An Evening to Remember

by Pic

Series: Last, after Back In Circulation, Real People and Running On Empty.

Rated: A

Pairing: Anson Greene/Other - Het fic

Spoilers: Minor for Moloney

Summary: Anson goes on a date

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters aren't mine.

Author's notes: Happy Birthday, Sue! Also, thanks as always to Missy for insisting that this be better than it was. Again, italics are Anson's internal pessimist. Lines alone are Anson's internal, not quite optimist. And lines in [brackets] are other people's voices that Anson hears in his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Are you gonna sit here all night, or what?

Anson Greene looked at his watch. 906 pm. "Shit! I'm late!" Adrenaline flowing, Anson jumped out of his pickup truck. "Fuck me," he mumbled, pulling on his jacket as he walked quickly to the door that led to Callie's top floor condominium.

Heart pounding, Anson hoped that none of Callie's neighbors had witnessed his reconnaissance sweep at lunchtime to determine which of the doors in the building was hers. He was sure that Callie hadn't seen the circuits of her section of Manhattan Beach that he'd made since he'd arrived in the neighborhood at 815 pm. She had pulled into the narrow garage at about ten minutes to nine, so he'd parked his pickup upon the completion of a final loop and waited for the appointed time.

Past the appointed time.

The disgust in his own internal voice halted Anson with his hand hovering over the doorbell. "Calm down," he muttered. "She just got home."

"Hi, Anson," Callie called. "I'll be right down."

Anson dropped his hand to his side.

Not good enough to invite in. Great start, Anson.

"Shut the fuck up," he pleaded, taking a few steps back to bring the open third floor window into view. Less than a minute later, a whirlwind in blue jeans and a soft-looking, billowy shirt emerged.

"I'm starving," she announced, spinning to lock the door behind her. "Missed lunch and won't admit to having a Snickers bar and a gallon of coffee for breakfast." Callie reached for his hands, caught them and pulled Anson a step closer. Her voice became a confidential whisper. "My mother would kill me!" The timbre of it changed when she exclaimed, "Wow. Look at you. How am I going to protect you from Marlena?"

"I " Anson's voice hitched as Callie leaned in to kiss him on the corner of his mouth. He made up the lost time by blurting, "I can take care of myself."

Callie giggled. Anson was thunderstruck. A giggling cop was out of his realm of experience by at least a light year. "I can," he growled in his defense.

Taking his hand, Callie steered him down the walk back in the direction of his truck. "But are you going to want to?"

Anson was surprised by how vulnerable Callie's small hand looked tucked in his larger one. Nothing about this woman had seemed vulnerable when they'd first met.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" she asked, letting a playful smile and lively eyes mix her message.

Trouble with a capital "T."

Shaking his head as they left the truck behind, turning toward a lighted strip of restaurants and shops, Anson stared straight ahead and concentrated on speaking despite a dry throat. "I "

[Don't lie to me, boy!]

His stepfather's voice stiffened Anson's spine. Callie's raised eyebrow at the slight falter in his step demanded immediate attention. Forcing a small smile, he admitted, "Hell, Callie, you lost me."

"Let me back up a step or two." She traced his bicep with her free hand as they strolled. "Marlena owns La Buca-the restaurant we're going to. She's gorgeous and she knows it. I've seen guys fall in love with her as she's telling them about the appetizer special. It's depressing for mere mortal women to know that the drooling isn't over the grilled portobello. You know, Anson, if she wasn't a great friend with an extremely understanding and incredibly secure husband, who always selects the perfect wine for me, I'd have to kill her."

"Um ," Anson interjected, mystified. "What does that have to do with me?"

Callie stopped. Her eyes widened, and then she was hugging him, whispering in his ear, "Do you have any idea how good you look?"

"Arlene said that I'm packaged for ah, never mind."

She moved to hold Anson at arm's length. "And who is Arlene?"

Anson felt his face getting red and was grateful that they'd stopped between streetlights so the shadows would hide it. "She works at the construction site. She's a friend, sort of, but not too impressed with my clothes. So she ah made me go shopping with her."

Callie beamed at him. "You bought something new for me?" His nod was enough to propel them toward their destination once more.

He was sure that he looked like Christmas-red face, deep green shirt. Wanting to make a better impression than that of a gawking teenager, Anson stared at the ground and tried to will the blush away. Even if the tan he'd picked up on the construction site didn't set off his eyes like Arlene said, at least he wouldn't look like a dork.

