Back in Circulation
by Pic
Series: Yes, Real People, Running On Empty and An Evening To Remember follow.
Rated: A
Pairing: Anson Greene/Other - Het fic
Spoilers: Minor for Moloney
Summary: Anson is readjusting to not always so polite society.
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters aren't mine.
Author's notes: Merry Christmas, Sue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Six months. To the day. Anson raised his pint of beer in silent toast and took a long enjoyable swallow. It had been six months since they'd told him that he'd passed his psyche eval and released him from prison. Of course, there were conditions on his freedom beyond the typical parole rules.
The worst were the shrink appointments. Those rated higher on the pissing off Anson scale than the pharmacy of meds he was supposed to take each day. Three times a week he'd had to talk about his childhood or whatever while Dr. Blanchard snuck looks at his watch. Anson lifted his glass once again, toasting to the replacement of Dr. Blanchard with Dr. Kerrigin who at least seemed to listen and had a knack for making Anson laugh.
The bartender met his eyes briefly and Anson let his gaze drift to the football game on the television behind the bar. Not caring whether the guy thought he was a Vikings fan, Anson toasted himself again. Breezed through yesterday's appointment and felt good enough to get six pills down to two today. So that he could have a beer or three without Dr. Sidney (call me "Sid") Kerrigin looking askance and shaking his head at him.
"You told Chad you didn't want to see him anymore? Are you nuts, Claire? He's a surgeon for Christ's sake."
Anson smiled at the outburst that came from behind him and toasted the unseen Claire's decision. Liberation for everyone! Libation too!
"I'll take him," another female voice offered. "My mom would die happy if I brought home a surgeon."
Better that than living to see some arrogant bastard make her daughter miserable. After a moment, Anson decided to toast the more desperate girl's mother.
"I won't wish you luck, Kel. He'd be worse for you than he was for me."
Anson sat up straighter and drained his beer. Signaling for the bartender to hit him again, he took a deep breath. Claire had a voice that could make a dead man hard. He was very much alive and certain recently underused parts of his body were suddenly alert.
His public defender had pled the insanity defense and made it stick. Moloney's testimony had sealed the deal. That had meant easier time --no maximum security fuck fest. Anson had been grateful that during those years he'd had nothing but his hand for companionship. The situation had extended to his half year of freedom, though. He whistled and shouted sexual stuff as much as the next guy at the construction site, but that was all bravado from several stories above the ground. When he was off work, Anson went home or, occasionally, to this sports bar.
"What do I want?" Claire's question cut through Anson's self-analysis, riveting his attention. "A man who doesn't need collateral verification of his self-worth from me or anyone else."
How the hell does she make something like "collateral verification" sound sexy?
"That's why I like this place," Claire continued. "It's not full of doctors, lawyers and actors."
The other two women were disagreeing with Claire; Anson was arguing with himself.
Watch the game. I just want to see what she looks like. Watch the game. Just one look over my shoulder, that's all - I swear! Watch the fucking game, Anson.
Reason lost. Anson peeked over his shoulder. The three women at the table off to his right were all high class. Way out of his league with their expensive clothes, perfect make up and jewelry with real gems. Yet his internal battle waged on.
Which one is she? Who cares? They're all off limits. Don't be stupid, you horny moron. Any one of them would grind you under her heels. But which is Claire?
"If you're so convinced that Joe Average is Mr. Right, pick one up tonight and prove it."
Not the little redhead. Which of the blondes? Forget your dick and watch the goddamn game, Greene.
"Kel's right, Claire. Go for it. Show us the true path."
So she's the taller one. So what? Just watch the game. The Packers have the ball on the Vikings eight yard line. Your bet's looking like it's going to pay off. A hundred bucks of easy money.
"What? I have to do an electrician in order to justify my decision about Chad? I don't think so."
Anson silently agreed. Not an electrician. A carpenter. A carpenter would be just fine. Taking another look over his shoulder, Anson raised an eyebrow at the challenging look Claire was giving her friends.
"Tell the truth, Claire," the other blonde countered. "Why did you jettison Chad?"
Claire shrugged, a small secretive smile stealing over her face.
"Is this seat taken?"
Anson's head spun around almost two hundred and seventy degrees until he found himself nearly green eye to blue with a smiling young woman. When her eyes shifted briefly over his shoulder and back again, Anson felt himself starting to blush.
Busted.
[Naughty boy. Go to your bed.]
Need to up the meds, Anson.
"Is anyone sitting here?" the newcomer prompted once more.
