The Guy Thing 9/18:  Riley's Mind Wanders

Riley kept his eyes shut fiercely, but despite his best efforts to think of
something else, anything else, he found his mind wandering back to the same
fantasy, the one that had been dogging him for days.

"And so I'm doing a run, keeping up the training that I had in the military,
just keeping it going, and I decide to just change my usual route and I'm
going for distance and head out along the old highway east of town, some
hills, but nothing too serious, and I'm  just kind of into the run, just
moving at a slow steady rhythm, yeah into the rhythm of it, steady moving
muscles in time to my heartbeat, keeping the breathing nice and regular,
muscles pumping nice and regular, keeping the rhythm going . . .  just keep
the rhythm going . . .  gotta keep the rhythm going.

"And I come over the top of a hill and see that there's this construction
site, and as I come closer, I see him there, working with this other guy,
cutting some 2-by-4s, and he's clearly in charge, but grinning and joking
with the other guy, moving nice and easily.  And I stop at the edge of the
site and just watch him as he picks up the circular saw and cuts the board,
his bicep tensing as he does, he's slightly bent over, so I can't see his
face, just the hard hat, and he's filling out that T-shirt really nicely,
and there's something about a man who knows what he's doing, and he finishes
the cut, and turns off the saw and steps back, and pulls off the safety
goggles and nods to his helper guy, who picks up the 2-by-4s and puts them
over his shoulder and carries them into the building.

"And he takes off his hard hat, and puts in on the saw-horse, and takes hold
of the bottom of his T-shirt and bends over slightly and wipes the sweat
from his forehead with the bottom of the T-shirt, but all I see is his bare
torso.  Not a gym-built 6-pack, but an honest working man's naturally hard
stomach.  And he looks up and sees me standing there staring and grins and
picks up his hard hat and gives me a wave with it as he puts it back on.

"He walks over towards me, not a cocky strut, but with a self-assurance that
I'm maybe not used to seeing, but it's like he's on his turf now, totally
comfortable and at ease.  And I walk towards him and we meet more or less
half way.  And he stands there with this totally friendly smile, hands on
his hips, and I can't help it, my eyes follow the lines of his arms from his
shoulders down to his hips and to his . . .

"'Hey,' he says

"'Hey,' I'm not really sure what I want to say.  Except that maybe, I'm glad
to see him, and I like that smile.

"He brings his left arm up, and I'm looking at his forearm as he's looking
at his watch.    He looks up and catches me looking.   There's a hint of a
smile on his face as he speaks.  'It's lunchtime.  Wanna grab something?'

"And that sounds like an invitation, but I'm not sure, but I say 'Sure.' and
he nods and says something about checking in with his crew and he trots back
into the building and I watch him move so easily and nicely, and I really
realize that I am pretty turned on by all this.  And I'm breathing kinda
heavy and trying to maintain a little calm.  So I walk steadily over to the
saw-horse where he was just working and pick up the saw he was just using,
and it's still warm, and I'm finding that . . .  interesting.  And I pick up
the goggles, with his sweat on them and I have to resist the urge the lick
them. . .  just to taste him.

"And he comes back out as the lunch whistle blows, comes back over to me,
and I look at him and I know what I want for lunch.  So I look at him and he
understands and he nods at the trailer and says something about the boss
being at a meeting with the architect, so the trailer's empty, and he leads
the way, and I'm following him, and that feels really right somehow, that I
should be following him.  And he opens the door and walks in and I follow
him in, and he leans against the table and puts his hands on the edge of the
table beside him and I am just kind of drinking in the sight of him.

"And for a second I hesitate, but I reach over and run my hand across his
chest, feeling his body through the tee-shirt, and he looks a little
surprised, but not displeased, but he doesn't move, waiting to see what I'm
gonna do.  And I lean in and kiss him and he kisses me back pretty deeply,
and I'm holding his sides, and bending over slightly so our heads are at the
same level and, man, that kiss is just so electric, and I can't help myself,
my right hand slowly moves down to his crotch and I gently feel the outline
of his cock through the khakis he's wearing and it's growing stiff in my
hand, and as we kiss, I unzip his pants, and reach in, and have to maneuver
a bit round his boxers before I can touch it, feel it, hold it.  and he
stiffens more, and lets out a little groan, and it's low and deep, and I
know what I gotta do, what I need to do, and break the kiss and slowly move
down running my nose along the sweaty tee-shirt, smelling him on it and even
on my knees, I've got to bend over a bit to take him in my mouth.  He gets
even harder as I run my tongue around his cockhead.  I start to tease him a
bit, pulling my mouth back a bit and letting my tongue dart out and flick
against his cock.