"I don't think anyone's ever done that," Callie noted thoughtfully. "Well, that settles it. I can't let Marlena add you to her menagerie." Her laughter held a bit of tease. "What's it going to take to keep you, Anson?"

You fuck me; I'm yours.

"Ah " was all Anson could manage aloud.

This small talk shit is hard.

Staring at the sidewalk, Anson hoped for something marginally witty to leap into his mind.

Where's Matthew when I need him?

Callie sighed. "I'm sorry, Anson. I get this way when I'm nervous. Mouth motors ahead of brain. Way ahead."

[I know your kind.]

As a derisive court-appointed psychiatrist's voice echoed in his head, his upper body tensed. With an effort, he kept his eye on the ball this time. "I don't mean to make you nervous, Callie."

"I don't mean that in a bad way," she clarified, adding a kiss on the cheek for emphasis. "Anyone who makes me nervous in a bad way gets tossed out on his ass."

Now we know how this evening's gonna end.

Anson struggled to keep his breathing even and steady. "Callie, I-"

"God, I'm so stupid when I go months without sex." Callie's hand went to her mouth in an almost comical gesture of realization. "I said that out loud, didn't I? Christ! Anson, look, can we start over? Please."

Her eyes captured his, and Anson's mind went blank for a long moment.

She wants to fuck!!! The beach is dark and only a few blocks away. Screw dinner!

His thoughts and Callie's words merged, confusing him. When the dust settled, he murmured, "I thought you were hungry."

"I am," she confirmed. "How um how was your day?"

Shrugging, he realized that he wasn't willing to go completely back to square one. "Nothing special until a few minutes ago." Callie's mouth dropped open but nothing came out. Given how things had been going, Anson decided that he better explain himself. "That was it was supposed to be a compliment, Callie." When she still didn't speak, he mumbled, "I thought women liked compliments."

"They do," Callie said. "I do." Shyly peeking up at him, she admitted, "I'm a little out of practice with getting them."

"No way!"

"You're sweet, Anson." Gesturing to the building to their right, Callie muttered, "Marlena awaits. Try not to kiss her feet until dessert, ok?"

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

"Compliments of the house to the beautiful gentleman."

Anson's eyes widened as the lovely dark-haired woman who had made him blush to the roots of his hair throughout the meal placed a second bottle of wine on their table. Nothing had changed. He was accustomed to neither "beautiful" nor "gentleman," and there was little doubt that Marlena now knew that.

Fortunately, Callie wasn't tongue-tied. "The plain Jane who is unfit to sit at the same table with him thanks you profusely, Marlena."

"The pleasure is all in the giving, Colleen."

Anson had never even wondered about Callie's full name but was distracted from dwelling on the new information by the significant look the two women exchanged over the crumbs remaining from a large piece of tiramisu, communicating something beyond Anson's understanding.

Callie nodded. "I'll remember that."

"Do." Marlena gently cupped Anson's chin in her hand, fingernails just grazing his flesh. Laughing, she whispered, "Taking is its own reward." Large brown eyes snared Anson as surely as headlights would a woodland creature. "You will come back to me, my Anson?"

It was barely a question.

Let's just come already! Who cares which one gets us there?

I do, goddamn it! Shut up!

Marlena looked amused by his silence and Callie was working up to annoyed fast. Desperately, Anson mumbled, "I'd only disappoint you."

"It is not possible."

She sounded so sure that Anson was taken aback. The odd look in Callie's eyes inspired him. "I I'm not a gentleman."

Clapping her hands, Marlena turned to Callie. "I like this one. He is not so proper and boring as that that Michael of yours." Marlena waved off any attempt at interruption with an imperious motion of both hands. "You must go before I forget we are friends."

"And Bernardo," Callie noted, smiling sweetly and nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

Must be the husband.

"He'd hate to be mislaid." More and more relaxed as she talked and Marlena laughed, Callie snickered wickedly when she added, "Michael won't show his face in here again. That's for damn sure."

Ok, who the fuck is Michael?

Tough to know the players without a program.

Marlena bent low and whispered in Anson's ear. "There was a scene. I deplore scenes."

Grinning and shaking her head, Callie shifted her chair closer to whisper in the other. "Don't let her fool you, Anson. Marlena was the star that night."

This has possibilities.

Swallowing hard, Anson tried to ignore the images floating around in his brain.

Marlena's hands stroking his chest while Callie sucked his cock deep into her throat.

"I play the diva well, no?"