"No." Terse reply out of the way, Anson forced himself to stare at the television screen, trying to calm his racing heart, ignore the tightness in his groin and get his mother's voice out of his mind.
Claire disrupted all of those efforts. "All right, keep your voices down. If you must know, I'll tell you. He wouldn't go down on me. He expected me to give him head until he spoke in tongues and swallow every drop when he came, but he wouldn't put his tongue anywhere near my crotch."
Anson imagined positioning Claire on her back, so that he could kneel on the floor at the edge of her bed and give her what Chad the surgeon wouldn't. The thought of her throaty voice begging to come sent a wave of lust coursing through him. Her laughter at something one of her friends said tugged his head back in her direction.
"Some game, huh?"
Words sounding so close to his left ear pivoted Anson the other way again. "What?"
"I'm Sara."
Staring at the hand that the woman who had taken the seat next to him held out, he struggled to order his thoughts. It was then that Anson realized that he was a little buzzed from two plus beers on an empty stomach. And he suspected that some of the fuzzy feeling came from some reaction of the pills he had taken with alcohol. He also noted that Sara was kind of young and had that sickeningly healthy glow that many California coeds did. The way that her t-shirt fit across her chest did little to ease the ache Claire had inspired. Sara's interruption was annoying, but it was difficult to stay mad when she smiled like that. After a long pause, he took her hand and smiled shyly. "Hi, Sara. My name's Anson."
Sara's smile broadened as Claire's confidential tone found its way to Anson's ears.
"What's wrong with wanting someone who knows what to do with his equipment and learns his way around my body? Who can make me scream his name? Or tease me until I beg for more? The 'I've kissed you and fondled your breasts before I climbed on top of you, so what's your problem?' sexual technique doesn't cut it. And once I find that guy, I'm going to make him believe in God when I fuck him."
"Jesus," escaped Anson's lips before he realized that Sara was biting her lip to keep from laughing. "What?"
Greene tried to focus on the girl. He really did, but the damn woman behind him seemed to be talking directly to his cock.
"Men are strange. There isn't a one alive who can keep still if you're both naked and you touch him everywhere but his dick for more than ten minutes. You make it fifteen and he'll be promising roses. Every day for a month. Seventeen its jewelry. At twenty he'll be offering marriage if you'll touch him there. But ask that same guy to do something that he doesn't like for you, he'll get out of bed, risk his future ability to have children stuffing himself back in his pants, storm out and jerk off in his car."
"Is that true, Anson?" Sara asked, her eyes amused.
"What?" Jesus, how many times are you going to say "what" to this girl?
Sara got down from her bar stool and moved closer. Lips brushing his ear, she huskily repeated Claire's words.
Anson's cock pulsed in his jeans.
[Naughty boy.]
"Is it?" Sara punctuated her question by licking his earlobe.
Angry and embarrassed, Anson slid his arm around her waist and pulled Sara against his side and growled, "What are you doing to me?"
To his surprise, she pressed even closer and playfully whispered, "Asking if Ms. Tease has got her facts straight."
"What are you talking about?" Better than just "what." Barely. What the hell are you doing, Greene? Are you just going to let yourself be played? Again!
Draping an arm around his neck and caressing his chest with her other hand, Sara replied, "C'mon, Anson. Every guy within earshot is hanging on her every word, and she's loving every minute of it."
Anger flared again, hotter this time. Anson let it flow, enjoying the familiar feeling. Every woman in his life had just used him until something better came along. His mother had needed him until she married her second husband. His ex-wife had wanted him until until they had that misunderstanding. And and she'd fucked that guy she worked with to make him jealous. Why should a woman who didn't know him from Adam be any different? Breathing faster, Anson looked away from the younger woman, flatly stating, "No way."
"I don't like to disagree with cute guys, but I'm afraid I have to on this one. I've seen those three in here a few times. And watched the performance."
"This is unbelievable," Anson muttered while his anger swelled.
"They've never tried it on a Monday before, though," Sara continued. "I guess they wanted to see if their game was better than football." She paused briefly before adding, "Hey, Anson."
"Hmm?"
"Ease up a little. That hurts."
He mumbled, "Sorry," looking down at the floor when he relaxed his arm. She'd have a bruise on her side, but that didn't seem to faze her. With a combination of reluctance and wariness, Anson released Sara completely, guiding her with the palm of his hand to stand with her back to the bar in front of his bar stool. He was angry enough that Sara's position between his legs didn't really register. When he met her eyes, Anson brusquely asked, "What's their game?"
Slipping her arms around his waist, Sara replied, "Exactly what you're thinking it is."
