A/N: This was supposed to be the last chapter. After long deliberation I decided that the epilogue wasn't needed. The story ends just fine here.

WARNING: (This is mostly for tomato-greens). Smut. If you don't enjoy smut you can just skip right over the first scene. Let me summarize it for you: They have sex. The scene following isn't smutty so, hoorah! Something you can enjoy, darling!

Beta'd by the Lovely and Talented Esquirella.

W/M/Smoker seeks Seclusion

Chapter Nineteen: How to Give In. (Because he said so.)

"I can't go in like this."

"What do you mean?" I can't take my eyes off his chest. I wonder if he shaves … everywhere? "You look … fucking sexy." Clearing my throat nervously, I tear my eyes away from him and look through the glass doors of my apartment building. "Besides, it's late. Who's going to be around?"

"Still …"

"There's a shirt in the back if you're sure you want to cover all that up. I'm just going to rip it off anyway." I snap my lips shut as soon as that leaves my mouth. I didn't mean to say that part out loud … Goddammit.

Sam laughs and turns in his seat, apparently dismissing that comment and searches the back with his eyes for the aforementioned shirt. It's not entirely random. The last time I came back from visiting my family, I just sort of threw my bag in the backseat and left it there. It's kind of embarrassing, actually, but Sam doesn't comment on it, so I don't feel the need to explain myself.

A few minutes later, we walk into the apartment building. It's unsurprisingly deserted at this hour. I told Sam that it would be, but for some reason he has the need to look decent. And for a completely different reason but still a damn good one, I have the need to see Sam look as indecent as possible.

I hook my fingers into his belt loops, pulling him back against my hips as we wait for the elevator. The shirt I let him borrow is way too tight on him and I can't help but like the way it looks, especially right now. He leans back, pressing against me with the length of his body. Suddenly, I find it very odd that he didn't want to wear his ruined shirt, but he will rub his ass shamelessly against me in the lobby. Sam is just fucking odd. It will do no good voicing that aloud. I'll just keep that to myself, thanks.

My hands slide around his hips, holding him back against me. I am quickly losing all control … once again, thank you, Sam … and he's not helping. The pressure just continues to build upon itself and seriously we could fuck right here. It's late, no one's going to come down and see us and if they do then we'd both be too far-gone to care. Well, I know I would be.

When the elevator doors open Sam turns and drags me inside. I have never been so fucking hard in my life. My entire vision is narrowed to Sam, just Sam, and I can't think of anything else. I have really gone crazy. I have lost my motherfucking mind. There is no way either one of us is getting out of this night un-fucked. I squint my eyes at Sam when that thought enters my head. As my thumb presses the button for my floor; I decide that I'm definitely delirious if I start to make up ridiculous words like that. Sam leans against the side wall of the elevator and reaches for me, threading his fingers with mine.

"Come here."

Raising an eyebrow, I consider that for a moment. That is a loaded request if I ever heard one. Nevertheless, I walk closer to him and press him back into the wall, wedging a leg between his. Sam releases my hands and grabs onto me, palms planted firmly on my ass to press us impossibly closer. This entire night is turning into some kind of sweet fucking torture. That's what is driving me insane. I must have him and all this kissing, all this touching … fuck, it's just not enough.

The elevator ride is too short and it almost kills me that I have to stop touching him to get out. But Sam grabs onto my hand and doesn't let go, not until the door to my apartment is open. That's when I attack him, guiding him inside as I thrust my tongue into his mouth. Kicking the door closed behind us, I turn him around and press him into the first available anything.

"Oh, ow …," he breathes. I can barely hear him. He's almost laughing as I press him against the counter in the kitchen.


My hand runs down the front of his cotton t-shirt, gathering the hem in my fingers. I can't really help myself. He smells so good; like clean sweat and heated flesh. I can't even think anymore. Thoughts just get in the way. I just want to feel.

"Sorry," I repeat lamely against his skin as I press sucking kisses to the side of his throat. My other hand slides from his shoulder, down his arm to his hand where it clutches the counter.

"Shit, Clyde!"

He leans his head back against my shoulder, offering more of his neck to my lips. I couldn't keep them off of him if I wanted to. It's like they're made to be on him. Christ, I'm so close to him. We're pressed together but somehow I have to get closer. I push away from him just enough to remove his shirt and throw it as far as I can. His hand reaches up to back of my head, his fingers twisting in my hair. When I bite down on his ear he groans and shoves me away. My back hits the fridge and I can only see for a second and then he's on me.