Anson gritted his teeth to keep quiet when Marlena's teeth nipped at his earlobe. Pain flared and faded to a low hum of pleasure as another image appeared.

Marlena biting his nipples while Callie's tongue circled, sensuous and hot, rimming him with easy experience.

"To perfection."

The sure movement of Callie's tongue on his other ear drove any thought of speech from Anson's head and inspired his imagination.

Marlena reclining on her back with Callie's head buried between her wide-spread legs, following his orders to lick faster or slower as he fucked Callie from behind.

He was at the mercy of the two women, both in his mind and at this table. Anson couldn't move; he could barely breathe.

You fucking love it!

I I've never done two women at once.

First time for everything!

[You are a very bad boy. Go to your room, Anson. Without supper.]

Too late, mom.

Reeling from too much input, Anson reached for his water glass in order to give his mouth something safe to do.

"You will play tonight, I think." Marlena's knowing laugh shuddered through Anson.

If she did that with her mouth on me, I'd die a happy man.

I want Callie.

His hand shook as Callie shifted her attention to his neck. He swallowed, keenly aware of the cool liquid sliding down his throat and the warmth of Callie's lips at his ear.

"A love scene, I hope."

Fuck this shit!

Anson slid his hand behind Callie's neck and drew her to him. He let his kiss speak for him, not quite realizing how much his demanding lips and firm grip said. When they parted, Callie's eyes were bright, her lips bruised, her breath uneven.

"Let's go." His voice was tight with restrained passion.

"I'll send Marco with a bag for your wine," Marlena murmured, finally retreating.

"The wine's great, Anson. Can," Callie licked her lips. "Can we wait for it?"

Her deference broke the spell she and Marlena had cast. "Whatever you want," Anson replied. "Any anything you want."

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

"Make yourself comfortable, Anson." Callie sighed, grabbing her right wrist with her left hand, halting it mere millimeters from Anson's chest and pulling it down to rest against her own stomach. "Down girl," she muttered not quite inaudibly before announcing, "I'll open the wine."

Left to his own devices in Callie's living room, Anson realized that those were the first words that either of them had spoken since he'd promised her anything in the restaurant. They hadn't touched on the short walk back to Callie's condo either. Anson hadn't trusted himself even to hold Callie's hand. He wanted to do more too badly and so had she, it seemed.

There were plenty of alleys that were dark enough. Who'd haul a fellow cop in for public indecency?

Staring out the window, Anson tried to calm down. Adjusting his erection in the lightweight wool pants helped a little, but he knew how close he was to losing control.

And that's when the trouble always starts. Why does fucking Callie up against a wall have to be so damn tempting?

She'd like it. She wants to bottom so bad.

[Your need to dominate her will drive her away.]

Dr. Sidney Kerrigan's psychiatrist voice threw cold water on a nice hot fire.

"You don't look very comfortable."

Anson jumped and turned all in one motion, heart racing too fast, breathing too shallow, mind gleefully suggesting all manner of quick fixes for his raging cock. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shrugged. "I get antsy if I sit for too long."

Back lit by light from the kitchen, Callie held a wine glass in each hand. "I'm edgy, too." She glided toward him, face obscured by shadows, but Anson caught a flash of white that had to be a smile.

Shifting from foot to foot, Anson vividly recalled the feel of her teeth scraping lightly along his skin. Biting down on the inside of his mouth kept him focused enough to hear her simple question.

"Wine?"

Maybe I can drink it out of the other shoe that should be dropping any time now.

"Christ," Anson murmured as the streetlight streaming into the window illuminated her. Her shirt hung free, wrinkled from being tucked into jeans that were no longer in evidence.

Want to bet the underwear is wherever the jeans are? Wonder what passes muster for sexy lingerie for a cop?

Picturing Callie in a black leather thong did Anson's control no good. Determined, he banished the image and stared as if memorizing the reality.

Bare feet made her seem younger, carefree. The amount of thigh in view drew his eyes and ruined the nearly innocent look. Her smile, now that he could see it better, was mysterious and knowing, and stoked Anson's desire ever higher.

[Sex isn't competition. There don't have to be winners and losers, Anson.]

Whatever you say, Dr. Sid. I'm gonna claim the jackpot before she realizes my winning ticket is a forgery.

Callie carefully placed one wine glass on top of a stereo speaker. A moment's consideration later, the second rested there as well. "I can't think of a toast, right now," she whispered, stepping close with far more speed but with just as much grace as her earlier movements. "I need to touch you. My fingers are itchy. You mind?"

