Hewligan Fest: Angle of Vision (Scanners II/Thoughtcrimes) by Libitina and Zoë Rayne
Title: Angle of Vision
Fandoms: Scanners II / Thoughtcrimes
Authors: libitina and Zoë Rayne (z_rayne)
Recipient: darth_begbie
Pairings: David Kellum/Brendan Dean, Freya McAllister/Brendan Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dance lessons.
Word count: ~6,700


Angle of Vision
by Libitina and Zoë Rayne

"It's something my sister taught me," David said, leaning forward confidentially, his blue eyes bright with mischief. "A game, really." Freya felt his thoughts, sharp and clear and directed at her: If you want to get into my mind, go gently.

She raised an eyebrow and grinned at him from behind her Cosmopolitan. "I think you want to get into my pants as well as my mind," she said. For an instant he projected—quite loudly—a different picture entirely then he was blocking her again, so quickly that she would've thought it had been just her imagination except that he was blushing and trying to hide his face against the hard wood of their table.

"Oh, sweetie," Freya said sympathetically as she reached over and rubbed at his shoulder.

Voice muffled by the table, David groaned. "Can we just forget that?"

She aimed a wry smile at him. David wasn't the first guy to find Brendan attractive, and she doubted he'd be the last. "You know he's straight, right?" she asked gently.

"So that's a 'no' to forgetting?" He lifted his head to look at her. When she shrugged, he turned his attention to his drink, tracing his fingers in the condensation instead of actually picking up the glass.

"It was kinda hot. He'd look great like that...." As David turned even more red, she let the sentence trail off.

"Yeah, well." He took a swallow of his beer. "You would know better than I."

They sat in silence for a bit, appreciating their drinks and the shared images. "It's not fair," David complained, finally. "I've had girlfriends. I like women. I have no idea why I'm not more attracted to you. Or why I— I'm sure I'll get over it. It's nothing to worry about."

"Brendan is just odd like that," Freya said, feeling sympathetic. "It happens all the time. Guys hitting on him." He looked a little indignant, and she added, "Not that you would. I'm just saying it happens a lot, and he always turns them down. Nicely, but firmly."

David ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, God. Why am I such an idiot?"

She clinked her glass against his. "I think it shows you have good taste."

"Good enough taste to ask you to dance," he said, and his smile was a little forced but she could tell that things would be okay once he got over the embarrassment. She was grateful for the common ground of their telepathy; it meant he understood that she hadn't been trying to find out his secrets.

"To this music?" she said incredulously, dragging her thoughts away from the arousing idea of Brendan, lips parted and skin sweat-sheened; it looked like telepathy wasn't the only common ground she and David had found.

This time David's grin was more real, and the mischievous glint was back in his eyes. "Why not? I can teach you the two-step." He paused for a second, and then continued more seriously, "If you trust me."

She did trust him, but she also had a fear of other people inside her head that was born of years in a mental institution, her mind overwhelmed by the barrage of unchecked thoughts coming from everyone around her. "You want inside my mind?"

"Just enough to nudge you a little," David said reassuringly. "I promise you'll be able to stop it any time you want." His earnest expression was reflected in his thoughts as he stopped blocking and let her in. I won't do anything you don't want me to do. She could feel the truth there as he let her in deeper, let her see that he thought she was beautiful and that he wanted to dance with her because it was the closest he'd ever get to dancing with Brendan.

Touch by proxy.

It had to have cost him to admit that to her, she realized. "Sure," she said, setting her glass down on the coaster and standing. "Let's see what you can do."

She barely felt it when he slid into her mind. She took a step forward and then resisted, startled at the feeling of her body being out of her control; David's presence in her head disappeared instantly. The chair legs scraped loudly against the floor as he stood. "Are you okay?" he asked, moving around the table and starting to reach for her before visibly checking himself, his hands dropping to his sides.

"No—" she started, then shook her head. "I mean, yes, I'm okay. I was surprised, that's all. You don't have to stop."

