Disclaimer: I don’t own him. If I did, I would treat him right! You hear me, JJ & Co. ?

This fic contains a whole lot of Will love. An NC-17 amount of Will love, actually, so consider yourself warned. If you think you may be offended by either the NC-17 content, or the fact that it is Will with NC-17 content, STOP READING NOW. Please.

This one is for Jenai, and Jess. They know why. (And special extra thanks to Jess, because she woudn’t let it go, and is the best beta, like, ever.)

Due to the nature of this story, I would prefer it to NOT be archived anywhere without my permission! E-mail me with questions.

Published 3-10-02

She opened up to him with a faint gasp, and the tensing of her sleekly muscled thigh against his hip was enough to make tears spring to his eyes. Nothing in his whole life had ever felt as good as this felt. Her right hand was on his back, and she shifted so he slid deeper inside her. Her left hand tangled in his blonde curls, cradled his head as she whispered, “Will.” Sydney pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him. She tasted even better than she did the first time she kissed him. He closed his brilliant blue eyes tight, because this had to be a dream, and he was not prepared to wake up yet.

He can’t remember what insane turn of events led the two of them to her bed. They must have been drinking. Tequila was the best thing ever. He must remember to buy cases of tequila the next time he was out shopping. Maybe she had gone crazy. Maybe she had finally realized that no one could ever love her as much as he loved her. Whatever happened (don’t know, don’t care), he was here with her now. He wanted this moment to last forever, as her hips lifted to meet him, her flat stomach pressed against his. She whispered something to him, but his head was spinning, and he kissed her so he didn’t have to answer. Kissing Sydney was enough to drive all other thoughts from his mind, possibly forever. He kissed her the way he had wanted to from practically the first minute he met her. Long, slow, deep kisses, her tongue in his mouth, her breasts pushing into his chest. He moaned into her mouth. He was drowning in her, dizzy with the taste of her.

He pulled back for a minute, watching her. Sydney’s dark doe eyes were closed, and her cheeks were flushed. She was breathing in little pants. He brought his hand up and traced her cheekbone, the curve of her lower lip. She caught his thumb in her mouth and sucked, her tongue wet and hot against the pad of his finger, and he had to smother a whimper.

As good as it felt, and it felt unbelievably good, he wanted more. He wanted as much of Sydney as he was allowed to have. He wanted to touch every bit of her, taste her, and see her respond. He pulled away from her, out of her. She made a little sound, little cry of protest. She started to sit up, but he pushed her back, his hand sliding between her breasts. He paused, knelt, looked down at her, drank her in. Her brown eyes fluttered open, and she held him still with her gaze for a long second. Then she broke the look, smiled up at him. Her face lit with one of those priceless, heart-stopping, Sydney smiles, and he beamed back, unable to stop himself. His chest felt like it was going to burst from his love for her. He had to kiss her again, once, twice, three times, and she laughed. Making her laugh felt almost as good as making her moan. He kissed down her throat, while his fingers traced a path for his mouth to follow. He cupped her breasts in his palms; the curve fit his hand perfectly. She fit him perfectly. He had always known she would. He pressed his face to the plane of her belly, felt the muscles shift under his cheek. He breathed in her scent, closed his eyes, and reveled in just being with her. Finally being with her.

His azure eyes open.

Pain. Bright light. What the hell is that noise? The phone. Where is the damn phone?

“Uh, hello?”

Jesus, my head is going to explode. Maybe it already did. Why am I face down on concrete?

“What are you doing?”

Oh, god.

“Syd?”

No, no, no. This is not happening. I cannot talk to you right now. Sydney. The I’m-not-dreaming-this-is-reality Sydney. The Sydney who does not love me.

“Are you sleeping?”

No, not sleeping, not….not….doing anything I thought I was doing. Not doing anything I can tell you about.

“Uh, no, no…. I’m, uh…I’m working.”

“Are you all right? ‘Cause you sound like hell!”

My cheek hurts like hell, my ribs are aching, and I think I might throw up, but you don’t need to know anything about that. Change the subject.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. How – how are you doing?”

Great, just great. I’m great, Sydney. Passed out in the middle of nowhere, having intense sexual fantasies about you, getting death threats and fearing for the safety of my family and friends, but really, I’m fine.

Do not even think of saying that, Tippin.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

Where am I? A school? An old gym? What the hell? What day is it? Who were those assholes in masks?

“Why?”

“I know we talked about going to “North By Northwest,” but there’s this dinner at my boss’s house, and I can’t get out of it…. You’re mad.”

She’s waiting for you to say something…. what the hell are we talking about? Just say something, anything, get off the phone, get yourself together.

“Uh, no, no…I uh, I’ve go to a meeting, though.”

“Will you come with me? They said I could bring a guest. Will you be my guest?”

Yeah. I will be your guest. I will go anywhere you want me to go, do anything you want me to do, be anyone you want me to be.

All I can say is, “Yes.”

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