"Mmmph," is all I can say before his lips cover mine.

Shit, is all I can think when instead of kissing me, he sucks on my lips. His arms wrap around my neck, pulling me down to his hungry mouth. I don't mind. In fact, my pants would burst into flames if I said that I did. I pull him against me, pressing my hands into his back. We couldn't possibly be any closer to each other … but he proves me wrong by somehow removing my shirt when I'm not paying attention. How the fuck? But I can't ask. I can't even complete the question in my head, let alone ask it out loud. My brain isn't working right now. I lose all feeling in my legs when he pries my lips open and sucks my tongue into his mouth. I feel so deliciously numb … but so not. I begin to slide down the fridge, barely registering the sound of magnets hitting the floor. I don't care. I don't fucking care! This strange sound comes out of the back of my throat and Sam pulls away to stare at me, a sexy smirk on his face as he studies my flushed face.

"What was that?" he whispers, his smirk getting wider the longer I stare at him.

Blinking furiously, I try to re-grasp my knowledge of the English language. I blink a few more times and all I can come up with is, "No more talking."

I hook a leg around his and make him fall back onto the floor. I fall with him, landing on top of him.

"Jesus, Clyde! That hurt!"

"Shut up."

I give him a wicked half-grin before I attack his neck again, licking down his throat. I look up from underneath my eyelashes, and see him biting his lower lip.

"Just no words," I clarify, rubbing down his chest with my hands.

Sam nods as if he hears me, but his eyes are clouded over. His fingers work the back of my neck as my lips travel down his chest. He tastes so good … it's almost unreal. It's addictive. I can't stop this and by what I'm hearing I don't think he wants me to anyway. Good. Because I'm not going to. Sam hisses when I trap one of his nipples between my teeth, pulling on it a little and swiping my tongue across it. His fingers are back in my hair. I can feel his pulse in my mouth and on my thigh. It's loud and quick, the most beautiful sound I think I have ever heard. He arches his back, trying to press more of his skin into my mouth and my hands pull at the waistband of his pants, working the button open as slowly as I can. Which in actuality isn't very slow but I'm fucking trying. He lifts his hips when I unzip his khakis, but I push them back down, molding my hand over his erection, pressing hard.

"God …"

His hips jerk upward, his hands tightening on my shoulders as I replace my hand with my mouth, breathing hot air onto him through his boxers.

"Clyde …"

"Shh … Sam, no words."

I rub my face against him as I pull off his pants, pulling the boxers along with them. Sam props himself up on his elbows, reluctant to part his legs.

"Shouldn't we …?" he begins but trails off, as if unable to find the right words for whatever it is he could be talking about.

I look up at him, barely hearing anything other than my pulse. I don't care where we are. Kitchen floor, counter, hallway, rug … I don't give a shit, but apparently he does. He bites his lip again when I run my hands up his thighs, moving my knees in between them. I place my hands on either side of his body as I crawl forward to kiss the breath out of him. Then, maybe he won't think about where we are so much. I don't think I could concentrate on walking, getting up or being able to take my hands off of him right now anyway. He parts his lips and I fuck his mouth with my tongue, reminding him why we're in this position in the first place.

He leans back and I press him down onto the floor rubbing my palm down his stomach between us to grasp his erection. He moans low from the back of his throat, a sound that gets to the very core of me. I want to eat him but instead I just bite his neck a little. Okay, a lot. I can't help it. He makes me lose control and for some reason, I like it. No. I love it. I can't get enough of him or the pleading and desperate whispers that fall from his lips.

"Um, Clyde?" I hear his voice like it's so far away as if it could be imagined instead of real words. Ignoring it for the time being, I continue to lick at the sweat forming on his throat. He threads his fingers in my hair again, pulling my head back sharply. "Clyde?"

Yes, I'm fucking paying attention now, what?! I really want to say this, but with him pulling on my hair like this, his legs wrapped around my thighs, hips pressing up to meet mine … and I don't think I can form a coherent snarky comment if I want to. Instead I say, "Yes?" And it's really more of a breath than a word. It's so easy for him to reduce me into such a pathetic mess of need. All I want to do is keep touching him. I'll do anything to be allowed that fucking much.

"Clyde, I want you to fuck me."