Eyes narrowing, he nearly snarled, "How do I know that's not your game, too?"
She shrugged. "You don't."
Who needs this? I can get myself off just fine.
"You're right. I don't." Bracing his feet on the bar, Anson prepared to slide his bar stool backwards and make his escape.
"Aren't you even curious?"
She'd sidled closer as she'd spoken, so that Anson could feel the heat of her entire body not just of her hands on his lower back. His cock stiffened further and Anson sighed. "So how's a guy supposed to figure you out?"
"Read the cues." Smiling a slow sultry smile, Sara slid her hands up Anson's back to his shoulders. "Yum. I like broad shoulders." With that, she tilted her head and kissed him, pressing her chest close and rubbing her body against his like a cat.
Her lips swallowed his moan, and she didn't seem to mind when he deepened the kiss, gripping her shoulder and the back of her neck with bruising force.
When they parted, she asked, "Do you like nachos, Anson?"
"What?"
Sara laughed happily and leaned into him. "I love them, but the portion here's huge. You wanna share?"
"That's not what I want," he murmured.
"You'll get what you want, Anson. I promise, 'cause I want it too." When he didn't speak, she asked, "So what do you say? Nachos?"
Anson was so fucking hot he could barely think. He couldn't remember ever feeling like this. The closest he could come to this experience was when his ex-wife had worn the black lacy thing that her sister had given her throughout dinner when Annabel was a baby. After what had seemed like forever pretending that he wasn't hard, he'd thrown her into bed and taken her. She'd had the most amazing expression on her face when she'd come that night. Like she'd love him forever. Hah, that hadn't panned out.
[Go to your room and stay there.]
Not trusting his voice with his emotions in a tumult and those words in his mind, Anson nodded at Sara. She turned to the bar, placed the order and stepped back into him. As though they had minds of their own, his arms went around her. Then his mouth decided to ignore his rapidly processing brain and assert its own agenda. "What are you doing to me, Sara?"
She smiled at him over her shoulder, kissed the tip of his nose and whispered, "I'm not into games, but I like to play."
"What's the difference?"
"Playing is for fun; games are about power."
Anson thought about that for several minutes while Sara sipped her beer and watched the football game. "Playing sounds better," he ventured.
Turning in his arms, she advised, "Playing won't leave you with blue balls either."
His mouth dropped open and she giggled. Before he could stop himself, he was asking, "How old are you?"
"You're not supposed to ask a woman that question."
"I'm trying to make sure you're a woman and not a girl."
"Don't worry, cutie; I'm legal." Grinning, she ran knowing fingers along the zipper of his jeans. "And I know how to make good on my promises."
Anson hissed as pleasurable sensations threatened to overwhelm his senses, making him forget to object to her choice of pet names.
"We'll mark that down in the 'Anson likes' column," she noted.
"Don't do that again."
"Why not?"
Anson found himself responding truthfully to her genuine question. "It's been too long, Sara. I'm kind of close to embarrassing myself right now."
"Why the lay off? Someone hurt you?" When he shrugged, she added, "Tell me where she lives and I'll kick her ass. Right before I kiss her feet and thank her profusely. Her and Ms. Claire."
"Kiss their feet?"
"Um Hm. For delivering into my clutches a gorgeous guy in an advanced stage of "needs to get laid."
The arrival of the nachos allowed Anson to blush in peace. When she had doled out portions for each of them on small plates, Sara fed him a chip from hers. Anson steadied her hand while he ate and made sure that her fingers were completely free of salsa and guacamole with his tongue. Sara made a small sound deep in her throat and offered him another bite.
"I thought you were a nacho fanatic," he observed before taking the morsel and cleaning her fingers once again, staring into her eyes until she closed them in pleasure. Something shifted into place in Anson's mind and he knew that he could handle this if he was in control. If he was playing his own game.
[I have the gun; she'll do what I say.]
Shaking his head in denial at the words he heard his own voice utter in his mind, Anson held firmly to the ideas that having a gun was a parole violation and that he didn't need one to control Sara. And that power wasn't necessarily bad if it wasn't abused. How often does that happen, Anson? And that you could play for fun or for keeps. Fuck that, you play to win.
At her quizzical look, Anson realized that some of his thought process had showed and didn't want to resume the "playing" versus "gaming" debate. Turning Sara back toward the bar, he instructed, "Eat your nachos, young lady." He then placed a series of kisses along the base of her throat.
"How do you expect me to eat while you're doing that?" she asked breathlessly.
