Anyway, I'm trying to exorcize the Maria hate I'm feeling at the mo. So, yes, she's a bitch in this, probably more so than in reality. Do I care? Not really. I don't think I'm gonna' post this anywhere, it just is what it is.

Oh, also, this is like porn. I'd call it smut, but it's like way beyond that. I'm not really sure what's wrong with me, I've never written anything that's nearly this graphic. Half of the time it sounds like a cheesy romance novel

He watched her pack that night. Saying nothing, giving no indication of his presence, he stood in fear outside her windowsill and as she piled her clothes into suitcases. She seemed to be taking everything she owned: framed pictures, notebooks he knew were full of song lyrics, even her alarm clock. When he finally realized what it all meant—when he finally saw the truth—he’d backed away from her window, and tripped out of her yard, running for his bike.

She was leaving.

The thought raced through his mind over and over as the wind whipped through his un-helmeted hair. This wasn’t a quick trip, and it wasn’t a one-time thing. She was leaving. For good.

He slammed open the door of his apartment to find Max sitting on the sofa with a lost expression on his face.

“She left,” Max whispered.

“What?”

“Liz. She left.”

He didn’t know what to say to someone else in misery. Scratching his head, he leaned against the doorjamb. Liz was leaving too. It was a mass exodus.

“Where did she go?”

“East.”

“Mine too.”

Max looked up at him, sympathy temporarily replacing the misery on his face. They remained locked in their positions, sharing a companionable silence. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be; this wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“Michael?” Max asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow your bike?”

“Uh, I guess….”

“Thanks,” Max said as rose and started to walk toward the door.

“Wear a helmet, man,” he said firmly, placing a hand on his friend’s chest to halt his exit.

“Ok.” Nodding, Max continued on out the door.

The apartment seemed eerily quiet now that he was alone. He thought about turning on his stereo, but thought better of it. Instead, he walked to his bed, laying down without undressing.

It was over. There really wasn’t any hope left. She was through with him. The next time he saw her would probably be on MTV.

Sounds of knocking on his door filtered into his angry haze of self-pity. He rolled off the bed and trudged to the door.

And, who else could it be?

This time she at least had the courtesy to look contrite. He opened the door, and she stared at him for a moment.

“Well? Are you gonna’ let me in?” she asked, trying to joke with him.

He let the door swing open and stepped aside for her. She gave him an uneasy look as she walked past, tossing her jacket onto the couch.

She stood in the middle of the room, and swung her arms in an excited motion.

“So,” she said brightly, raising her eyebrows as he walked past her to sit on a bar stool, “I guess I’m going to New York after all.”

He nodded and turned a little so that he could rest his elbow on top of the bar.

The smile that had split her face faltered for a moment, and she cleared her throat, “Look, if you’re still mad at me—.”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” he asked her with a sarcastic smile.

“Michael…”

He could only stare at her.

She shook her head, “I love you so much…”

He suppressed the bitter laugh that came to his lips, guiding his face into a simple smirk instead.

Her eyes were pained as she stepped toward him, reaching out with her fingertips to touch his cheek.

Really, he should have moved away. He should have turned his head to the side, pulled back, flinched— anything. He never should have held perfectly still so that he wouldn’t miss her touch.

“Oh, Michael…”

On her lips, his name was a weapon—one that he had no defense for.

He tried to remember what it was like to push her away. It had been easy once. That was when he was trying to protect her, though, when there were good reasons for them to be apart. He tried to remember his old convictions. They were all he used to cling to. Why had he let them go? He’d been right, after all, he never should have let her in.

Her fingers were soft and warm on his cheek. As usual, her touch heated him. He was hard. A few seconds, and already he was hard. It wasn’t fair.

“Have fun in the big city,” he whispered hoarsely, willing his eyes not to close as she brushed the hair off his forehead.

“Michael.”