David looked her in the eye and she let him in, offering him the truth the same way he had done for her. He nodded and she felt the gentle nudge of his mind again; taking a deep breath, she made herself relax, letting go and handing over control to him. It was easier this time.

He started off slowly, taking her hand and walking her to the edge of the dance floor before turning to face her, and as they started to dance it was almost like it was the music itself that moved her feet. They picked up speed until soon they were moving fluidly around the floor in perfect rhythm and David was grinning wildly at her. Freya could feel herself mirroring his expression, and then a laugh bubbled up and spilled out as she realized that his mind had slipped away from hers without her noticing; she was in control of her body again, and was easily keeping up with him.

Without warning, David stiffened, a flash of panic radiating off him with an intensity that left Freya gasping, and then they were both stumbling against one of the tables that ringed the dance floor. Freya caught herself, her hip complaining where it had come in contact with a sharp corner, and then glanced around the room to see what had caused David's freak-out.

Brendan stood just inside the doorway, his expression—and his mind—blank.

She gave him a quick smile, then turned her attention back to David, who was apologizing profusely. "I'm fine, really," she said reassuringly. "A bruise or two, maybe, but nothing serious."

David nodded, gaze flicking briefly from the floor to her face and then back again. "Listen," he said, "you'd better go." She caught a mental flash of herself straddling Brendan, his hands on her hips and the sheets tangled around them; David's imagination had given her flatteringly perfect breasts.

"Thank you for the dance lesson," she said, reaching to tip his chin up so that he could see her smile. She watched a flush creep across his cheeks. "See you tomorrow, at the office."

~ * ~ * ~
Brendan was silent as they got into his car; he'd been practicing blocking and he was pretty sure Freya couldn't read him if he didn't want her to. It was easy enough to keep up a bland mask even as his thoughts were spinning out of control. "You want me to drop you at home?" he asked casually, shifting the car into reverse.

Her hand covered his and pushed gently until they were in park again. She shifted in her seat, turning sideways to face him. "He was teaching me the two-step," she said. "That's all." For a second it looked like she was going to say something else, then she closed her mouth and waited.

The trouble was, he wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't quite put a name to the wrench in his gut at the sight of them together, dancing and laughing. Then there was David's guilty expression when he saw Brendan; it may have been nothing but a dance lesson to Freya, but Brendan was pretty sure David felt differently. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the headrest, letting his visualization of a whitewashed wall crumble, brick by brick, until he heard Freya draw a surprised breath.

"It's not what you think," she said. "It's not me he's interested in." At Brendan's disbelieving huff of laughter, she continued, "It's you."

And there was that wrench again, the one that left him feeling stunned and drowning. "Oh." He really didn't know what to make of the new information, so he pushed it down behind the rebuilt wall. This time Freya didn't stop him when he put the car into gear and backed out of the parking space.

He drove home on auto-pilot, only realizing as he pulled around the side of the building that he'd planned to drop Freya off at her apartment. Before he could say anything, though, the car door was closing behind her. He was still staring in surprise when she looked over her shoulder, raised her eyebrows at him and said, with a wicked smile, "Coming?"

The fumbling with the seatbelt was a little embarrassing, but she wasn't watching anymore and then he was out of the car and following her up the stairs. He hit the fourth-floor landing just as she finished undoing the last lock. She was humming the theme from Scooby Doo, and it made him want to laugh. "You're doing that on purpose," he said as he closed the door behind himself, automatically resetting the deadbolts. "You're trying to get it stuck in my head."

"Is it working?" she asked, tugging off her boots and dropping them on the floor as she moved further down the hallway toward the bathroom.

It was, but he wasn't about to admit that to her. "Hey, wait up," he said, tossing his jacket over a chair and shrugging out of his shoulder holster. "What're you doing?" He followed the trail of discarded clothes to the bathroom, where she was leaning forward to turn on the shower. The smooth curve of her back drew his eyes down from shoulder to waist then his gaze slid along the swell of hip and thigh. When he looked up again, she was watching him with the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Slowly and deliberately she stepped into the tub, not bothering to pull the curtain closed. Tipping her head back, she let the water cascade over her. By the time she opened her eyes and held her hand out to him, he'd managed to toe off his shoes and get his tie undone. He didn't bother to unbutton more than the cuffs and the top two buttons of his shirt, tugging it off over his head and tossing it to the side, his undershirt still tangled with it. Within seconds he'd stripped off the rest of his clothes and was stepping into the shower with her.

