by Xochiquetzl

Mouse finally gets up for a coffee break, standing and stretching and padding off barefooted towards the kitchen. He avoids my eyes, like that's going to keep me from watching him. I watch him drink his coffee--it's a sign of exactly how bored I am that I watch him drink the entire cup. On his way back to the biosequencer, I shove him into the wall.

"Wait, what? Don't," he says, struggling.

I roll my eyes and kiss him. His lips are hard, resistant.

"This is a bad idea."

"Emmeline's unconscious," I say. "I'm bored." I kiss him again. He tastes like hotel coffee and mortality.

"Nice," he says. "Look, I don't really want to be the entertainment." His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes look away, to the side and down, under long lashes.

"Well," I say, "it's not like you're particularly useful, is it? You should serve some purpose."

I've made him angry; I can tell by the set of his jaw. That makes me smile. I kiss a soft trail along his tight jawline. He shivers a little under my lips.

"It's just sex, Christian," I say. "You like sex, don't you?"

I don't wait for an answer, I just pull his shirt off. I can smell his anger, fear, and arousal. When I kiss him again, his body arches against mine in what feels like an involuntary way.

Yes. I want him naked, vulnerable, helpless. I want that spark of will to bend to mine. "Tell me you want me," I say.

He shakes his head, but I know he does. I can feel it. It's not just the hard cock pressed into my leg, it's his dark, dark eyes and the way they avoid mine.

"How long has it been?" I ask, my voice soft, low, and I know he's thinking, Too long. My hands run down his chest, along his ribs. I lean over and kiss back up his jawline, to his ear, and slide my tongue into his ear. My hands slide down towards his jeans, my fingers slipping under the waistband. He flinches.

"Well, if you're not interested," I say, pulling away.

He gasps. I was expecting a whimper or a moan, but he must have better self-control than I expected from him. I laugh anyway.

He glares at me.

"Or are you?" I'm back in his face, and then I kiss him again and his hands grab me, pull me closer.

I laugh again, and he makes a noise deep in his throat and reaches for my jacket. I grab him, rub up against him, and he arches against me, rubs back.

He does like sex. Such a sensuous wriggle. I had no idea, none.

I let go of his hands and pull off my jacket and shirt. He's still watching me with that intoxicating combination of lust and fear, so I keep stripping. I think for a moment that he'll bolt. I'd rather he didn't; if I force him I won't get the sensuous wriggling and delicious struggle between his desire to run and his desire for me.

I step closer, and reach down to unbutton his jeans. He's watching me like I'm some kind of wild animal that could turn on him at any moment. Like he can't believe he's doing this.

I pull his jeans and underwear down. He doesn't move. I glare up at him until he steps out of them.

"What if she wakes up?" he asks, glancing towards the bed.

"She'd probably want to watch."

He blushes again, and I kiss him, hard. He kisses me back and tries to shove me back against the wall, to swap our places. His kiss is so fierce that I almost let him. He makes a soft, frustrated noise.

My hands slide down his body to his hips. I hiss, "I could break you in two."

He glares at me, defiant. I grab his hands, pull them over his head, and pin them there with one hand. With the other, I grab his cock.

His breath is hard, his eyes half-closed. He tries to pull his hands free.

"Tell me you want me," I say.

"Fuck."

I start to stroke his cock, my hand teasing, gentle. My voice isn't teasing or gentle at all. "Say it."

He shakes his head, looks away, blushes. "You're such a..."

I kiss him before he can finish the sentence. His words trail off into a low moan, and he arches into my hand, and I'm utterly seduced. I let go of his hands, because I want to know what he'll do with them, and he immediately winds one in my hair, pulls me closer, reaches for my cock... "Yes."

We're kissing again, and it's passionate, almost sweet, almost like he loves me. For a moment I'm touched by that, but it doesn't last. He hates me. It's just a fuck. It's too easy to be distracted by his sensuous squirming and his hands and his soft lips. And his breath, loud and hot.

Mother's breath, breathed into these creatures of clay.

For a moment I can't believe how much I want this little clay puppet. I could snap him like a twig, and instead I'm panting under his hand and tenderly licking all traces of coffee out of his mouth, and he's moaning and writhing and fuck, his hand is more skillful than I expected, and his moans and the feel of his body against mine are so good. And then he cries out, and my hand is wet, and the smell of it and the way he clings to me, oh, yes....

I pull away and glance at Emmeline. She's still lying there, drooling. "Get back to work."

He glares at me, with an expression of disbelief. I just smile.

"Fine," he says, and grabs his clothes.

END