drinks swallowed up till now.

I shake my head in silence and I turn toward the road that will lead me home.

"Hey," he whispers, touching my arm and blocking my way.

He makes a vague gesture in the direction of the three guys he had brought along. The guys leave, he stays at my side, and hugs me. His smell is a mixture of alcohol, sweat and smoke, but I react pleasently to his embrace and his caresses.

"Let's go home" I finally say, and he nods.

Deniz staggers as I try to keep him standing, but with enormous difficulties. He mumbles meaningless phrases, but I understand he's a little sick. I grab my phone and call a taxi. After about twenty minutes we are at home, and Deniz slept and raved trought all the way back home. I push him in the elevator and, just as he enters in the loft, he falls on the couch. I give him some water to drink and a blanket. This isn't the night that I had planned for us. I'm going to get in my room, but he grabs my hand.

"Please, stay with me for a while" he whispers. His eyes are half closed, without strength. He seems so vulnerable, and in a moment I forget all that happened at the club, I forget his cockiness, his lies, his betrayal. He makes me room on the couch and, as I lie down beside him, I totally lose my mind in his arms.
I feel miserable at the thought that I'm begging for a little part of his warmth, for his fingers through my hair, but I can't help myself. I've missed him like hell and I'd do everything to get him back. His lips, soft, warm, are touching my face and then come over mine. They've a bitter taste, but I don't care. I'm in heaven, and in heaven everything becomes sweeter.

He slides on my body and my brain becomes a lump of white smoke. The only things that matter are his lips over mine, his hands that touch me, our breaths that blend.

My orgasm explodes in his hand. It seems incredible that it happened so suddenly. But I don't want to waste time thinking about it. I want to take care of him, I want to feel him inside of me again, as before, a long time ago.
I turn side to side until I pin him under me. He puts his arms above his head and chuckles. I have a strange feeling that he hasn't realized what just happened. I unbutton his jeans, but something holds me back. He isn't himself, and I can hear Annette's voice who blames me for taking advantage of him. His eyes are closed and he breathes heavily. I've never given a blowjob to someone in such a unconscious state.

"Roman" I suddenly hear him mumbling, as I button up his jeans again. "Don't tell Vanessa. Please… don't… "

Then silence.
I go into my room and spend the rest of the night in part sleeping and in part fantasizing about the two of us, in part enjoying his presence, in part cursing this.

I get up early, get dress and prepare coffee, looking at him in his sleep; exactly how I left him a few hours ago.

He eventually opens his eyes, still tired and disoriented. I hand him a cup of coffee.

"Be careful! It's hot " I warn him, but he's already burned himself.

He doesn't remember anything about the night before. I thought so, but maybe it's better this way.
"No, nothing happened" I lie for erasing his concern, and pretending to show more interest to Annette and Ingo who are playing Skywalker's lightsaber in the bathroom.

In my heart I'm dying, though.

What should be our secret will only be my own.

At least for now.