"Oh, good." I beam down at him, my eyes unable to leave his. Yet he keeps his hold on my hair, preventing me from moving closer. I study the man underneath me for a minute, slightly confused. "What's the problem, then?"


I raise an eyebrow at his stern insistence and his fingers relax in my hair, move over my shoulders and down my back where his hands grasp my ass; pulling my hips hard against his. I close my eyes, or at least I think I do … I can't see shit at the moment, which is just fine with me.

"Bedroom," I echo in a whisper as the darkness fades pleasantly, and reluctantly I remove myself from Sam on shaky legs, grabbing his hand to help him up.

I am painfully aware that I'm still wearing my pants and Sam … well, fucking Christ, he's naked. In a sense, I don't mind because naked Sam equals Good Times, but part of me does because the whole purpose of this is to be naked with Sam.

It's a slow walk to the bedroom, with us not being able to keep our hands off of each other. When we finally get there, he pulls me to the edge of the bed and sits down. Sam runs his palms up my thighs, teasing me once more. This entire night has been torturous foreplay and shit, let's just get on with it already, Sam. Christ! You are fucking killing me! His fingers unbutton my pants and slowly ease them down. Frustrated, I step back from him, remove the lube and condoms from my pocket and throw them on the sheets. I strip, throwing the rest of my remaining clothes on the floor, but when I try to shove him back against the surface of the bed, he leans forward, curling a hand tightly around the base of my erection.

It's all I can do not to come when he breathes over the head of my dick. Oh, you…

"… fucking bastard."

"Yes?" Sam asks, looking up at me with the most indecent smirk I've ever seen. "You certainly say some really nice things when you're excited."

With that he leans in, taking the head of my erection into his mouth. My fingers tighten, and then relax on his shoulders. My hands move up to his face, thumbs stroking gently over his cheekbones. Sam moans, igniting a wave of nerves on fire throughout my body and I just can't fucking stand it anymore. That's when he pulls away, all mischief gone, and lays back on the bed. His eyes are so dark, barely any recognizable color other than simply black. The bed dips slightly when I crawl toward him, one hand reaching for the lube I threw on the pillow earlier. Sam's normally a very patient man and he'd have to be nothing but with me. However now, with his eyes burning into mine, his thighs spread … a demand can be read in his actions now. He's not going to wait anymore. Fuck if I'm going to.

After warming the liquid in my palm, I ease my thoroughly coated fingers in, stretching him. He winces a little at first and that is to be expected. He did say that it had been a while … no matter what seeing an empty box of condoms can say about a person. I had meant for this to be a quick process, but damn if I'm not mesmerized by the look in his eyes, the blood rising in his face … parted lips, hot breath. It's too much. I bury my head between his thighs and he jerks his hips up, down … he's not sure where to move. He pants loudly, his fingers twisting and threading themselves in my hair when I suck him into my mouth.

I don't let him come yet. That's for me. I want to see his face when he lets go. I want to see his eyes. I remove my fingers and fumble blindly for the condoms, nearly knocking them off the bed in my anxiousness. Sam has this determined look on his face, the smallest of smiles and a flicker of something in his eyes that I can't translate. It's more than the heat in this room. It's Sam, warm, hard, beautiful and slick with sweat beneath me. It's his hands steadying my trembling ones and whispering something my mind can't comprehend because my pulse is too loud. He takes over, gently prying the wrapper out of my hands and opens it for me.

Seconds later, my eyes are closed so tightly when I push in because, shit, I can barely control myself. My whole fucking world is narrowed to this moment, this amazing feeling that has me so near the edge that I'm torn to pieces. Sam groans, his hands sliding down my back as far as they can reach and I finally move. When I open my eyes, I'm lost. But that's okay, because Sam is too. He grabs onto me, his short fingernails biting into my skin as I thrust into him.

"Christ, Sam …" and I don't even realize that I say it aloud. I could be saying any inane and idiotic fucking thing but I don't care.

The pressure builds between us until we're both impossibly close and I know he is because he's frantic now, dancing on the edge as he grinds his hips against mine. Sliding a hand down his chest, I find his erection and wrap my fingers around it.

"Clyde …" he breathes, pulling my face to his.

Our foreheads lean against each other. We breathe together, fast, hot and short. I kiss him hard when he climaxes, and I follow soon after, nearly collapsing on top of him. Sam doesn't stop kissing me. We continue lazily petting each other as I roll to lay by his side. It's a heady feeling. A sort of euphoric bliss that I could compare to cake, but cake sort of falls short after this - even the one he made for me - but when I pull away I can swear that Sam is laughing. I crack an eye open and stare at him, my vision partially obscured by an arm.