Her skin was warm and wet under his mouth, the faint hint of salt on his tongue the only thing to remind him of the scene he'd witnessed earlier. He nipped at her neck and felt the resultant dig of nails into his shoulders as she shuddered against him. Her breathy "mmm, Brendan, yes" put to rest any lingering worries over where her thoughts were. Still, he couldn't help wondering. "I'm probably going to hate myself for asking this," he said, pulling back enough to see her face, "but...something's obviously got you going tonight. Care to share?"

She frowned, looking sincerely confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're not usually so—" He groped for a way to put it that wouldn't get him walked out on. "—assertive in your enthusiasm." To his relief, she laughed and so he pressed on. "Was it something about David? I'm secure enough, I can take it. It is something I can take, isn't it?"

He really had thought it was a casual question when he'd started asking it, but once the words were out he found his stomach was knotted in anticipation of her answer. "Not David per se," she said slowly, as if trying to find the right words herself. "It's just that after work? He was thinking about you."

"About me?" That wasn't the answer he was expecting, not in any way, shape, or form.

She nodded. "Yeah. It was kind of...intense."

"And that made you...." Then her words sank in, coupled with what she'd told him in the car. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh,'" she said, and the wicked grin was back as she trailed her fingernails down his back and over his ass, pulling him closer to her and making him inhale sharply as the head of his dick skated over her wet skin.

Somehow he hadn't really thought about what David being interested in him would mean, or how Freya might have found out. He felt suddenly awkward, as though she'd caught him cheating or something, which was really bizarre because he wasn't the one who'd apparently been having graphic gay fantasies. "I...don't know what to say."

He wasn't sure if the wall had crumbled a little without him realizing, or if she just read the thoughts off his face, but she said, "Oh, don't worry; he knows you're not—"

"Into that?" he interrupted. "It's not that he's not a nice guy and all. It's just that I like this—" He cupped her breast with one hand, sliding the other over the curve of her hip. "Women in general, and you in particular."

She took the hand on her hip and shifted it over until his fingers could curl between her legs, his fingertips pressing into her slick folds. "That's quite romantic of you," she said, but she was smiling.

He cocked his head as if considering, and grinned back. "It is, isn't it?" She shifted her hips a little, grinding against his palm, and he took the hint, sliding two fingers deeper into her and finding her clit with his thumb. He bent to suck one pert nipple into his mouth and she leaned back against the tile, her breath hitching then speeding into needy little gasps as he brought her closer to the edge. When she finally clenched around his fingers, he could feel her whole body trembling with it.

"So," she said after a moment, as though there hadn't been an interruption in their previous conversation, "you think he's nice, but you like my body." She slipped out of his hands, turning her back to him and reaching for the bar of soap.

He pulled her back against him. "Hell, yeah," he said, sliding his hands over her breasts and down, making her giggle as he hit ticklish spots. She wriggled provocatively, pressing her ass against his dick and making him groan.

"And if it were my body," she asked, "but he was...participating? Controlling my actions?"

Brendan froze. "He can do that?" The idea was equal parts terrifying and arousing, right up until the point where the balance was tipped toward terrifying by a thought. "He isn't here right now, is he?"

"No," Freya said, twisting around in his arms and then giving him a look like he was an idiot. "Don't you think I'd know enough to give you some warning? To ask you first?" she asked pointedly.

The degree of epiphany was such that he wouldn't have been surprised if an actual light bulb had lit over his head. "Oh!" She just raised an eyebrow at him. "Huh," he said with mock thoughtfulness. "So this is what it takes for you to start taking an interest in procedure and getting permission before going off on a crazy plan. Well, not that I don't appreciate that, but no. And you won't get to wear a—" He tried a gesture, but at her look of confusion lowered his voice to say, "—strap on, either."