Involuntarily, Anson backed away, colliding with the bay window.

Callie followed, stopping a scant inch separating them. "What's wrong?"

[What the fuck's your problem? I said, what the fuck's with you, little man?]

His stepfather's voice sounded loud, ringing in Anson's ears. "

Anything I can help with?"

The amusement in Callie's voice called Anson's attention back to her. "Huh?" wasn't particularly intelligent, but Anson felt fortunate to manage even that much with Callie sinking to her knees in front of him.

"Anything at all?" she asked, running her hands along his thighs. "Mmmm. Firm." Looking up at him, she tightened her grip slightly and grinned. "I like."

What the hell are you waiting for? Put her head where you want it.

[You used your greater strength to force her.]

Dr. Sid doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. It's just pulling her hair a little. No harm, no fucking foul.

[Rationalizations aren't reasons, Anson.]

Fuck if they aren't. Do it!

"Callie, I-." Anson broke off with a moan, hands slipping out of his pockets and clutching at air. Seemingly satisfied with his reaction, Callie continued to rub her cheek against his crotch.

Thank Christ that she has a fucking clue.

He whimpered when she lifted her head. Smiling, she unbuckled his belt and slid it from around his waist. Thoughtfully, she weighed it in her hand.

Look at her, she's begging you to take it and teach her a lesson.

Struggling against the impulse, Anson clenched his hands into fists.

Don't ask me to use it, Callie. Please! I can't trust myself with anything like that.

With a small shrug, Callie tossed his belt aside and directed her attention to the button and zipper. Those unfastened and lowered, Callie slid her hands behind Anson's thighs and coaxed him forward. When he moved out of contact with the window, his pants slipped down and Callie eased them to the ground. Licking her lips, she guided his boxers along the same path.

"Talk to me, Anson," she urged. "Tell me how you like it."

Fuck that. Show her.

His hands shot forward and latched onto her shoulders. Screaming at himself to loosen his grip, Anson panted, "Want. Want you."

Callie stood, a motion with enough power to counteract the pressure Anson had brought to bear. "How do you want me?" she asked, barely touching her lips to his. "Right here? Up against this window? Is that your scene?"

Growling, he crushed her against him and turned so that she was pressed between his body and the window, lips savagely attacking hers.

[Can't you do anything right?]

His ex-wife's annoyance stopped him. Leaning to rest his forehead against the window, he said, "I can play that, if if you want."

Molding her body to his, Callie suggested, "Bed? With toys or without?" Anson bit her shoulder lightly through her shirt. "Kitchen table? Living room floor?" His inarticulate sound of frustration didn't stop her. "Shower? Laundry room? Balcony?"

"Bed," he grunted. "Where?"

She pushed past him and didn't look back as she glided across the room to the hallway. "Bring the wine, Anson."

Other than turning to watch Callie pass out of his field of vision, moving was beyond Anson's ability. He looked at the two glasses of wine, noting absently that the contents looked black rather than red. Thoughts of sorcerer's concoctions forced down a hero's throat sprung out of a novel read in prison.

She's waiting to be fucked, moron! Move it!

[Call me when you grow up, Anson.]

His ex-wife's unfair disdain startled him into motion. Anson kicked off his shoes, rid himself of his pants and underwear before picking up the wine glasses and following in Callie's wake. "A fuck isn't what she wants," he mumbled.

The candlelight flickering from the bedroom bolstered Anson's supposition.

[A woman needs romance.]

Anson shuddered at his thoughts being supported by the words his mother had spoken in an effort to quiet a tantrum he'd thrown over her impending date. Trouble was, he didn't know much about romance.

I know what it's not, though.

Images of cheap motel rooms and empty six packs flew into Anson's head. Sadly, those were better than the mental tricks he had to play to get off after his wife had slept with another man. Roxy had been so pleased with herself, thinking that jealousy had turned him on. It had made him sick to his stomach.

Demanding silence and a blank screen in his head, Anson stepped into the bedroom. He gasped.

Callie watched him from the bed, lit only by candles, gloriously naked. "Come here, Anson," she urged, stroking the mattress next to her with supple fingers. Smiling, she whispered, "Nice socks."

He realized how ridiculous a desperately aroused man must look in a shirt and socks. Anson even beat his internal pessimist to saying, "Fuck," when it occurred to him that such a man hopping on one foot to get rid of the offending socks was even worse.

"Let me."

Callie's sultry voice halted Anson in mid-reach. "What?" he growled, blushing furiously and hating it.