"What are you laughing at?"

Sam wipes tears from his face, unable to suppress the snickers long enough to catch his breath. When he finally does, he turns his face to me and grins. "The condoms that I told you I bought? I just remembered where they were."


"In my truck," he says with a heavy sigh, nearly falling back into hysterics.

"Well, no wonder you couldn't find them." I get up from the bed and walk to the bathroom. "You could lose a small country in that fucking truck."

Not to mention that he was looking in his apartment instead. But we'll not bring that up just now. I don't want to ruin the pleasantness … which is an odd thing for me. I should be angry. Hell, we had to drive to a twenty-four hour gas station and I had to go in and scare the shit out of some kid – who will probably remember it for the rest of his pathetic life, tell his friends and it shall become an urban legend. Perhaps even a headline to embarrass me further: Angry Gay Man insists on Condoms and Lube at Random Gas Station – details inside.

I force the irritation aside and look back at Sam. He props himself up on one elbow and smiles as if he can't possibly keep from it.

"Where are you going?"

"Shower." I throw away the condom and look back through the doorway, unable to suppress the gigantic grin that threatens to split my face. "Want to join me?"

Sam props up on one elbow, matching my stupid grin. He still doesn't move; he lies there, staring at me for what seems like forever. What? Does he want me to drag him in? Sighing, I close the distance between us and grab his arm.

"Come on," I whisper, not really knowing why. I tug on his arm and he tugs back, nearly causing me to trip onto the bed in the process – which might be his goal. With a mischievous smirk, he sits up, wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me onto the bed. "Shower, Sam."

He pulls me forward still and I don't know why my body decides to obey and settle on his lap. My fingers dig into Sam's shoulders hard enough to bruise as his hands slowly work up to my neck, pulling my face closer to his. My eyes close when our foreheads touch and I'm forced to breathe the puffs of air that come from his mouth.

"What are you doing?"

It's a soft kiss that he gives me, nearly nothing but air and I think it's to shut me up because he doesn't say anything for a while.

"I haven't had enough of you yet." He moves his head, placing his mouth just under my jaw.

"You're sticky," I whisper as my hands stroke down his chest to his stomach.

"Yes," he laughs a little, his breath cooling wet skin on my throat. "So are you. Disgusting, isn't it?"

"That's not what I meant." Maybe that's what I meant. I don't know. I'm just saying things without thinking about them. "… shower."

I shiver a little when his hands slide around my shoulders, his fingertips tracing the length of my spine. Wrapping his arms fully around me, he crushes my chest against his and I tilt my head back when he nudges my chin with the top of his head. His tongue, lips and teeth do fucking crazy things to my neck but the moment I gasp just a little, he pulls back. Staring down at him in wonder, I note absently that my arms are locked around his neck, my pulse is nearly racing again and I can swear he's doing this shit on purpose. Something nags at my mind again, something that's probably meaningless and unimportant. Leaning forward, I decide that it doesn't matter; I want to kiss him and just forget about it.

"Shower," Sam whispers with a mysterious smile and finally complies when I tug him off the bed.

I realize what is just before I pull him inside the bathroom. My mind shows me a vivid picture of a six pack of beer, sweating and becoming terribly warm between the driver's and passenger's seats of my car, exactly where I left it. Sam presses the front of his body onto my back, shamelessly rubbing against me. I lean back against him without thought.

"Sam, I want you to fuck me."

Hey, the beer can fucking wait.

"Oh, good," he says with a laugh, pressing his lips to the back of my neck.


I usually feel really guilty when I end up spending the entire weekend in bed, well most of it anyway. Contemplating this and wincing with every uncomfortable shift in my desk chair, I curse Sam a little in my mind. Although, it's not entirely his fault. After all, I wanted him to fuck me but Jesus, having people around the office give me that knowing suggestive smirk is pissing me off. So what? I don't care if anyone knows anymore; I just hope they keep it to themselves. And Andrea, that fucking look she's giving me right now. So what if Sam and I fucked each other! It's none of her business anyway.