"Your lips say no, but your mind says yes." She smirked and Brendan jerked back, his heart pounding. He thought he'd been blocking her. "Relax," she said. "I was just teasing you."

He took a deep breath. "I just blew the whole 'not interested' thing there, didn't I?"

"Well, even if you are a little bit interested," she said, running a soapy hand down his chest and wrapping it around his dick, "he still doesn't get to touch my partner with anyone's hands but mine. You guys are so going through me for this."

~ * ~ * ~
David sat on the edge of Freya's bed, watching as she laid out the clothes she planned to wear, everything black and sexy but not too sexy to go out in public wearing. She disappeared into the bathroom for about ten minutes and reappeared wearing a short—very short—silk robe. David looked away, focusing on the clothes neatly arranged beside him. "You forgot panties."

"I didn't forget," she said, and his attention snapped back to her. She smiled and him and then untied the silk belt and shrugged the robe off her shoulders. It pooled on the ground at her feet.

David licked his lips. "Oh."

He must've looked like a deer in headlights because she said, "You should always take a good look at what you're planning to wear on a date. That way there's no surprises." She did a slow pirouette, letting him see her entire body. "No touching, though. Not until you're with Brendan."

She was definitely beautiful, he had to admit that. And it wasn't that he wasn't attracted to her, just that he was a lot more attracted to Brendan. So he watched her slide the short black skirt up her thighs and fasten it in back, watched her button up the sheer sleeveless blouse, the dark circles of her nipples showing through the fabric, and by the time she was done he was hard.

"Is there anything I need to know?" she asked, reaching for a high-heeled boot, then stopping and adding, "And are you going to be okay walking in heels?"

He cleared his throat. He wasn't entirely sure, but he said, "I'll be fine. And yes, you'll need to wear sunglasses or something." She frowned at him and he pushed gently into her mind until he felt her let go, then he turned her to face the full-length mirror.

"Right," she said, and he pulled back. She sat on the edge of the bed to tug on her boots. "I can tell you what he likes," she offered.

David really hadn't thought about any of this in detail; ever since Freya had approached him and told him that Brendan was interested—with her as the go-between, but still—he'd been pretty much in a daze. When he thought about it, though, he realized he didn't want to know what Freya would do. He wanted Brendan to know it was him, wanted it to feel different from every other time between Brendan and Freya. "Please don't."

Wrapping a lacy shawl around her shoulders and tucking her purse under her arm, Freya said, "Okay, I'm ready. Keys and address are in my handbag. He's not expecting me and he's definitely not expecting you, but I don't think he'll mind."

He kicked his shoes off and lay back on the bed, his eyes closed. It was easy to slip into her mind; she didn't resist at all, and after a second he could see himself stretched out on her floral bedspread. Her heart was beating a little fast and now that he was in control he could feel a tension in her muscles that wasn't visible from the outside. He retreated until he was just barely touching the surface of her mind. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, and was surprised when a blush stained her cheeks.

"Lesson number one on being me," she said, not meeting his eyes. "Learn to differentiate between anxiety and arousal." She fished around in her purse and came up with a pair of sunglasses. "Okay, let's go."

David let the doorman hail him a cab, reading Brendan's address off the slip of paper. As he slid into the middle of the back seat, he heard the quiet echo of a thought from Freya: I call shotgun. He snickered.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, he shifted a little in his seat just to feel the skirt sliding against his clean-shaven legs. He probably should have spent more time in Freya's body; he had a new and dramatically different set of responses to learn to interpret. He groaned and let his head fall back against on the headrest, hands making fists on his thighs and then nervously smoothing out the fabric.

Now who's not okay? Freya said, and he felt her pushing against him until he eased up, ceded some control over to her. She took a deep breath for them and he felt some of the nervous tension seep away, to be replaced by a warmth that flowed out from just below the pit of his stomach.

The cabbie dropped him off in front of Brendan's building and he pushed through the front doors and into the lobby before he could get cold feet. There was no elevator, but he could see a staircase off to one side, its steps covered in dark carpeting that had definitely seen better days.

