Bent Bacwards

Ch 5 They're Called Boundaries

Life after that week-end at the cabin, takes some getting used to. It feels strange to be back, sobering, almost. Once I'm back in the city, what happened out there really hits me. I'm man enough to admit, I'm a little freaked out. More than a little, in fact. I admit, I'm freaking out, big-time. It's one thing fucking him, that's bad enough, but it's quite another, coming to terms with him fucking me.

To be honest, when we get home, I avoid him. It's not that hard, because Liza started a new job the week we got back. It's a massive step up and a huge win for her, but she's stressed out as hell. She's managing a team now, most of them men, and older than her. Truly, it's very impressive that she landed this role. I'm proud of her and I'm determined to be here for her. I feel sick when I think of what I've been doing to her, so when she asks me to come over, I do.

From the sounds of things, Oliver seems to be having a hard time with Jess. She's tightening the reins, or the noose, depending on how you look at it. She's making it hard for him to get away. She's on high alert, checking his stories. Double checking, when he tells her his plans. I piece this together from Liza.

I know we're heading for trouble, now, more than ever, we need to be careful.

With all this in mind, it's been over two weeks since we've seen each other. It's been hard, but I can't help thinking it's good. Like a reset, almost. A re-baseline, as we'd say in construction. I'm feeling encouraged. I'm feeling strong.

Just keep him at arm's length,

says Common Sense,

it will all be okay. With a bit of time, this whole thing will just fizzle out.

Still, I'm apprehensive about Saturday. Plans have been made. Liza has survived the first two weeks at her new job and has met her first big deadline. I've been reliably informed that I'm going out on Saturday night, to celebrate. He'll be there. He'll be there, with Jess.

That's okay,

I think

, better than okay, actually. It's good. The girls will be a buffer. Nothing will happen and this madness can finally start to end.

In this spirit, I head out with Liza. I'm attentive and present, focused on her. She's amazing.

I don't know what the hell I've been thinking

. I've never done anything like this. I'm shocked at my behaviour. I've never cheated on anyone before. I used to think I was straight-laced. Honest to a fault. I feel queasy, when I think of how I've betrayed her. I break into a hot sweat at random times every day, when I think of what I'm doing to her. The guilt is eating me alive.

This can't go on. It has to end.

With all this in mind, I'm a little unprepared for what happens the second I see him. He arrives with Jess, she's holding his hand tightly. I can see he's distracted as soon as I see him. Not quite himself. His jaw is tight and there's a wildness in his eyes, I haven't seen before.

Uh, oh,

sighs Common Sense.

My Dick is at instant attention, hard, straining.

Fuck him

, it groans, as soon as it sees him.

The traitor.

We have a few drinks and the girls chat happily, quickly getting a little bit rowdy. I can't relax though. Far from settling down, Oliver seems to be growing increasingly restless. He's staring at me openly and it doesn't take much to see that he's hungry.

Trouble's afoot

, says Common Sense urgently,

this needs to be handled. He can't lose his shit here.

I sigh, as I realise, I'm going to have to speak up. I'm going to have to end this thing officially. It's not going to dissolve into the ether, without me giving it a voice.

Shit.

When he heads out to the balcony, I wait a few minutes, buying time, and mentally rehearsing what I'm going to say.

This needs to end, we're going to get caught

. No, that sounds like nothing but cowardice.

We can't keep doing this, it's not what I want.

This doesn't sound too bad, but doesn't ring true. Even now, right at the end, there's some part of me, that can't lie to him.

Dude, we're playing with fire, we need to step back before it's too late.

It sounds a little dramatic, but it's the best I can come up with right now.

I stride out onto the balcony with purpose. My goal is clear. I'm almost relieved that it will soon be over. I wonder distantly, if I'll finally be able to get some decent sleep.

I cast my eyes round, searching the shadowy silhouettes until I find him. He's looking out over the city, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the balcony railing.

My Dick twitches viciously in my pants.

That's how I like him,

it says darkly.

Stick to the plan

, hisses Common Sense.

He doesn't look up when I join him. I lean back against the railing, facing him.