"I have no expectations," Anson informed her, as he slid the hand he wasn't using to eat between her thighs.
"Anson, you shouldn't be doing that," she protested even as she moved her legs to give his exploring fingers more maneuvering room.
[That's against the rules.]
Ignoring the voice, Greene took advantage of the opportunity she'd given him, allowing the inseam of her jeans to guide his meandering path to his goal.
Sara sighed and wiggled against Anson, trying to move his fingers where she wanted them. When she noticed the bartender staring at her, Sara stilled and determinedly resumed her nacho consumption.
Anson matched her nonchalance, all the while tracing patterns on her inner thighs and steadily eating. He was hungrier than he'd thought.
[Eat your supper and go to your room, Anson.]
For the first time in forever, Anson smiled at the sound of his mother's voice. That's exactly what I have in mind, mom.
"Well, that's enough to make you want to eat tortilla chips smothered with cheese."
"She's certainly enjoying her ah meal."
"Damn, he's hot."
Hearing the voices of Claire and her friends again surprised Anson. He'd thought they'd left, but it seemed that Sara had captured his attention so completely that he'd forgotten about them and their game. But now he understood that the rules had been irrevocably changed. He'd gone from dupe to star performer and he liked it. Sara's soft appreciative sounds continuously inspired his fingers and the realization that they had an audience spurred him as well.
"How does this feel?" he whispered into Sara's ear.
Leaning back with a lazy smile on her face, she murmured, "Really good, Anson. Don't stop touching me."
"I won't," he promised as he snuck both hands underneath her t-shirt and toyed with the button of her jeans.
"You're not helping with the nachos."
Chuckling at her accusatory tone, Anson unbuttoned and slowly unzipped her jeans. "I was, but now I've got better things to do with my hands, Sara."
Blushing, she eyed him over her shoulder, "We're in public."
"No one can see anything they shouldn't," he assured her. "My legs are blocking the view. And no one can hear those little noises you make above the TV and everyone else, particularly your new best friend Claire. Can they?"
"I don't oh, God, Anson I don't know."
His hand cupped her mound, pressing against her underwear. "You're wet, Sara. Are you going to wait for me? Or do you need to go first?"
"I oh, I ."
He stopped her attempt at a response with a kiss. Moving the sodden silk aside, Anson drove two fingers deeply into Sara's flesh. She bucked against him, her cry lost as his tongue entered her mouth. Anson slowly withdrew his fingers and held Sara close. "Have you ever come in a public place, Sara?"
She shook her head and moaned his name in his ear when he drew his now lubricated fingers along her inner folds to her clit. Once they arrived at their destination, Anson used the slow circular motion that had at one time or another driven every woman he'd ever been with to orgasm.
Sara's eyes darted about frantically. When they met Anson's, they wandered no further. He smiled. She smiled back and murmured, "It's so good."
"Relax," he advised.
Leaning against his body, she gave herself over to him. Anson recognized her surrender and rewarded her for it, moving his fingers with a purpose. Mastery of the situation allowed him to be gracious.
"You two want the check?" the bartender asked with a smirk, leaning forward to see what he could see.
[This is against the rules.]
Anson glared at the bartender's presumption and the accusation in the other voice, knowing that Sara's lower body was hidden by the overhang of the bar. Annoyed, he let the asshole see the flat eyes of a killer staring him down. "Yeah," he grunted and the man scurried away.
Sara, on the other hand, was a sight for kinder, gentler, more soulful eyes. Her face was flushed. Eyes closed, her body was moving with his fingers. "You about there, babe?" he asked teasingly.
Her eyes flew open but she kept the volume of her voice under control. "Yes. Oh, yes. Oh my. Anson!" Body spasming in the pleasure of her climax, Sara clung desperately to him.
By the time she'd pulled herself together, Anson had paid both bills, pleased that he'd met this woman when he was flush cash-wise. The construction job his shrink had gotten him paid decently.
"You bought me dinner," she panted.
"Yeah. Do you mind?"
She laughed. "How can I? Wow, Anson, that was fantastic."
"You liked being out in the open, didn't you?"
Blushing, she nodded. Suddenly shy, Sara asked, "You do that a lot? In public?"
Grinning, he conspiratorily whispered, "My first time."
Her smile drove all remaining vestiges of anger away. "Let's get out of here, Anson. We've got unfinished business."
A shiver of anticipation ran down his spine as he stood. His mid thigh-length jacket hid his erection when Sara led him out of the bar by the hand.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
| Alex Annex | Characters | Stories/Alpha | Stories/Author | Home |