She got to her hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the bed. "I want to undress you."

Anson decided that he really liked candles in the bedroom. The play of light and shadow over Callie's lean body stimulated him in a way that he appreciated rather than resented-tantalizing rather than teasing.

When he stepped to the side of the bed, she took both wine glasses. "Sit down, gorgeous man. Now," she added, watching him closely, "that toast I mentioned." Anson took the glass she proffered and waited. Callie raised hers and touched it to Anson's. "To an evening to remember."

Anson smiled shyly and drank when she did, surprised by her subsequent laughter.

"How was that for corny?" she asked. Before he could respond, she issued her orders. "Sit back against the headboard and get your feet up here." She made short work of his socks, mumbling, "I've got to stop reading cheesy romance novels. Lifting dialogue from them is so embarrassing."

"You read-?"

"Drink your wine, Anson."

Following her suggestion seemed more prudent than pursuing the matter of her tastes in reading. Callie, on the other hand, showed little interest in her beverage, applying both hands in a firm massage of the ball of Anson's left foot. He sipped his wine and let his eyes drift shut, enjoying the tingles of pleasure shooting up his leg. Dimly recalling her earlier request for information, he murmured, "Feels good."

"In that case, I'll stay down here for a while and let you deal with your shirt."

Not bothering to open his eyes, Anson applied his free hand to the task, wondering what Callie would do next-candles, wine and massage didn't accompany sex in his world. Not that he was complaining. They sure as hell beat the plain vanilla, white bread, missionary-position-only tastes of his ex-wife and the harder, faster, hurt me demands that Sara had made.

A shift of the pressure to the arch of his foot brought a moan to his lips.

"He likes that," she whispered, bearing down with a tad more force.

Anson could only nod as the pleasure intensified. Unbuttoning was suddenly beyond the level of coordination he could bring to bear. "So hot," he groaned, clumsily pulling his shirt over his head. The air-conditioning dried the fine sheen of sweat on his exposed skin. Much cooler, Anson looked from the partially removed garment to his glass, unable to immediately fathom how to discard the shirt and retain his wine. A delicious application of suction on his big toe got his attention and dragged Callie's name from his arching throat.

She set aside his wine glass and threw his shirt on the floor. Before Anson could recover his senses, she straddled his hips, rocking against him, stroking her body lightly against his, wetting his flesh with her secretions, torturing them both.

When her eyes closed in pleasure, Anson grabbed her hips and ground her against him harder. Callie gasped, finding a new rhythm in synch with the pace he set and the angle he'd chosen. Mere moments later, she stiffened. Relentlessly, he kept her hips moving.

"Oh, God, Anson, I'm I'm yesyesyesyes."

Even while her orgasm rocked her, Anson maintained his efforts. He was rewarded by constant, incoherent babble of fulfillment. Callie was still trembling when she collapsed on top of him. Tilting her head up, Anson kissed her, slowly, thoroughly. Callie sank into the kiss, her heaving chest moving against his. Her eyes were soft and dreamy when they parted.

His own need raged, but Anson barely noticed.. Callie was so beautiful when she let go-everything about her had radiated positive energy and raw joy when she came. It was amazing to watch and the thought of seeing that transformation again drove everything else from Anson's mind.

Smiling, Anson shifted he and Callie so that they lay side-by-side, legs comfortably entangled. As he kissed her, he ran one hand through her hair to soothe. He slipped the other between her legs, lazily thrusting with two fingers to incite.

Callie broke the kiss and pushed against his shoulders, murmuring, "Wait wait," but her hips were already moving a counterpoint to Anson's fingers. When she rolled onto her back, Anson followed, negating her attempted retreat.

No you don't, gorgeous. I've got plans for you.

He hovered above her, stroking her continuously. "So beautiful," he whispered, captivated by the power of Callie's responses, excited almost beyond comprehension by the prospect of pleasing her. Anson bent forward to capture a nipple between his lips, sucking on it as Callie had his toe.

Groaning, she thrust her hips forward, body demanding satisfaction while her mind pleaded, "Anson, please. Oh, please."

Smiling against her chest, wondering what she thought she wanted, Anson drove his fingers into her once more, hard and as deep as they would go. Her hands flailed as the pleasure intensified. "No," she moaned, as she grabbed the sheets for purchase. "Too too much."

"It's never enough." Anson wasn't sure what that meant but knew that it didn't matter. Keeping a hand that wanted to tremble steady, he thrust deeply with his fingers again, whispering, "Never."