I haven't handled myself well in months. Not since the moment I met him, frankly, but now, I want to end this like a man. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. I try again. My throat is constricted, leaving me no option, but to face him. To look at him. Really look at him.

Shit.

He's so fucking hot. So insanely attractive. His chest and his face. Those legs and that ass. He doesn't look up, so I don't look away.

Instead, I find myself wondering,

how much easier would my life be, if he didn't look like this?

My resolve is crumbling. Slipping away.

It could be heat he's emitting. Radiating off his body so intensely, it warms the side of my face closest to him. It could be that fact that this close, I can smell him. That inebriating musk, making my brain foggy, clouding my judgement. It could be those sexy forearms bulging slightly, as he grasps the railing hard. His knuckles are white with the pressure, and I know that's not the only place he feels pressure. I feel it too. I feel it, exactly where he feels it.

"Damn, Irish," I murmur, finally starting to accept defeat, "why you gotta look like that?"

He pauses for a second, before looking up at me. When he does, I'm astounded.

Jesus.

He's rampant. His eyes are pale and wild, nearly rabid. He's shaking, almost vibrating. Every drop of blood in my body rushes down to my dick.

"I need to fuck." He says, his voice even more hoarse than usual.

"I get it," I say softly. I'm filled with a deep sense of empathy. I can't leave him like this. He wouldn't leave me like this. "I get it, okay?"

I can't deny him.

Even if, by some miracle, I'd managed to resist him until now. If I was a better man, one with integrity, one who didn't cheat on his girlfriend. If I was someone with an ounce of self-control. I know in my heart, right this second, if I saw him like this, I'd do it all again. Cross every line. Cross them again and again.

I cannot resist him.

I sigh in relief, as it hits me. It's obvious now.

I can't resist him.

So, why do you keep trying?

Whispers The Dreamer.

Common Sense tries to speak, but is wholly outnumbered by me and My Dick.

New plan

, I think, taking control.

I

am

going to fuck Oliver. I'm going to fuck him every chance that I get. I'm going to fuck him until I can't walk. Until I can't stand. Until I can't think. Until something breaks.

Oh, yeah

, groans My Dick.

What's more,

I think furiously,

I'm going to let him fuck me. I'm going to let him fuck me as much as he likes. Whatever he gives, I'm going to take it. I'm going take it and take it, until I can't take anymore.

Oh, yeah,

moans My Dick,

just like that

.

It's very simple,

I think.

Obvious even. This thing

can't

fizzle out. That's not what it is. It has to implode. It has to burn out. And I'm going to let it. I'm done fighting. I just have to do what I can, to keep Liza away from the blast. Out of harms way.

Even that part is clear.

It's simple.

It's fucking with Oliver and it's love with Liza. It's not rocket science.

They're called boundaries, for God's sake.

*

I wake the next day with a clear head, despite all the alcohol and despite the crazy events of the night before.

It was close, I'll admit. After that business on the balcony, I took him home, back to his place. Under the guise of poor health. Leaving the girls at the club. We'd barely made it inside, when we were all over each other. He was a mess. The worst I've ever seen him, or the best, depending on your perspective.

"I need to fuck." He said, his voice tight, with a type of need I've never seen in anyone else.

"No time." I said, unzipping his pants.

"I need more," he whined desperately, tugging uselessly at my clothes, "I need to fuck."

"Ollie," I said, trying to reason with him, "you're too fucked up, okay? You can't wait. We've just got to get the poison out."

Yes,

I thought,

that's what I want.

His poison is

my

poison.

He was struggling a little, and that did it for me. He calmed down quickly though, as soon as I opened my mouth. I was on my knees and totally unguarded. Open. Even this felt different now. I was holding nothing back.

I want it,

I thought,

I want it, I want it.

I'd have taken it all, too, if it weren't for the rude interruption. I'll admit, my blood ran cold when I heard Jess at the door. For a mad second, I considered continuing, refusing to stop, but the new plan has two parts, and keeping Liza away from the flames, is as just as important as the first part of the plan.

So, I hid in his room, quiet as a mouse, as he tried to get rid of her.

"You should go back," I heard him say, firmly, "I'm not feeling well."

It was a lost cause from the start. No way Jess would leave him like this. Not now.

She's mate guarding

, I thought in a rage.

