WARNING: This chapter contains sexually explicate scenes. Finally! I wrote no sex in this story. WHAT THE HELL? I love reading smut, I can't believe I did not write any. Thankfully, somebody took me to a doctor and he heimliched all this out of me... with an extra chunky-bit of teh love. awww ew. (NB: it is still unbetaed and disgusting).

Epilogue bit

Chris won't let us have sex inside the Terminator.

"Why not?"

"It's the Terminator Robin, that's like…having sex inside one of your children."

'Ha!' You're thinking, 'Those two scamps! Discussing illicit acts with the nonchalance of seasoned-pros.' Yeah, well, you weren't there in the beginning now where you? We fought hard for this saucy banter.

The first time we had sex together felt different to any other sex I'd had. Not least because of the massive amount of lube Chris invited to the event...

He's concentrating so hard it looks like his face is going to crumple in on itself. I think he's about to suggest we play Cluedo instead. I'm worried because I'm so goddamn hard and can't bear the thought of him pulling his adorably shaking naked body off mine.

"Chris, babe," He looks me in the eye for the first time since I held his gaze 10 minutes ago and asked him the fuck me. "I'm not a virgin."

"Shut up." he requests. I'm embarrassing him. I arch up to lick some warm sweat off his brow.

"I'm just saying that, although I appreciate the attention, you're not going to hurt me."

Still staring at me, he stops the careful scissoring of his fingers that he's been occupied with for the last millennium. Oh my god, did you hear me tell him to stop completely?


"I don't want to hurt you." He admits quietly. He has my heart in that look and I pull him closer to me.

"Have I told you I love your body on mine?"

He's face reddens, embarrassed, but the muscles in his arms finally relax as he raps one behind my neck. Fucking A.

"Why don't you ever shut up?" His teeth go for the lobe of my ear, my left hand goes for the neglected condom on the bedside table and my right goes for his cock. It jerks against my palm

We both hiss. "Why don't you shut me up?" I lick into his ear as I, by some feat of awesomeness, get the condom packet open.

We're sitting on the Terminator's boot after I took him to the Weekly Thursday Picnic at the lake. We're watching two little boys throw tennis balls at each others groins. Our feet dangle over the side.

"It's also inappropriate. A car is a room with six windows and no walls."

"This coming from the guy who gleefully blew me in his mother's bedroom." He throws me a look as to say 'I do not give gleeful fellatio', but I assure you – it was fucking gleeful.

"Chris-fuck-Chris! She's going to come in!"

He's on his knees in front of me and I'm up against this creaky-as-fuck closet. My pants aren't even half-way down my thighs. He's got broad shoulders – all the better to dig my nails into, my dear. Besides the fact that he's the one who instigated this hormone parade, the thought of his mother witnessing the homo-float worries him. I can tell because he starts sucking harder. I bang my head, throwing it back into the closet door.

"Fuck you, you-ohdon'tstop."

"- And sex in cars is uncomfortable."

Wait!... what be this?! These kind of hints at Chris's past sex-with-others-ness are rare. I've found that that's the way I like them. Unlike any other boyfriend I've ever had, I don't get turned on my picturing him with another beautiful guy. "Who'd you fuck in a car?"

He snorts, "Yeah, like you've never had someone in a car? I find tha-"

"It's not that. You're just not allowed to have had sex. Especially not sex in a car. You were a blushing maiden when I found you. I watered your bud with my seed and you bloomed into the polo-shirt wearing flower that stands before me."

"I'm a flower?"

"One of those sexy flowers with the big pollen penis sticking out of it."

He says thanks. He's welcome and I tell him as much. We watch the two boys some more. I too, remember a time, when I could think of no better feeling than painfully crushing another boy's balls. It was last week. Chris was not amused. Still -

"I bet I could persuade you to garden in the car."

"I know you could."

Aww, I feel sexy. "Because I'm a minx?"

He nods. "Exactly." I slide over a bit to smoosh my leg into his. "So 'garden' is your new slang for fuck now?" I nod, "It's bad, it makes me think of hedge clippers."

"It makes me think of twigs." I admit. He busses me on the side of my face with his lips.

Later, on the way home, I'm trying to get Chris into a romantic mood so he'll fuck me slowly the moment we step inside the apartment. I mean immediately – I wanna slow-fuck against the coat-hanger in the hall. COAT-HANGER THREESOME.