"But he's having none of that.  He pulls me up and pushes me face-down
across the desk, and yanks my running shorts down, and holding my waist
tightly pushes inside me and without any preliminaries starts to buck into
me.  Hard and fast and deep.  And I'm feeling more excited than I've ever
felt before, and my eyes are squeezed shut and my hands are gripping the
edge of the desk tightly, and I can't believe he is fucking me, but he is. .
.

"And he reaches underneath me and he grabs my cock, and wraps his fist
around it, holding my cock and I thrust into his fist as he grinds into me,
my hands holding the far edge of the desk, and I can feel my heart racing,
and his moaning and his pelvis starts to really buck into me, I can feel my
heart beating so hard, that I am afraid that it will burst, and he whispers
my name, and that's almost enough to make me come then and there.

"And his free hand is on my shoulder, gripping tightly, almost pulling me
onto him, almost being rough, but being gentle at the same time, and his
breathing quickens and through the hand on my shoulder, I can feel him
starting to tense and I know he's close to the edge, and he grabs my head by
the hair and pulls it back, and  I close my eyes and wait for it, and thrust
into his fist and let loose, feeling my entire body tense as every muscle
quivers and shudders, and I have that moment when the entire world stops, my
heart stops, breathing stops and I lose myself completely."

With that image in his mind's eye, Riley drove hard into Buffy, feeling her
body convulse as his last thrusts sent her over the edge, feeling her nails
digging into his back, hearing her sudden intake of breath.  He lay atop her
for a long minute, his muscles tensed, his back slightly arched, holding his
breath involuntarily as he listened to her panting, knowing he had sent her
over the edge as well.

Riley rolled over and lay back in the bed, still breathing hard, with a huge
satisfied grin on his face, masking the doubts he was carrying inside.

Buffy rolled over on her side, and ran a hand across his chest, and grinned
at him.  "Are you sure you don't still have a secret stash of those
initiative drugs?"

He smiled sheepishly at her, and put his arm around her as she put her head
on his chest and closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Riley lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell was going
on.

=========================================
 

The next morning Buffy met Willow for their last minute pre-midterm cram
plus caffeine session at the Espresso Pump.

Willow gave her the raised eyebrow smirk,
"Someone had a good time last night."  she kidded.

Buffy smiled and gave half a nod.  Willow grinned at her.  "I want a full
report later, but right now, it's serious cramming time."

As the two drank mochas and poured over the text, one of the busboys
sauntered nonchalantly over to the radio, and surreptitiously changed the
station from the usual jazz lite to a Latino station.  The announcer's voice
blared:

"Y ahorrra rrregresamos a nuestrrra progrrramación de música frrrontera, con
este tema de los Texas Tornados"

Buffy turned around to scowl at the guy, but he looked so pleased with
himself that she had to smile.  Besides anything was better than Kenny G.
She vaguely listened to the song, which at least was in English

             // Who were you thinkin' of
             // when we were makin' love
             //  last night?

             //  Was it a good-lookin' stranger
             //  or a close friend of mine?

Buffy shivered.

"What's the matter, Buffy?"

"Ever have that feeling like someone's just walked on your grave?

Willow shivered sympathetically, "Ohh, I *hate* that!"

             // Who were you thinkin' of
             // when I was makin' love
             // to you?

             // There was a smile on your face
             // I ain't seen in some time. . .

"And I *hate* this song!"

Willow was getting slightly annoyed.  "Right, Mexican country music is of
the bad.  No more sidetracking, Buffy:  mid-term in one hour 46 minutes, and
counting. . . "

"Right, French Revolution:  Reign of terror or good clean fun?"

============================================
NOTES:
1. Yet another obscure song-fic.  From the Tex-Mex conjunto (think Texas
Country with a Mexican flavour), los Texas Tornados, who usually sing in
Spanish:  but this time, it's actually a song in English!  We still live in
an age of miracles. <g>
2.  "We return now to our program of Border Music with this one from the
Texas Tornadoes."  And yeah, Mexican radio announcers do that super trilling
or the 'r's thing.
3. Yeah, I know no one ever speaks Spanish on BtVS.  But every time *I* go
to southern California, I end up speaking way more Spanish than English, so
the lack of  Spanish on the show just feels wrong to me.  So I just put some
in.  So there.  <g>  (¿De dónde eres? ese.  -- Canadiense soy, pues.)
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