A total cock-blocker

.

When I was positive she wasn't going anywhere, I pried the window open, as quietly as I could. Adrenaline pumping wildly, I carefully lowered myself out of the window. The cool night air hit me, and a curious, crazy urge to laugh rose inside me. I managed to suppress it, but I didn't have the same luck with the next urge.

No, I didn't even try.

I unzipped my fly right there in the open, leaning against the back wall of his house, right outside his window, as I slowly and deliberately jerked myself off. I took my time, stroking my dick, as I thought of his eyes when he looked at me like that at the club, almost haunted. How he struggled to get my clothes off, tugging my jeans without unbuckling my belt. The frantic, raw way, he kept saying, "I need to fuck."

I came hard, spraying my load into the shrubs growing under his window.

*

Do I feel ashamed, when I think of it now?

Yes and no.

On the one hand, it doesn't take a genius to see that I'm unravelling. That I'm completely out of hand. That I'm out of control. But on the other hand, that's what I wanted. And now, when it comes to Oliver, I'm making peace with the fact that I can't help it. I wish I could help it. I wish I could stay away from him. I wish I could end it, but I can't.

I just fucking can't.

*

Still, my morning is derailed slightly, when Liza gets a call from Jess.

"Oh God," she says, "Oliver's broken up with Jess."

It's hard to say, whether my heart sinks, or whether it lurches. But I'm done over-analysing shit like this now, so I don't dwell on it for too long.

"I'm going over to her place," says Liza, "she sounds absolutely awful. See if you can get hold of Oliver and find out what the hell happened."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I type the message quickly, before she even makes her way out the door.

What happened, dude? Want to come over?

*

"Are you okay?" I ask as I let him in, "What happened with Jess?"

He shrugs vaguely. He looks rough, like he slept badly. His eyes look a little hollow but something about them lets me know instantly, that his state is no better than it was last night.

He looks at me intently, taking a slow breath, as he reaches back and pulls his sweater and t-shirt up over his head. His abs clench with the effort, sending precisely the same response through me, that happens every time I catch sight of his skin. He walks to the table, slowly, unhurried, but with purpose and meaning. He unbuckles his belt, the chinking of metal-on-metal sending a quiver of anticipation up my legs. He unzips and pushes his jeans and boxers down in one fluid movement, exposing his ass, parting his legs deliberately, before leaning forward, bracing himself on his elbows.

"I need to fuck," he says coldly, not looking back.

Instantly, my senses start screaming, my brain racing.

"What the hell's got into you?" I ask, rather stupidly.

"Fuck me." He says though his teeth.

I reach for him, running my hand down his back, digging my fingers into his flesh, firmly but gently.

"Not like that," he hisses, pushing my hand away slightly, his voice so much more husky than usual, it hardly sounds like it's coming from him.

God, he's in a bad way.

I reach for the lube and condom I have in my back pocket, I slick myself up quickly and work my fingers into him. I'm being quick but I'm being careful, it wasn't too long ago that I wrecked this sweet hole. He's agitated and uneasy, trying to catch my hand and make me more forceful. I pull out my fingers, trying to catch-up.

He reaches back, and shoves two fingers inside himself. I stifle a gasp. There's no doubt about it, he's just as much of a mess, as I am.

"Jesus." I say.

I like him like this.

He looks back at me, his face is hard, set. His eyes flashing. He reaches back, and pointedly grabs a cheek in each hand and roughly spreads himself open. His hole contracts and relaxes, calling to me.

"Jesus." I say again, as I rip the condom open with my teeth, spitting the wrapper onto the floor and rolling it on as quick as I can. I lube myself up, my eyes not leaving his ass. My heart is pounding. Hard, dull thuds, I can feel in my lips.

I'll give you what you want, Baby.

I enter him swiftly, smoothly. One single, hard thrust filling him deeply, all the way in. There's a second of silence, that little pause, as his body stiffens.

"Uunnnng." He groans loudly, the second the shock wears off.

I pull back slowly, almost all the way out and drive myself back into him again. Still slow. I want him to feel it, but I don't want to hurt him. At some point, one of us is going to break. I know that. I accept that. But not today. Not today.