"What do you think the last sex we have together will be like?"

He raises his eyebrows, "Is this a really cruel way of breaking up with me, where I say 'I dunno' and you stop the car, rape me and say 'like that bitch!' and spit on my head?"

Goddamn. This is why this gentleman is the love of my life.

"You've gone wrong in your mind-tank." I tell him.

"Yeah, whatever creepster. I'm fucked up? What kind of question was that anyway?"

"It was suppose to be romantic! You were suppose to imagine us as really old men rutting against each other in hospital gown..." I trail off because, OK, that's not that romantic. In fact -

"Oh Hera, that's disgusting. Who taught you about romance? A dead cat?"

"Your mother." I answer annoyed at his rightness until he does this thing that he does where he smiles without moving his lips.

We're on the kitchen table.

Now because I stupidly told Chris about my idea of getting down with the coat-hanger, he, I believe out of equal parts of bafflement and jealously, refused and dragged me into the bedroom instead.

Now how did we get on the kitchen table you ask? Well, really, it's a beautiful story...

10 minutes ago.

Chris is on his back and I'm leaning over him, working my hand slowly up and down his warm, thickening cock. "Tell me something really kinky." I whisper.

I'd like to think my sexiness has rendered him incoherent, but he thinks for a bit then lifts his head off the pillow and watches me jacking him off.

"I remember the first time I masturbated thinking about you." He looks at me and I stop moving my hand on his dick 'cause I'm too busy trying to get my other hand in my own pants. Christ he's sexy. "You were dating 'Chad'," Pfft. He says his name in inverted comas, like Chad's a fictional character who didn't actually exist. "And I saw him blowing you on the kitchen table. You had your hand on the back of his head and you were guiding him up and down your cock."

I'm on top of him, I've got both of us in my hand now and he growls a little. "I only saw it for a second but I wanted to be him," I'm biting back moans here. "...I wanted you to be him and I wanted me to be you and I wanted to suck you and get sucked by you on the table." Then I do moan. I moan fucking loud. "I went in to my room and immediately just jacked it dry, like a thirteen year old. I remember laughing when I came because I could hear you kicking him out."

"I was so fucking embarrassed."

"I know. I had never been that amused and that turned on at the same time before. Every morning since then I've imagined blowing you on the table at some point during my breakfast." He pauses, then "And sometimes during dinner." he admits ducking his head faux-sheepishly.

What would Jesus do in this situation? Now I'm wouldn't be convicted of being a religious man by any sort of jury. However, I'm pretty sure if Jesus knew someone deserving had a simple humble desire, like, say, to give me head on a kitchen table, he'd do his darnedest to make that little-miracle come true.

So we're on the kitchen table – because I'm a giver like that.

Interestingly, yet predictably, both of us are too worked up to indulge in the entrée of the giving 'n getting blow job fantasy and have decided to skip to the main course.

Chris bites a nipple and I try to encourage everything that he's doing. "You-" thrust, ugh, "are-" thrust, oh sweet-, "kinda," thrust-kiss, slack jaw, "perfect." huff. He smiles with his hair flopping forward into his eyes and I come. I do not notice when he finishes but he must have because he stops and we are post-coitally adhered to the kitchen table.

"Nooooo you are." he says smacking his lips against mine.

"I am what?That is, besides uncomfortable." He gets off me, pulling me with.

"Noooo," He says again, high-pitched and grabbing me by the hips. "You are kinda perfect!" he mocks.

"No you are!" I twirl my finger in my hair and pop my foot.

He tries to spin me a bit. "No you are!"

I squirm and he puts me down. I grab his hand a pull him with me into the bathroom. I wet a hand-towel and start to clean us.

"We are both so perfect that nobody else could handle us. God gave us both a score of 11 and entwined fate so we'd be roommates."

Chris looks to the scummed-up bathroom ceiling. "Thank you Zeus."

I look up too, giving a thumps-up. "Thanks Zeus."

AN: A handful of people have read this. A lot have reviewed, a couple have favourited. What geniuses. This chapter was finished because you expressed an interest and because I have a freaky lust for man-sex.

*Gives Kisses then wipes mouth with hand, 'cause I do not know where you've been.*