Callie bucked helplessly, her body acting of its own accord, moving in concert with Anson's hand. She whimpered when he withdrew and leaned slightly away from her. Anson stared into Callie's eyes, watching her struggle to get herself under control. Bringing his hand up to his face, Anson closed his eyes and breathed in. His body tightened at the deep musky scent of her arousal but it wasn't enough. Opening his eyes, he licked his fingers, tasting her, feeling as much as hearing her breathless whimpers, watching her watch him with hungry eyes.

Anson didn't resist when she dove at him, driving him onto his back. Callie was on him like a woman possessed, kissing whatever parts of him she could reach, running her hands along the lines of his body, reaching for his cock.

Not yet.

Catching the hand that closed around him, Anson drew it along his length. Grunting over the loss of that firm grip, he raised it to his lips. Working her palm with an open mouth, he maneuvered his other hand back between her legs. He stroked the inner folds lazily, brushing closer and closer to where she wanted him to touch.

You first, Callie. With a smile, Anson amended the thought. Your second.

Wriggling above him, Callie struggled to bring the lazy, meandering journey of his fingers to a happy conclusion. Anson pulled her close and held her as steady as he could, his lips leaving her hand for her ear. "Relax, baby. I'll take care of you."

"Now," she begged. "Please, Anson, I need it now!" Her voice raised an octave on her last word as his hand sent her screaming over the edge to blissful oblivion.

Anson shuddered with need. Callie coming hard was the hottest thing he'd ever seen, and her second orgasm made Anson uncomfortably aware of how hard he was. As she basked in the afterglow, eyes closed, slight smile gracing her face, he tried to remember where his pants were. Cursing creatively but silently, he slipped out from under her and out of the bed, padding on bare feet to the living room. He found his wallet and carried it and the rest of his clothes back to the bedroom, rifling through the wallet for a condom with unsteady hands.

"Anson? Where are-?"

He stepped back into view, holding up the foil packet in explanation. Callie held her arms open in welcome.

"Come back here." Anson stood at Callie's bedside, sheathing himself, shivering when she added, "It's your turn to scream." She ran a fingernail along his shaft, smiling when he groaned. "On your back," Callie ordered. Anson complied and helped her get comfortable astride him. "I think I like you like this," she murmured. "Your eyes are so big." She sank down on his erection with a sigh of contentment. "Nice. So damn nice."

Callie met his eyes and smiled a slow secret smile. She didn't move; she simply stared at him. Anson tried to shift his hips to generate some friction, but he had no leverage.

Fucking ungrateful bitch!

No, Callie, please, you have to be more than a tease.

His hands fisted the sheets below him and he glared at her. Callie sat calm, comfortable. When he opened his mouth to protest, Callie smiled and tightened her body around the entire length of his cock. Anson squirmed as the pleasure rippled along his spine. "Fuck," he groaned. Before he recovered, she did it again. And again. And again.

Anson Greene was lost and found. He couldn't think and the voices in his head were silent. His chest heaved as though he couldn't get enough air, but he must have because he was able to speak. "Don't stop. Jesus Christ, Callie, don't fucking stop."

Callie smiled triumphantly as she tightened around him.

Wipe that shit-eating grin off her face.

No! Yes! Fuck!

Moaning Anson lifted her up and slammed her back down on his needy cock.

"Do that again and I won't do this." He hadn't yet registered Callie's words when squeezed him softly with her muscles, then harder, then tightened like a vice.

"Wha?" Words were beyond Anson. Callie was building the pleasure, pulling it from deep within him. Wanting, needing more, his hands tightened on her hips.

"Don't move," she commanded, exerting supreme muscle control, tightening various internal muscles, individually and in combination, stimulating him in ways he hadn't known were possible. In counterpoint, she gently stroked his chest, and Anson's muscles turned to water.

With the realization that he couldn't move even if he wanted to, Anson's control evaporated. Panic blossomed in its place.

Her voice beat the panic back a bit. "C'mon, Anson," she panted. "Let it happen."

The thought of the release of the incredible tension she'd created was both compelling and terrifying. "Can't," he whispered, grabbing her hips with bruising force. "I can't do this." He nearly sobbed, "Callie, I can't."

"Yes, you can." Another complex series of Callie's muscle contractions tore at Anson's body.

"No," he whispered, eyes wide and darting around the room without really seeing it. "Nononononono."