She looked a little lost. Her eyes were wide, and, for a moment, he let himself believe that she did love him. Maybe she did. Maybe…

Her lips moved wordlessly, and she leaned forward, brushing his mouth with a light kiss. He wasn’t this stupid. He wasn’t going to let this happen again. He wasn’t deluded, not this time.

His hands ignored his reason, and reached out for her. Pulling her closer, he pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth was still at first as he softly pressed against it. As he increased the pressure, she began to respond, her arms snaking around his neck. Lightly, he licked her lips, teasing her until she opened them, until she brought his tongue inside her mouth to roughly caress it with her own.

A moan, unbidden, unwanted, escaped from his throat. He stood, and pulled her tightly against him, pressing on the small of her back so that she could feel him against her: hard, needy, desperate…vulnerable….

Deep down, he knew he should stop this. She was really leaving this time— physically leaving. It was over. Big dreams and bright lights had more to offer than he did. Sex wasn’t going to induce her to stay. The only thing sex would do was decimate him.

He helped her pull his shirt over his head.

Insistent fingers worked on his fly while he scraped his teeth on her earlobe. She leaned her head to the side so that he could press hot kisses down her neck. He licked his lips, opening his mouth to taste the milky white flesh of her shoulder. Needing to feel her naked skin against his, he pulled on the shoulders of her button down shirt, vaguely noting the sound of fabric ripping as he removed it from her body. Braless. Perfect.

She let out a gasp as he ran his hands across her back, slipping his fingers into the waist of her skirt to slide it down over her hips. Placing her hands gently on his chest, she moved backward, stepping out of the skirt pooled at her feet. Nude, except for a silky green thong, she stood with lust in her eyes awaiting his perusal.

He couldn’t take his eyes from her. His gaze swept over her in slow desperation.

Another final night. Another last time. Somehow, this one was more difficult to face. That time he hadn’t known everything. He hadn’t known what he would be missing.

Now, he knew.

He knew the feel of her skin mated to his. He knew how she felt, how she tasted. He knew how she curled his body against his when she had a bad dream. He knew her sleepy morning smile.

Knowing made separation terrifying, but it also made her impossible to resist.

Kicking off his pants, he stepped toward her with a hungry growl, trying not to see the satisfaction in her eyes. He let his arms wrap all of the way around her, then let them glide down the sides of her body, brushing lightly against the sides of her small breasts, her waist, her hips. She gripped his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair as she pulled his mouth down to hers, meeting him in a fierce kiss. Without releasing him, she began to back toward his bed in the corner alcove. They moved awkwardly, holding each other too tightly, kissing too hungrily, to see where they were going.

Breaking the kiss when he felt her leg hit the side of the bed, he turned them and let himself fall back on the tousled sheets, pulling her down on top of him.

“Michael,” she whispered frantically, as he ran his fingers under the seams of her last tiny garment while he nibbled on her neck.

One of her hands snaked inside his boxers, grasping his length too firmly, making him pull his lips from her and gasp. Her tiny smile held familiarity as she moved her knees down to the bed on either side of his hips and sat up. With a flourish, she grabbed the waistband of his underwear and tugged them down, sharply, causing him a moment of pain as they violently scratched past his most sensitive skin. He finished the job for her, pulling the boxers down with his feet, and sending them flying with a flick of his ankle.

She leaned forward then, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she ground herself down against him. The wet material of her thong evidenced her desire, sending a thrill through his body. She still wanted him. If nothing else, at least she still wanted him. He should be grateful for that.

His hands wandered up her body, and with his thumbs, he flicked both of her erect nipples at once, causing her to throw her head back as she exhaled sharply. Slowly, he brushed his thumbs in slow circles around their stiffened peaks as she continued her agonizing movement against his hardness. Bringing his forefingers into play, he began to roll the tips almost roughly. She shuddered as his attention to her breasts became more demanding, the rosy flesh of her nipples swelling more, somehow becoming even more engorged. He had to taste them. Sitting up quickly, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her toward him as he brought his mouth to her left breast. For a moment, he teased the nipple with his tongue, but as she ground down hard against him, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling it fully into his mouth, sucking hungrily on the hardened peak as she threaded her fingers into his hair and let out a lusty moan that sent shivers of desire down his spine.

