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After about five minutes, which is, I'm pretty sure, as long as he'd let me suffer; I started walking towards his voice. He was still at the campsite, and I came up behind him, smiling. Fucking smiling. Until he turned around.

I don't know if I could describe the look on his face in words. I might be able to draw it, but I'm not sure I'd want to. He'd kill me, for one. And for another...really not pleasant. I've never seen such raw fear. I think it made my heart stop for a second. Then it turned to anger- the difference in expression was subtle, but unmistakable- as soon as he registered that I was standing there in front of him, probably with a stupid smirk plastered onto my lips.

"Where the fuck have you been? Did you hear me calling you?" His voice was terrifyingly harsh and cold. I had no idea what to say to explain myself.

Maps and Legends (http://www.geocities.com/blaurosen/new_page_1.htm) by rachelanton73 and blaurosen

The movie is forgotten, and the tequila is quickly disappearing. Justin doesn't notice how quickly the tequila is disappearing until the bottle is empty, and he has to get off his ass and get the whiskey from the kitchen. He leaves Brian and Daphne sitting cross-legged on the floor telling dirty jokes and giggling. When he comes back, Daph is sitting close beside Brian and he's murmuring into her ear.

Brian is such a shameless flirt that Justin's not really surprised. He sits down close on Brian's other side, feels Brian's arm slide out automatically and wrap around his waist. He hears snatches of their conversation - the words 'dildo' and 'Mexico' and 'twelve' - but can't be bothered listening to the story. He's pretty sure he's heard it before, so he just takes the whiskey to his lips and feels it burn and slide down his throat.

He watches in fascination when Daphne starts rubbing her fingers over the cowry shells that line Brian's wrist. Her glittery blue nails slide over the pale flesh of Brian's palm, and Justin sees their eyes meet. Smiling and laughing, like they're still sharing the naughty joke. He feels Brian's fingers sliding under his flannel pyjama shirt, and has to kiss him. His lips press against Brian's, and he tastes tequila and whiskey and lemon, cigarettes, the faintest trace of marijuana. When he pulls away, Daphne is gazing at them with wide eyes, her fingers still tracing the lines of Brian's wrist.

Juicy (http://www.splinter-moment.net/narcissism/home.php?x=juicy.html) by soundczech

And yet, the way he smiles at me in meetings sometimes. The way he sighs after he comes inside of me. The way he slides his loofah over my back in the shower and talks about confidential office politics while he does it. The way he takes me to dinners at his favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants and walks me through the best areas of the city. The way he looks into my eyes while he fucks me hard enough to break me.

I got the job and the fuck and that’s exactly what Brian didn’t want.

Frankly, he doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who lets this sort of thing slide.

This has to stop before he fires me, or worse…hates me.

There’s only one little problem. I think I love him.

Where There's Heat (http://www.mercuryrisingfic.com/Heat.html) by negativeerin

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