It was fucking amazing, though and for the life of me I can't stop thinking about it. I can't even focus on the files and stacks of papers on my desk. I pick each one of them up absently, not even reading the words on the page. I have no idea what any of this bullshit says. Sighing, I toss yet another file back on my desk and lean back in my chair. An obnoxious clearing of a throat makes me look up and lock eyes with Rob. He smiles. I glare at him and a scowl easily forms on my face. Unfortunately, this does nothing to deter the idiot in front of me.

"How is the life of the party? Had a busy weekend?" He arches one black eyebrow and casually shoves his hands in his pockets.

Rob infuriates me. Taking a deep breath, I decide that I won't let him destroy what's left of my perfect mood just because he likes to annoy the fuck out of me. However, he laughs at my struggle to remain calm and I can't help but turn a cold, hard glare in his direction once more.

"You know Rob, I was in a perfectly fine mood until you decided to show your face."

He laughs to the point of tears at this, removing his hands from his pockets to clutch his stomach. Clenching my teeth, I look down at the surface of my desk, repeating over and over in my head how 'not worth it' he is.

"Perfectly fine mood?! Ridiculous! I thought Sam was suspiciously happy … and walking a little funny if you ask me—"

"No one asked you!" I jump up from the chair behind my desk, my hands tightening into fists.

"… but now you're in a 'perfectly fine mood'?! Wow, I think we just entered the Twilight Zone."

"Shut. Up."

"And then I think I actually saw you smiling earlier. Isn't that ridiculous? Maybe I should have my eyes checked."

"Get the fuck away from me, Rob." He just laughs harder and I can barely take it any longer. "I can't be responsible for what I might do to you if you continue to be a dumbass."

"The best part was when you were so nice – or as nice as someone like you could be – to almost everyone at that party. Even Hanley! That was incredible! Sam must have you wrapped around his finger—"

Wrapped around his fucking finger?! You. Will. Die.

"Rob," I whisper through clenched teeth but he doesn't stop.

He ignores me and continues with his idiotic rambling about something that isn't any of his fucking business. Relaxing my hands, I walk around the desk. Rob is barely paying attention to my actions, totally focused on his recollection of what he found hilarious about my demeanor at Andrea's party. Hmmph, little does he know why I really did it. Despite the fact that pretending to be nice is against everything I believe in, it was well worth it. If he only knew.

"… so tight! That was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. I can't believe you— FUCK!"

That's when he notices me in his face. I stare at him hard for a moment, my jaw clenched painfully. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, trying to fight down the urge to punch him in the face. All he's ever done is antagonize me and stick his nose in my business as if it were his job. No matter what I say, nothing seems to deter him. When I open my eyes he's still standing there and he flinches when I raise a finger to his lips.

"Do you ever shut up?" I whisper.

Rob's eyes widen. He pushes the finger away and takes a big step back, obviously embarrassed by his reaction to it. I move closer to him, encouraged by the look of horror on his face and take it as my cue to continue.

"What is it, Rob? Are you jealous? You want me wrapped around your finger? Is that it?"

I let my fingers play with his collar a little – the only part that isn't too repulsive to touch – and give him one of my best fake carnal grins. Rob pales, as much as his olive-skin can, and he seems to be out of words. Blinking furiously, he merely stares at me in mute horror as my hands grab onto the lapels of his jacket and tug a little, surprising him and pulling him closer.

I smirk an inch from his face and whisper, "Well, that got you to shut up, didn't it?"

Releasing him, I step back and return to my desk as if nothing happened. The silence is a bit overwhelming at the moment – even if it is welcome. Looking up from my desk I see Hanley standing by Andrea's desk, both of them staring at me with odd expressions. Andrea burst into fits of laughter after a couple of seconds but Hanley just stands, horrified as he continues to stare me down. Eventually he backs away into his office, his eyes shifting nervously from me to Andrea.

Rob is long gone by this time, so he could not be amused by Hanley's strange reaction. He smartly decided to leave me alone for the time being. Good. Later I will probably be brought into Hanley's office and talked to about sexual harassment … but I doubt it. At least, I'd better not be. My boss has had his hand on just about every woman's ass in this office, so he has no room to reprimand me. Besides, it was a fucking joke. There's no way I would do anything at all with Rob. He annoys me to the point of murder.

"That was fantastic!" Andrea breathes out between barely muffled laughter.

She's still laughing and apparently hasn't noticed that Hanley slipped away after seeing the entire thing. The stupid kid is homophobic; I don't care what he says. Tearing my eyes away from my boss' closed door, I look over at Andrea. She laughs a little bit more but then her expression turns slightly serious. I frown when she ruins the moment by speaking ... again.