"Yes." Callie sounded sure, confident, matter of fact. Her body drove Anson's far beyond distraction to a place he'd never been-a deep dark place where he sensed rather than saw a precipice rushing toward him. Something in him recognized this destination-despair and hopelessness-places he'd imagined that he'd have visited with Callie long before this. The women in his life always demanded that he join them there.

Callie pleasured him expertly. "Come for me, Anson," she said. "Better yet, come with me."

Her movements, although subtle, demanded submission, called upon him to go with her over that dark precipice, but promised nothing. Callie relentlessly worked his cock, smiling at the noises of pleasure that escaped his lips, adding her own.

The darkness surged forward, unremitting, unforgiving, uncaring. Anson wailed when another orgasm of hers dragged him into the darkness until he slept.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Anson stared at the ceiling. Dr. Sid's voice wasn't in his head, but Anson keenly felt the impending doom of his psychiatrist's disapproval. He sighed and drew his fingertips along the shoulder of the woman who was sleeping with her head resting on his chest. The sunlight that lit features that he found startlingly beautiful reminded him of the darkness that had descended upon him when they'd had sex. Somehow, he didn't think that what had happened was what people referred to as being fucked blind.

More like a premonition.

He shivered even though he was comfortably warm. Callie stirred, mumbled nonsense syllables and settled again. Anson sighed, a weary resignation stealing over him.

I should've told her. If Callie knew anything about me, she wouldn't have wanted me within ten miles, much less in her bed. What the hell does Dr. Sid call it? Wrongful omission. I didn't lie, though, not really. I just didn't want to get ahead of myself. Why tell her when she'd throw me out anyway for some fuck up or another-Right? But she didn't. Maybe maybe because, for once, I didn't. But now what?

Callie kissed his chest. Anson jumped, pulling against her hands.

"What's wrong?" she asked, trailing a hand along his thigh.

A comforting lie tried to push past his gritted teeth. Angry at himself for desperately wanting to perpetuate the charade, Anson shook his head and mumbled, "Everything."

She leaned up on one elbow, fingers still stroking his leg, expression quizzical. "We did a few things right last night."

"You did, maybe," Anson growled, tensing, readying himself for what he knew was coming-a righteous ass kicking. Her smile vanished. Anson wasn't surprised; his vibe couldn't be that hard to sense.

"I've never come three times in one ah sitting." Eyes serious, Callie's voice dropped to a whisper. "Thank you, Anson."

Tears welled up in his eyes. Anson took a quick swipe at his face as struggled to sit. Turning his body away from Callie, he swung his legs off of the bed and stared at the floor. "Don't thank me."

"Already did. You can accept graciously or sulk. It's up to you."

Her blithe tone angered him. Anson had spun to face her before realizing that maybe that had been her intention. "I'm not sulking. I'm I don't know what I'm doing."

Callie raised a trembling hand to his face. "Crying," she whispered. "Anson, you're crying. Why?"

Her sympathy shamed him. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she insisted, letting her hand fall to his shoulder and squeeze it gently. "Just tell me what's the matter."

Anson couldn't think of a reason to delay the inevitable, but it wasn't as though he didn't try. He just couldn't lie or evade when Callie was looking at him so trustingly. That would only make matters worse. "I " he began, raising sad eyes to meet hers. "I've got a criminal record." Anson winced, as Callie's hand lifted from his shoulder. "Malicious mischief, assault and battery and and worse."

Not wanting to shoulder the pain of Callie pulling away from him, Anson stood and began to collect his clothes as he talked. "I beat up a cop with a bat." Falling silent, Anson put on his boxers and pants. Once clothed that much, he felt like he could finish. "He died in the hospital. And I I shot a hospital orderly." Anson pulled on his new shirt roughly, not caring whether it would survive the ill treatment. "Killed him." Staring at the socks that had so amused her the night before, Anson laughed bitterly. "I was insane, they decided. Not in command of my faculties. Brain fucking chemistry all out of whack."

Anson looked at tear drops that had fallen from his chin to his arm without recognizing what they were.

"When did you get out?"

The practicality of the quiet question threw Anson off balance, derailing the run away emotional train before it wrecked. "Six months ago." Defensiveness kept him talking. "Did the half-way house, approved job thing at first. I kept the job. Construction, like I said. And and my new shrink cleared me to get my own place."

"Would you mind if I run your sheet?"

Anson stared at Callie, unable to read her expression. "No." Casting about for his shoes, he recalled that they were in the living room. He latched onto their absence like a man clutching a life raft. "I should go."

"Maybe you should."

