A/N: So this was a story written for my fiction class, which is a fucking waste of my life. But I got this out of it so I guess I shouldn't complain too much. I liked the way this came out. Hope you enjoy it too.

Also, there's graphic sex!

Runner Up, First Prize

by BoarderKC

He caught her in the library. Tucked in the back, he pressed her between microbiology and modern physics with cold hands and a cheeky smile, convinced he had surprised her. She had seen him coming, windswept and red-faced, through the window of and had ducked deeper into the library. Seeing him wasn't what she really wanted right now.

"Hey babe."

Cold lips pressed against the back of her exposed neck, sending electrified chills tearing down her spine and she gasped involuntarily. He smiled wolfishly as his hands grasped the shelves on either side of her, trapping between him and the bookcase.

Her head turned as he went for her mouth and his lips touched her cheek. "Hey Chris." Her voice was flat and she ducked under his arm before he could kiss her again and made her way back to the table she had abandon with arms overloaded with books. He trailed after her wordlessly.

His bag lay beside hers, tossed haphazardly on the table top and its contents spilled out, encroaching on her space and with a grunt of annoyance, she dropped her stack onto an open corner with a loud crack.

"I can see you're mad." He slid into the chair beside hers and shrugged out of his jacket that smelled of smoke and autumn. "I lost track of the time. Out with the guys. It got pretty crazy."

"I'm looking for Chris."

The man in the doorway made no attempt to disguise his red-rimmed leer. "Uh, he's out." He glanced into the depths of the apartment. "With his girlfriend."

"But…" She floundered, big clouds of white rising from her mouth. "I'm his girlfriend."

"Oh." He shifted awkwardly, shivering in a tee shirt and jean. "Well, I guess, she'd be his other girlfriend then." She said nothing to his tactless voice and he shifted again. "Want to come in?"

She grabbed the first book and opened it without looking at him. "It happens." His hand rested on her thigh under the table and she shifted, yesterday's grubby clothes rubbing uncomfortably against her skin.

"I know we had plans." He waggled his eyebrows at 'plans' and she fixed him with a one-eyed stare. "Let me make it up to you." His hand roamed a little higher and she moved to close her legs. "You still nervous?"

She couldn't remember his name. He had always been nameless; a subject of passing. He'd been 'the roommate', the 'loafer', the 'asshole' and a number of other rude names she wouldn't dare repeat from gratitude after he handed her a 'comfort beer' without offering and kicked aside the mess on their way to the couch.

She was on edge, but not hysterical. Stunned, but not stupid. Just felt idiotic in new lingerie. Devil-red or hot-rod-red, or something just as embarrassing that might amount to the crimson-blush-red she wore while buying it, muttering "His idea, his idea, his idea…" like a mantra-prayer.

Nothing was said between their beers and they continued in silence when the bottles drained and his hand touched absently to her knees.

"I'm fine," she snapped as her legs crossed automatically, moving back in her seat as his hand inched up the seam of her jeans. "Chris, this isn't really the place."

His grin was sinful and wicked and the ruddiness of his cheeks was fading in the warmth of the library. "I just want you to be ready." His smirk faltered, unsatisfied with the words. "For me. Tonight." It was masked as suggestion, but the promise under it was undeniable.

Her clothes and the trip to his bedroom were short work and they left a trail behind them of rough denim and forgiving cotton down an indistinct hall to a bedroom that would be just as indistinguishable come morning. They fumbled; she was clumsy and he was impassioned and the darkness shook their senses as the door shut against her back.


"No, babe, I promise it will be great," he interrupted her with hands caressing over her cheeks. "Everything you could want it to be. I want to do this with you. To be with you. Don't you want that too?" He made no move to kiss her, just cupped her face; a little tenderness to his charm. "I've got the apartment. Evan's working an overnight."

He worked against her, inside her, pushing her into the bed and sparked a temporary pain that she breathed through with nail-crescents in his back. He thrust against her to nothing but the sound of their own breathing, goosebumped where heaving gasps brushed exposed flesh.

She tore, gasped painfully, wheezed until tightness became too much and whimpered into a shoulder that smelled of sweat and spice and incontestably sex.

"Just you and me. Maybe a candle or two." He was reaching with vain incentives and his hands dropped to her thighs, thumbs pressed just inside. "Don't you want to give it to me?"

He collapsed beside her spent and sticky, an arm draped across her waist and she struggled for air as the edge of her vision returned.

She stayed until morning when the sun revealed an empty bed and his phone number jotted on a ripped scrap of paper atop her clothes.

He was smiling wolfishly again, all teeth and wickedness and she stood suddenly, pulling away from the pressure on the inside seam of her jeans, slamming the book she had opened. Dust particles danced around his head, illuminated by the florescent lights that yellowed his look of surprise.

She ached from sudden movements, unaccustomed to the soreness, but she stood with her gaze leveled on him and mouth curved guiltlessly. "You know, I really don't think I'm ready."

A/N: Review.