Caught up in his frenzied ministrations, he didn’t notice her hand slipping between their bodies until she had grasped his erection, trying with one hand to push aside the thong and move him into her. He didn’t help her, but moved his head back to watch her instead. Her eyes were closed, her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she urgently brought him to her entrance.

The angle was wrong, and he knew it, but he liked the sight of her frustration as she tried to push herself down onto him once she felt that the head of his cock was nestled inside her. Her struggle was becoming painful for him, so he laid back and she quickly moved forward, impaling herself on him. The shuddering groan that she released brought him out of the euphoria that always clouded his brain when he was first sheathed within her. He reached out and gripped her thong, using his powers to rip it from her body before she could move, then digging his fingers into her hips, pulling her tighter down onto him. In reality, he had barely moved deeper, but the psychological effect was intoxicating. Being inside her, deep inside her, feeling her body in a way no one else had—it was its own rush.

Rebelling against his halting grip, she pulled up sharply, leaning back and placing her hands behind her on his thighs for leverage as she tipped her head back and began to ride him. He kept his hands on her hips, stopping her from pulling too far up as she rose almost to the tip of him, then sank back down, over and over and over again.

He swelled inside her as he let his gaze drift down from her breasts, to her small patch of dark curls, and then, finally, to the place where they were joined. The erotic sight of her body accepting his length was bringing him to a heightened arousal. He seemed to feel every minute striation of her slick inner walls, the velvety heat of her bringing him to an awareness of her body that he’d never experienced before. Even in the midst of their union, even through his pleasure filled haze, he couldn’t forget that this would be their last time, and his body, of its own accord, was memorizing her.

She had quickened her pace, her breathing labored as she began taking him hard and fast. Still holding her firmly, he began to thrust upward to meet her. Her grip on his thighs tightened, and he was sure her nails had broken his skin when she ground down on him frantically, the initial contractions of her orgasm laying waste to their rhythm.

“Michael!” she cried out as she came, her muscles clamping down on him, making him feverish. She rode out her climax with a few final movements, then almost stilled atop him, falling forward almost weakly against his chest.

Knowing the drill, he wrapped his arms around her and quickly rolled them over so that she was under him. She mewed softly, watching him as he began to move within her. Her body was quiet, almost unresponsive. It was an unnerving moment, feeling as though he was imposing on her with his need to continue. As he pulled one of her legs further up his hip, she let her eyes drift shut as though to rest. He didn’t understand why she seemed to lose interest. It was almost impossible to keep going. Couldn’t she still feel him inside her? Didn’t it affect her?

Trying to keep his erection, he began to pound into her, racing to get off—pretending that she still wanted him.

And, this was how they would end.

Or not…

Sliding his hand away from her thigh, he laid it flat on her pelvis, and dipped his thumb into her folds. Her clit was there, still swollen with arousal, waiting for his touch. For a moment he regretted that he hadn’t tasted it before they began, that he hadn’t slipped his tongue into her before they reached this stage. Something told him that she wouldn’t let him when they were through. With the first touch of his thumb her hips bucked, and her eyes flew open. He let his touch turn to a push, and her back arched as she hissed as if in pain. Her eyes took on a wild look, and her legs wrapped almost reflexively around his waist.

Now, his penetration was deeper, and he leaned down over her, resting his forearms on either side of her head. His face was only an inch from her own, their sweat slicked bodies touching as he began to thrust deeply, jarringly, into her, the head of his cock hitting the entrance of her womb. Their proximity was almost suffocating, but he didn’t move away, just stared into her eyes as she writhed beneath him, bringing her hips up to allow him as much access as was possible. She was gritting her teeth, her nails digging into his buttocks, her legs insistent around his waist—as if to drag him in, to pull him deeper with every thrust. Her eyes narrowed, and she moved her head up to press her forehead to his, almost in anger, almost as if she hated him. Or as if she wanted to.