"You know he was just joking with you, right?"

"Joking? The man fucks with me, Andrea," I growl but I'm trying desperately to remain under control. I could kill someone at any moment … and if there was a gun in my desk, several people. Staplers aren't effective enough; it's been proven. "I don't want everyone knowing my business. What Sam and I do is private."

Her breaths become short as she bites on both of her lips to contain her amusement. Eventually, she can't hold it any longer and lowers her head with the biggest smile I have ever seen.

"Well, say that to the gigantic hickey on your neck, then," Andrea mumbles just loud enough for me to hear, raising a hand to her face to cover her mouth.

She giggles when my hand rises to cover the exact spot she's referring to. Narrowing my eyes at her briefly, I decide to ignore her before I beat her to death with various office supplies. If I don't get arrested, I'll end up having to replace the supplies out of pocket. Well, knowing this office, I'd get arrested and whilst in jail they'd send me the bill. Fuckers. And Sam. How the hell did he do that without me knowing?! Running my fingers over my neck, I press down a little, noting the dull ache in a small section just under my jaw. When I look back at Andrea, she looks away, a small amused smile on her face as she turns back to her computer. Fucking bitch.

I return to absently arranging files and letting my mind wander a little more than I can afford but it's not as if I can really help myself. What I thought would have been a big mistake – although I'm sure it's still too early to tell – is actually turning out to be an interesting thing. That is, the whole whatever it is that Sam and I are. Hmmph. Funny how it's still a little difficult to say 'relationship' … well, not funny. Let's just say expected. Either way, I don't really regret it. It does scare me how fucking easy it is to think about being with him in that sort of sense. So what? I guess he is my boyfriend. I hate that word. Boyfriend. It's so juvenile. Of course, I would think that, since it was Rob who brought the whole situation to my attention at Andrea's party. I hate Rob and I hate that term.

'Partner in crime' sounds more appropriate anyway, I whisper inside my head, laughing a little to myself as I remember our weekend.

He didn't let me get away from much, but he did help me steal the paper from the guy in the apartment next door. However, sometimes I think he's on his own – his own partner in crime against me. Sam kept laughing at me when I was rude to people on Max's walks and then he just started giving me looks – as if to say 'Stop it'. Yeah, right. He doesn't listen to me when I tell him not to grab my ass in public, doesn't listen to me when I tell him that my family is odd and that he wouldn't want to meet them, and doesn't care how horribly I scold him when he starts feeling me up in the car. Cheeky bastard.

Hanley avoids me for the rest of the day and I don't get called into his office about the Rob Thing. Good. In fact, the bastard hasn't really said much to me after the party. During it he was kind of put off when I attempted to be nice to him for Sam's sake. Well, actually for the sake of our deal, but we won't get into that now.

Andrea doesn't give me any more words, for that I am thankful. However, she has developed an odd habit of staring at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention. She smiles when I notice her, a strange pleased look on her face. Of course. She would think that she had everything to do with what's happened between Sam and me. Apparently that's all she has to hold onto - her precious gossip and the one couple that she thinks she put together. Fucking pathetic, really.

Five minutes before everyone else leaves, I'm already walking to the elevator. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to. Usually I have all of my work completed in enough time to slip out discreetly without anyone knowing but today my mind was elsewhere. I didn't get shit done. Whatever. Fuck it. I'm leaving anyway. Everyone is busy; they don't see me slip through the open elevator doors at five-fifty. I doubt anyone would really care in any case.

I'm always in a hurry to get out of this hell-hole. I don't see why most people aren't. Hanley – as I have expressed many times – is the biggest stupid asshole I have ever met. Working for him – while the duties are simple – isn't easy because it's difficult not to punch him in the face every time I see him. As satisfying as that would be, it's not likely to end pleasantly. You know, with me keeping my job and all.

When the elevator opens again, the lobby is quiet. The receptionist doesn't even look up when I exit the front doors. This is why I like to leave early. No one fucks with me. Everyone is too wrapped up in doing 'last minute projects' to stop for an idiotic chat. Good.

There's no one else in the parking lot from what I can see out of the corner of my eyes. Although staring at the asphalt beneath me probably won't confirm the fact that I'm alone. It doesn't matter anyway. It's a safe walk to the car now; if I had waited another five or ten minutes, the parking lot would have been full of assholes, all backing out at once.