"Harder." He begs.

"Slow down," I say, hearing the strain in my voice, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Harder!" He commands, no longer asking nicely.

"Shhhh." I say through my teeth, my intensity matching his now. He's pushing me, and I know, if he keeps it up, I'm going to push back.

He looks at me, his eyes piercing and sharp. His pupils dilated, his lips red. "Do it harder."

I can feel myself slipping, so I grab a handful of his hair and pull him back hard, his face near mine as I clamp a hand over his mouth.

"Stop it," I warn, "you're going to make me loose control."

"Do it," he mumbles into my hand, his head leaning back, his eyes half closed, but still looking at me, "do it harder."

I take a deep breath in through my nose, out through my mouth. Frantically trying to steady myself, but I know it's too late.

"Fuck me

harder

," his lips are soft and warm in my hand, "harder."

In an instant, I lose it. I feel the shift. The room seems to spin, as something different clicks in. Hendrix, who was playing a moment ago, seems to go silent, as I feel myself fall into a vortex. Hot, wild rage and desire floods my body and quickly takes over. I grab him by the shoulders and slam him down onto the table. Pushing him down with such force, there's no way he won't be bruised tomorrow. Right now, I don't care. Right now, I don't even notice.

I keep one hand on his shoulder, mashing his face down, holding his hip with the other as I drag him back to meet me as I crash into him. Over and over. I pound him. Loud, sickening, slaps echoing around us.

It's still not enough. I take his hips in both of my hands now, and I bugger him to within an inch of his life. His moans are unreal. Unhinged. High pitched and guttural at the same time. He's gripping the edge of the table in one hand, holding on for dear life. He's gritting his teeth, his mouth twisted downwards in pleasure, or pain. He's reached between his legs with his other hand, he's getting himself off. I feel his body start to stiffen, jerking and convulsing, as he shouts his release.

I keep pounding and pounding.

Slow down!

Cries Common Sense, finally breaking though the red mist.

I slow at last, though I'm not sure if it's from common sense, or from simple exhaustion. Either way, I come deep in his ass, straining and moaning, as my hips spasm against him.

As soon as I pull out, he's different. He pulls his pants up quickly, not looking around. Not looking at me. His jaw is still set.

"You okay?" I ask quietly.

"I'm fine," he says sounding a little defensive, before looking down and muttering, "it's nothing I don't deserve."

I'm not comfortable hearing that. I don't want to hurt him. I feel like I've just been complicit in something I didn't want to be part of. "You don't deserve to get hurt, Oliver."

"Yeah, maybe," he says, looking up at me briefly, "but you didn't see how Jess looked when she left."

"Just sit for a while." I say.

"Nah," he says with a small fake smile, as he limps toward the hall, "I need to get going."

I feel a quick flash of irritation, "For fucks sake!" I exclaim, "You can't even walk straight. Just sit down and chill."

He takes a seat reluctantly. I make us a coffee. I try to get him talking, but I'm not sure where to start.

"She okay?" I ask at last.

He presses his lips together, his eye's clouding slightly as he says, "No."

"What happened?"

He sighs deeply and looks up quickly, shrugging a little, "I guess I just couldn't keep lying to her."

His words land softly, but I can't help wondering why it hasn't even occurred to me to end things with Liza, rather than keep lying to her. Guilt gnaws hard at my guts. I swallow hard and clear my throat.

"Did you tell her about us?"

He looks at me quizzically, his eyes hard to read. "'Course not."

Relief floods through me. "Thank you." I whisper, though I can't remember a time I've felt less proud of myself.

We finish our coffee. We don't talk much, but by now, neither of us is uncomfortable with silence between us. If you were an outsider looking in, I guess you'd be thinking, that somewhere along the line, somehow, we've become friends. And maybe, you'd be right.

The peace doesn't last long though. It never does. It's hard to pinpoint exactly what changes, but I feel his eyes on my chest, tracking their way down. He leans his head back a little, eyes glistening, as he gives me a sharp little prod with his foot.

"Hey," he says, "you got any fuck left in you?"

I look up at him in awe and a little amusement. Between him and me, it's hard to say, which one has it worse.

Jesus,

I think,

we're animals.

*