He started up the stairs, the warm tingle between his legs building with every step, but by the time he hit the fourth flight, David was seriously regretting telling Freya that the heels were okay. He had no idea how women did this kind of thing every day, but he was suddenly thankful that neckties were the extent of fashion misery that men had to deal with.

Faced with Brendan's door, he hesitated for a long minute until Freya nudged him. He rummaged in her purse, coming up with a ring of keys, and let himself into Brendan's apartment. As David was relocking the door behind himself, Brendan appeared in the hallway, barefoot and with his tie hanging loose and his collar and cuffs undone. Reaching for David's sunglasses, he teased, "You do know it's dark out, right, Freya?"

David shook his head, swallowing hard against the tightness in his throat. "Not Freya," he said softly, watching Brendan take in the clouded gray of his eyes and waiting for some sign of acceptance or rejection.

"So tonight, then?"

Like that was some kind of trigger, the words poured out of David. "If you don't mind. I mean, I could just—" Ignoring Freya's soft giggles in his head, he hooked his thumb toward the door and looked up to meet Brendan's eyes.

There was a flare of heat in their hazel depths, and then Brendan's hands were on David's hips, pressing him back against the door, and Brendan's thigh was between his, and it all felt so different and odd and good. David arched against Brendan, grinding against the thigh that trapped him, and gasped with the resulting sensation.

Brendan seemed to take the gasp as an invitation, because his hand moved to cup David's jaw, tilting his head back and kissing him, and his mouth was eager and hot and needy. He smelled like stale sweat, like the acrid mingling of office and gunpowder; he'd obviously come home from work and kicked back, with no idea that tonight would be different from any other.

As David pulled himself together, starting to return the kiss with intent rather than just reacting instinctively, Brendan pulled away. He glanced down toward the floor awkwardly, then back up to meet David's gaze. "I, um. I hadn't planned on doing that," he said.

"Kissing me?" David forced himself to ask.

Shaking his head, Brendan said, "Kissing you like that. I'd imagined being more careful, more—"

"Oh, God." David let his head fall back against the door. "You've been thinking about it?" He was sure his own voice would've cracked there, but Freya's just sounded gravelly and low. Hot.

Brendan nodded and David found his breath coming faster, the odd burn of need between his thighs blazing hotter. Brendan had been thinking about this, about him. David's fists tightened in the loose fabric of Brendan's shirt and Freya's body ached to do something, but he wasn't quite sure what. It was like being a tourist in a foreign country when you didn't speak the language: exciting and frustrating in equal measure.

"I had no idea I'd be so...." Brendan let the sentence trail off, as though he couldn't quite find the right word to describe his behavior.

"Forceful?" David supplied, as other words—aggressive, passionate, alpha—spun in his head. Desperate, Freya whispered, and that set David's heart pounding harder. Desperate for him. Wanting him.

Brendan's eyelids fluttered closed and he nodded.

David swallowed hard. He wasn't sure if he could deal with this getting any more intense; instinct told him they needed to keep things light or they'd both regret it in the morning, so he spun them around, pushing Brendan against to the door. "What do you think I am," he said with a grin, "a girl?"

Brendan's laugher was genuine, and at the sound David relaxed enough to laugh as well, the incongruously girlish giggles turning into a shuddering inhalation as Brendan's hands cupped his breasts. "Speaking of Freya," Brendan said breathlessly, "she really likes this."

Without any further warning his mouth was on the tender skin just above David's collarbone, teeth nipping and tongue soothing after, and David was thrusting his hips forward and grinding hard against Brendan's thigh. It was so good, and yet so weird, and he found himself moaning and tugging Brendan closer as clever hands worked the tiny buttons on the front of his shirt—fuck, blouse—like it was something he did every day.

David felt himself coming undone, spread open and vulnerable by hands that knew this body too well, and his instinctive response was to protect himself even as he gasped into Brendan's mouth, too far gone to think about what his mind was doing until he tasted blood.

