DISCLAIMER.  Yes, I actually need one! Britney Spears and *her* lyrics obviously don’t belong to me. The song is ‘Toxic’ because, well, it was in my head.

Male/Male…as ever.

Lovin’ It.

“Brad? What in the hell are you listening to?”

No answer.

“BRAD?”

Still no answer. Funny, he always answers you, even if it is just to swear at you, or insult you. What’s even weirder is the fact that he’s not splayed out on the couch, like the couch potato he is.

“You are here aren’t you?”

You suddenly get the stupid notion, that, maybe there’s a burglar in your apartment…playing Britney Spears. But, Brad doesn’t listen to this type of music.  You decide to head towards the noise. It’s when you’re halfway there that you realise it’s coming from your room.

“Brad? Are you in my room? Brad?”

By this point, you’re somewhat afraid. What if you walk inside your room and find some disillusioned psychopath who thinks he’s Britney Spears? You don’t think you could handle that.

“Yes.”

You breathe a sigh of relief at finally hearing his voice. Then as soon as the relief is shed, you let the anger flare. Why is he in your room playing…whatever the hell song he’s playing?

The minute you enter your room, all your questions are answered.

“Happy Birthday Matt.”

You can’t do anything but stand and gawp. You’ve never seen him look like this before.

“Matt? Are you going to come any further in? The present won’t work unless you do…”

And before you can even register what you’re doing, you feel your feet move and find yourself heading towards his direction. He grins at this and points at your bed. You comply with the order and sit down on the edge. Then, in one fluid movement, you find yourself on your back and Brad straddling your hips.

“Br…Brad? What’s going on?”

He doesn’t say anything; instead he climbs off you and heads towards the CD player where he proceeds to restart the song that’s been playing since you got home.

Baby can’t you see, I’m calling,

Stood clad in leather trousers, three belts adorning the top of them, black boots and with nothing on his top half but a pendant you can’t help but follow his every movement as he moves with the music.

A guy like you should wear a warning,

His messy brown hair half in his eyes, spiked somewhat you can’t help but notice the similarities between him and a certain games character you remember drunkenly telling him you fancied one night.

It’s dangerous, I’m falling…

As he trails his hands down his torso, head slightly bowed, his eyes peering up at you through his eye lashes you don’t ever recall seeing anyone quite as…sexy as him before. You push yourself up on elbows to get a better view of his swaying figure.

There’s no escape, I can’t wait,

Slowly, but still managing to keep to the beat, he heads towards the bed and as you push yourself further back up the bed, he crawls on top of it.

I need a hit, baby give me it,

With great confidence he crawls towards you until he’s hovering over your body. He looks down at your face and smirks.

You’re dangerous, I’m loving it…

He sings along with the song at this point, dragging out the words ‘I’m loving it’ as his head leans further down and catches your lips with his.

You’ve stopped listening to the words of the song, all you can hear is the sound of him breathing and all you can feel is his hands pulling at the bottom of your shirt. You lift your torso of the bed as he pulls it up and over your head.

Getting lost in the music that’s still playing in the background, he kisses your neck, and then trails his lips down your chest. You pull his head back up to yours and kiss his lips once more. You’ve never felt more alive and as you try and get a grip on yourself, you pull your nails down his back, no doubt leaving a mark…but then, he pulls away from you and sits on your hips. His eyes are half closed and he’s smirking.

“Happy Birthday Matt.”

With that, he gets up, turns off the music and walks out of your room. You can’t help but sit and do nothing, too confused to go after him. Within minutes his head pokes through your door and a smile’s tugging at his lips.

“Are you coming or not. We can’t carry on in your room. Your bed has no poles in the headrest. And anyway, my bed’s far comfier.”

You still can’t do anything but sit and gawp. Even more so when his figure moves towards you and in one swift movement you find yourself in his arms being carried out of your room.

As you near his room you can hear the song playing once again, and you don’t think you’ve ever loved Britney Spears more in your life than you do right now.