I always park in the same spot and I've worked here for over a year. I could find my car with my eyes closed if necessary. Walking along the first row of cars, I shove my hands in my pockets, the fingers of my right hand absently tracing the outline of my lighter. My mind is so far away. It's back at my apartment, two days ago with Sam.

We're in bed, eyes closed but not really asleep. His arms are almost too tight around me but that's all right. For some reason, that doesn't matter. I'm not as afraid of this as I was before.

When did that happen? I'm sure it didn't happen all at once; I'd notice it right? It snuck up on me. Sam wore me down. Normally, this would upset me but now all it does is bring a little smile to my face. I'm hopeless. I'm never going to be the same after all of this.

The fingers of my left hand curl around my keys and slowly take them from my pocket just as I reach my car. That's when I finally look up and see Sam leaning comfortably against the driver's side door, matching my curious smile. It's odd how I can just think about him and he'll appear out of nowhere. Actually, not odd, but fucking great. However, in truth he was probably standing there the entire time and I was just too busy thinking about him to notice. I stop walking; keys still in my left hand and laughing a little to myself. Neither of us says anything at the moment; we just look at each other.

Sam's smile pulls into a full grin and he tilts his head to the side. I wonder what he's thinking about that's so funny. What is it that makes him smile like that? Really, Sam is like Rob said. Looking deliriously happy for some 'unknown reason', a little disheveled … still incredibly attractive. Okay, Rob didn't say that last part but he's not looking at him right now. The first three buttons of Sam's shirt are undone, his tie with the loosened knot hanging just below the open part of his shirt, his jacket thrown over his shoulder carelessly. His dark hair is getting long and almost completely covers one of his eyes.

Absently my left hand returns the keys to my pocket as I take just one step forward.

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," he says as if I should already know.

And I really do. I'm just being difficult; it's part of my charm. He doesn't move from his place and we both seem to be waiting for something but we're not really sure what. At least I'm not. If Sam knows he's not sharing with me. I can't really focus on anything in particular right now aside from the person right in front of me. The silence doesn't really matter. It stretches unnoticed.

I don't even realize that I've walked over to him until he's just a breath away. I really have to start paying more attention to what I'm doing. But maybe some other time … My arms slide around his waist and pull him close. None of this shit makes any sense; not to the old Clyde anyway. I've turned into some weird version of myself. Not all that different but somehow less apprehensive. Somehow more prepared. I'm not saying that this doesn't scare me shitless anymore. I'm not saying that I'm completely over all of the horrible shit that's ever happened to me, but finally I'm getting somewhere. It's making sense now even if it didn't before. Things are falling into place and I don't think they would have if it hadn't been for Sam.

"I can't stop thinking about you." I almost wince when I realize that I said those words aloud. "And no one in the fucking office will let me try."

His arms wrap tightly around me, his forehead leaning against mine.

"Do you want to stop thinking about me?" Sam whispers, his breath mingling with my own.

"Not really." Happiest I've ever been, actually.

I don't really know if I should be shocked by that or not. I'll just let it happen for now and if that little voice inside my head can be quiet longer than a fucking second, maybe I can. My eyes close as I gently push him back against the car and press my lips against his. He responds immediately, his hands running up my back to my head and burying his fingers in my hair. We kiss for a while and I barely register the sound of people talking amongst themselves and walking to their cars because it seems so far away.

When we finally pull apart Sam laughs as he looks over my shoulder. I know I'm going to regret it, but I turn to look anyway.

"Aww, fuck." It could have been anyone but why did it have to be that fucking bastard?!

My boss is rigid, the driver's side door of his BMW open and he stands behind it as if to protect himself. Hanley shakes and pales even further when the word 'fuck' leaves my lips. His wide pale blue eyes shift from me to Sam quickly and his hand tightens on the edge of his car door.

My face can't possibly be any redder. The skin fucking burns and when Sam laughs again, I know this time it's at me. So I elbow him in the ribs a little harder than necessary.

"What was that for?" Sam whines, his arm rising to cover his injured side.

"Don't fucking laugh at me."

"I can't control these things," he says matter-of-factly, broad smile nearly splitting his face in two.

Swatting him again, I smirk in satisfaction as he winces and covers his shoulder with his right hand. Apparently he can't dodge worth shit either.


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