"Oh, God." David tried to pull away, but Brendan's hands were firm on his waist. "I'm so sorry." He reached up and wiped away the thin trickle of blood that trailed from Brendan's nose to his upper lip.

Brendan shook his head as though he were dazed, then captured David's wrist and pulled the hand toward himself, his tongue warm and wet on David's skin. David shuddered at the sensation, watching with widened eyes as Brendan took the blood-smeared fingers—Freya's fingers, too narrow and delicate to be David's despite the fact that every touch to them sparked along David's own nerves—into his mouth. David's breath caught and Brendan's gaze flicked up, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he very deliberately sucked, slow and hard, dragging his teeth lightly as he drew back.

David wasn't even trying, not really, but Brendan's mind was suddenly open, his thoughts washing over David in a wave: nerves and arousal competing for dominance; the constant buzz of awareness that, despite appearances, it wasn't really Freya he was seducing; flashes of memory of David's smile, of the way his hair curled at the collar of his shirt, of his hands flying on a computer keyboard; the ache of desire that accompanied the feel of David's fingers pressed against his tongue.

Dragging in a deep breath, David tried to sort through the maelstrom of emotions and sensations and urges, tried to separate what he felt from what Brendan felt from what Freya felt. He pulled his hand back, pushing away Brendan's momentary flash of confusion, and said, "I can't— It's too much. Can we just—?"

The chaos was gone like a switch had been flipped, and when David could focus again he found Brendan looking ruefully at him. He pressed his fingers lightly against Brendan's lips to forestall the apology he knew was coming, his other hand fisting in the front of Brendan's shirt. "Come on."

Brendan followed unresisting down the hallway, smirking when David had to poke his head through each open doorway to find the bedroom, but once they were actually there he took David's arms and urged him down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Before David could even reach for him, though, Brendan was on his knees, unzipping David's boots and pulling them off, and then running his hands up David's bare legs, his thumbs tracing along the insides of David's thighs.

David let his legs part, only remembering his lack of underwear as Brendan's hands slid under his skirt, rucking it up to reveal a hint of dark curls. Slowly, Brendan leaned forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the route his thumbs had taken. Stopping just before he reached those curls, he looked up at David, his eyebrows raised in question. Go ahead. Freya's thoughts were a whisper in David's mind. Trust me, you'll like it.

He nodded and Brendan smiled then nuzzled the hem of his skirt higher. David leaned back on his elbows, intending to watch, but at the first touch of Brendan's tongue he realized he wasn't going to be able to focus on anything but how it felt. The sensations buzzed along his borrowed skin, a ghostly echo of pressure and friction that didn't quite map to any remembered touches on his own body. A sudden spark of pleasure left him arching against Brendan's mouth, the stimulation both too much and not enough. He was close, could feel the edge but not quite reach it, and his body was bowstring taut with the tension and frustration.

Let me.

Taking a shuddering breath, he felt Freya guiding him as lightly as he'd guided her in their dance lesson. Like this, she said, showing him how to relax and which muscles to tense until suddenly, finally the building sensation overflowed and he was trembling through a climax that was nothing like he'd expected.

He opened his eyes to find Brendan sitting back on his heels and looking at him, his expression somewhere between stunned and smug. David grinned at him, and Brendan licked his lips then stood and tugged his shirttails out of his pants, pulling his shirt and undershirt off over his head in one smooth move that left his hair even more mussed than usual. Sitting up, David caught Brendan by the belt loops and dragged him closer, unfastening and unzipping his pants and pushing them—and his boxers—down.

When he leaned forward, though, one hand curled around Brendan's dick and the other on Brendan's hip, he could feel Freya shudder. He paused. If you don't want me to— he started, but she interrupted, pushing him more to the forefront. It's fine, really. Just don't expect any pointers from me.

David wrapped his mouth around Brendan's dick, his tongue swirling around the head as he sucked, and Brendan let out a surprised gasp. That's okay. I don't need any help with this. It did take a little experimenting—Freya's mouth was smaller than his and her jaw less flexible—but Brendan's breathy encouragements and the way his hand cupped David's jaw made it worth the extra effort. He'd just started to really get into it, losing himself in their shared rhythm, when that rhythm faltered and the hand on his shoulder tightened.