She couldn’t, though. She couldn’t hate him. And that, at least, was something.

His climax began then, a lightening bolt along his nerve endings as his testicles began to tighten. He thrust hard, bringing his mouth down to hers for one last kiss. Keeping their lips together, he thrust again, beginning to come. This was it, he felt himself shooting into her. One more thrust, and it was happening, electricity beginning to run between them. A final thrust, and he held himself tight against her, grinding himself into her as his cock continued to spasm, giving her the last of himself as the climax took on a life of its own, shooting through his body and hers in a blood pounding woosh that would leave them both incapacitated for a while.

Remembering to move off of her before it completely took hold of him, they laid side by side and let it finish them off.

There was a lump in his throat when he felt her move off the bed a few minutes later, as usual, she had recovered before him. His head still spinning, he turned to see her retrieve what remained of her underwear before she continued out into the other room.

It was a struggle, but he managed to sit up, letting the scent of her— of them—wash over him. Standing with some difficulty, he pulled on his boxers before walking into the living room to watch her dress.

“I love you,” he said simply, not having the strength to keep the truth inside.

She hesitated, turning too look at him with an almost apologetic look, “I love you, too, but I have to leave,” she said, turning away and picking up her battered shirt, “I need to get home. We’re leaving in a few hours.”

He stared at her as she pulled on her jacket, and shoved her shirt into her pocket. He was waiting for her to tell him that she was sorry to go, that leaving him wasn’t what she wanted. She would follow her dreams, he knew, she’d been saying that she would, but he wanted to know that he mattered, that she’d at least miss him.

Now, she was setting off for parts unknown. She wouldn’t be without friends where she was going. He wouldn’t think about that, though. He’d been wrong to ever think that someone else had come between them, that she would have let someone else touch her, she wouldn’t have done that to him.

She just wanted to leave. She wanted her dream more than she wanted him. She wanted what he’d always wanted for her: freedom from the insanity that was his life. This was her big chance, and he couldn’t begrudge her. Even if it hurt like hell, he had to make himself let her go.

Seeming to read his thoughts, she shook her head as though to defend the actions she was taking and said softly, “We both knew that someday this would happen.”

He could only meet her gaze as she pleaded silently with him for something he couldn’t understand. Did she want forgiveness? Permission? Anger? He couldn’t speak, so it didn’t really matter what she wanted, she wasn’t going to get it.

Their good-bye was silent as her eyes filled with tears and she started toward the door. Just like that, she was gone. No fanfare, no pause, no words—just the sight of her body slipping out into the night.

There was no reason to stay where he was, so he made his way back to his bed. Lacing his hands behind his head, he let the final effects of his orgasm dull his senses.

When he heard the door open, he almost hoped that it was her, but wasn’t really surprised when he heard Max curse after bumping into something in the dark.

The light that filtered in through the window showed Max’s form coming to a stop in the entryway to the alcove.

He heard Max sniff, and glanced his way again. Not surprisingly, his friend a knowing look in his eyes, the scent of sex was heavy in the room. Michael shrugged off the unasked question. At least she’d used his body one last time. He didn’t need to ask to know that Max hadn’t even had that much.

Left behind. They should both have it tattooed on their foreheads. He knew he should at least have “sucker” inked somewhere. That song old song by The Offspring suddenly didn’t seem very funny anymore. Maybe he didn’t have any self-esteem.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” his friend said. “I just can’t believe it’s possible.”

“I know,” he whispered almost inaudibly as he stared up at the ceiling.

If there was one thing he could do over, just one thing he could take back, he’d have stopped her from breaking into his life. He’d have stopped her from teaching him that it was so much worse breathing on your own…all alone.

THE END