"Stop," Brendan said, "or I'm going to come." David didn't stop, the idea of getting Brendan off sending renewed sparks of arousal through him. "I don't want to come yet. I'm not done with you, David." Brendan's voice was low and rough and filled with promise, and when he pulled back David let him go, surprised to find that he wasn't done with Brendan yet, either; his borrowed body was nearly back to the state of arousal it had been in before Brendan had gone down on him.

Freya laughed softly. One of the benefits of being a woman, she told David. You can come at least twice more before he does. Make him work for it.

With a grin, David shrugged the blouse off and reached behind himself to undo the skirt, sliding out of it as he scooted backward across the bed. Brendan grabbed an ankle and pulled him back a little, kneeling between his thighs and leaning forward to kiss him. Until that moment, David hadn't fully realized exactly how different this was from what he was used to. It wasn't just having breasts and a pussy instead of his familiar dick; he was more vulnerable than he was used to being. Brendan's body, solid and warm and pressing him gently into the mattress, was oppressive but also comforting in a way he never would've thought he wanted to experience.

Pushing away the self-analysis for the moment, he arched up against Brendan, the coarse rub of chest hair electric against his sensitive nipples. He could feel the weight of Brendan's dick where it was trapped between their bodies and he shifted his hips to let it slip down between his thighs in invitation.

Brendan pulled back to look down at him, and his expression was calm enough but David could feel the tension thrumming through him. "Just like this?" Brendan asked. "I thought maybe you'd want to be on top. Have a little more control."

Right now, the last thing David wanted was control, but he knew how that sounded so he just nodded, just said, "Yeah, this is good." When Brendan still looked uncertain, he added, "Please," putting every ounce of sincerity he had into that one word.

Catching his lower lip between his teeth in the perfect stereotypical picture of concentration, Brendan nodded and pushed forward slowly with his hips, urging David's thighs wider until David could feel the press and glide of Brendan's dick sliding into him, and it was both exactly the same as and entirely different from every time he'd been fucked before. The angles were all wrong, but it didn't take him long to adjust, his hips synching with Brendan's as Brendan rocked into him.

As David trembled through another orgasm, Brendan kept up a steady rhythm, whispering, "Yeah, that's it. Come on," against his temple and pressing open-mouthed kisses across his cheek and jaw. When the last of the aftershocks had faded, Brendan slowed and stopped, brushing a lock of hair from David's forehead before taking his mouth in a kiss that was wet and hot and left David panting as much as his climax had.

"Anything else you want to try while we're here?" Brendan asked with the hint of a smile.

Everything, David thought, and Freya laughed, then offered him one of his own fantasy images: her straddling Brendan, his hands on her hips as she fucked herself on his dick. David drew a shuddering breath. That'll work, he acknowledged. Aloud, he said, "You said something about me on top?"

The look blossomed into a full-fledged dirty grin. "Hang on," Brendan said, sliding his arms around David's back and then rolling them over in one smooth move.

David straightened up, finding his balance and shifting his hips a little. Brendan hummed approvingly, and so David did it again, flattening his hands against Brendan's stomach and taking the opportunity to explore while he had him pinned. He ran his fingers through the thick, dark hair on Brendan's chest, following the trail down as it narrowed. Brendan's hands slid up David's thighs to his hips, grip tightening as he held David still and thrust upward, sending through him a jolt of something that wasn't quite pain but wasn't quite anything else David had experienced before, either.

Brendan was watching David's responses, his eyes heavy-lidded with arousal. At David's gasped "oh, yeah," he repeated the move, his rhythm slow and steady and driving David crazy with wanting just a little more, a little faster, a little harder. Brendan's hands kept him in check, though, holding him still and making him take things at the pace Brendan had set.

This time his orgasm surprised him, having built so slowly and subtly that he didn't realize how close he was until he was already coming.

Letting go of David's hips, Brendan spread his arms wide. "Your turn," he said. "Do whatever you'd like."

When David hesitated, Freya said, May I? Backing off, David let her slip back into control. She showed him how to roll her hips just right, the move drawing a breathy moan from Brendan, who looked up into their eyes in confusion. Freya slipped away, leaving David in charge again just as Brendan said, "Freya?"

David laughed. "She was giving me a quick dancing lesson," he said, mimicking—to good effect—the move Freya had demonstrated.

"This is possibly the weirdest sex I've ever had." Brendan shook his head, but he was smiling, too.

"Not the worst then?" David asked lightly.

That got a laugh from both Brendan and Freya. "No," Brendan said. "The worst would be the first time Freya and I had sex. I'll tell you about it later." He emphasized the last word with a twitch of his hips.

"Pushy," David said. "You'd think you hadn't already come three times. Oh, wait, that was me. I guess it is your turn, then, huh?" He practiced Freya's move a couple of times until he was satisfied he could do it and focus on something else at the same time, then leaned forward and caught one of Brendan's nipples in his mouth, sucking gently. The hitch in Brendan's breathing was encouraging, and he moved to the other nipple, scraping his teeth over it then sucking a little harder and flicking his tongue against the hard nub at the same time. The hands that had been stroking easily along his sides and back suddenly curved around his shoulders, holding him still as Brendan came.

When Brendan released his grip, David shifted until he could lie next to him, Brendan's arm loose around his shoulder and his own hand resting on Brendan's chest. Brendan hummed contentedly, and David took a quick mental inventory: there was a disconcertingly sticky wetness between his legs, he was sore in places he didn't actually own, and he felt like he'd finished a heavy-duty workout and was floating along on the resulting endorphin high. All in all, he was good. Very good.

Not bad for your first dance, Freya told him, and he smiled.

As Brendan's breathing evened out under his palm, though, he suddenly felt like this was too intimate, like he was intruding on a moment he had no right to be part of. Thank you, he told Freya as he gave over control to her and slipped away without waiting for a response.

When David opened his eyes, it was to the sight of Freya's dimly lit bedroom ceiling. His body felt like he'd just woken, muscles sluggish and unwilling to move on short notice. He stretched and yawned, slowly becoming aware of the insistent ache of an erection pressing against the zipper of his jeans. It was an odd sensation: feeling fully satiated after multiple orgasms, and yet having his body tell him that he wasn't satisfied at all, that he hadn't come even once.

He unbuttoned his jeans and slid the zipper down, trailing his fingertips along the length of his erection on the way back up to the waistband of his briefs. Pausing there for a minute, he let himself sink into the remembered feel of Brendan's dick in his mouth, hard and hot and slick, and the taste of him, sweat-salty skin with a hint of bitter precome. He shoved his jeans and underwear down, suddenly impatient with his original idea of taking it slow. The sensation of his hand wrapped around his dick, stroking with the perfect pressure and the perfect rhythm, was even better than usual, as if the time he'd spent in Freya's body had heightened his own responses. It didn't hurt that his jerk-off fantasies were now grounded in reality, with detail so vivid that it took his breath away.

He came hard and fast to the memory of Brendan saying his name in a voice roughened by desire.

fait accompli
What is life but the angle of vision? A man is measured by the angle at which he looks at objects. What is life but what a man is thinking of all day? This is his fate and his employer. Knowing is the measure of the man. By how much we know, so much we are.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
A/N: This story was started by Libitina, who took the assignment and had the pretty mental pictures. She wrote and wrote and still had scraps and missing chunks and wandering POVs come deadline. But she'd talked about the story with Zoë Rayne, and damn those were some infectious pretty mental pictures. So Zoë gathered up the threads and completely reworked it, and it is only due to her that it was finished near deadline.

Zoë's addendum: Very infectious mental pictures, indeed. *g* Thanks to libitina for letting me dive in and get my hands dirty *koff*, to isiscolo for her patience, and my most sincere apologies to darth_begbie for the lateness of the story; I hope it suits. It got kind of out of control, length-wise. *g*

Disclaimer: Not ours, which is kind of a pity as we'd let them have a lot more fun than their respective owners did.