There it was. No histrionics. No tears or harsh recriminations. Nothing more than simple agreement was required to utterly defeat Anson. "I'm sorry, Callie. I truly am sorry. I just wanted "

She doesn't give a fuck what you wanted. Christ, get a grip.

His life had thrown many difficult things in his path. Walking out of Callie's bedroom was the hardest. An odd form of pride swept through him when he kept going toward his truck after reclaiming his shoes.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Arlene waved to Anson as he passed her on his way to the lunch wagon. She'd made no mention of his big weekend date, only looked at him with sympathetic eyes when she'd said her typical hearty, "Good morning, darlin'." He'd known then that his attempt at cheerful had fallen short of successful. Because she'd just let it be then, Anson was comfortable enough to wave and aim a small smile her way now. A few steps further on, he stopped, looking back over his shoulder, oblivious to the light rain that was falling, struck by a sudden stunning realization.

She cares. Arlene cares about me.

Anson fought the accompanying surge of positive emotions. He was afraid even to think that he might not be completely alone forever, but the tiny smattering of hope was upon him before he could shut it out.

Only because she doesn't know any better.

She knows I'm an ex-con. She processed my application.

"Try this, Anson."

He turned toward the voice before he placed it. Callie stood a few paces away, offering him a paper bag.

Peace offering?

Shield.

Anson's heart rate accelerated, but he stood rooted to the spot.

What the fuck is she doing here?

She thinks a public place is safe.

For what, though? I got the "Get out and don't come back" loud and clear.

"You in or out, Anson?" He looked at Wayne Myers in confusion. Sighing, the younger man said, "You in line or aren't you? I'm hungry enough to gnaw off my own fingers and off the clock for lunch."

Face flushed with color, Anson mumbled, "Sorry, man," and quickly stepped out of Wayne's way.

"Be cool, now. Anson's in looooove."

The way that Ellis drew out the last word of his pronouncement heightened Anson's blush and touched the black emotions that he'd fought for all these months to control. He'd taken a step toward the smirking man when Callie asked, "Jealous?"

Ellis colored to match Anson, and the other men in the lunch line pounced on him. Blinking rapidly, Anson regarded the scene in wonderment. He'd never realized that it wasn't common knowledge that Ellis was gay.

Guess he doesn't come on to every guy who works a bunch of overtime.

You and Ellis can play house. Bet he'll let you be the daddy.

There was far too much obviously wrong with that scenario to warrant entering into a mental debate. Feeling too tired to be as nervous as he thought he should be, Anson approached Callie.

Biting her lip as though she wasn't sure of something, she gestured with the bag. "My favorite deli's only a few blocks away, so I picked up lunch. Is is there somewhere we can talk?"

Anson looked up at the overcast sky, closing his eyes to the raindrops. "Dry would be good, too, huh?" Her careful nod centered him. "C'mon," he urged, tucking the bag she'd brought for him under his arm.

To enter the site, Callie needed a hard hat. That was one of the general contractor's ten commandments. Safety first really meant "Zero liability," but Anson didn't concern himself too much over that reality. He just followed the rules.

Arlene looked up from her paperwork as they stepped into the trailer. "What can I do you for, Anson?"

"She ah she needs a hat." Anson froze in the act of tapping his bright yellow headgear, forcing back the all-too-familiar image of small children circling their forefingers next to their temples.

[Anson is crazy. Anson is crazy. Anson is crazy.]

A hard hat hitting his chest snapped Anson out of the bad memory.

"Did I hurt you, honey?" Arlene fixed her gentle brown eyes on him and Anson struggled to concentrate. He managed to shake his head and Arlene smiled, "Nicest catch I've seen in a long while."

He was puzzled until he saw Callie safely attired out of the corner of his eye. She must've snagged the hard hat on the deflection.

Arlene cautioned, "Whatever you do, child, do not let Ellis kiss it and make it better."

Callie laughed and Arlene joined her, watching Anson closely. "I hear you," he mumbled, gesturing for Callie to precede him out of the trailer. "I'll be on seventeen," he muttered without looking back.

"You be nice."

Anson's step faltered and Callie frowned. Anson didn't ask to whom Arlene was talking, but something in his gut loosened slightly because he could see that Callie thought that it might've been her.

"Wow," Callie murmured as they entered the opulent lobby. "These are going to be swanky condos."

"Exclusive to minor celebs, they hope." Anson held his breath as they waited for the unfinished elevator, trying not to hope for anything for himself.

She's here to let you down easy, you dope.

"Anson?"

He started to sweat. "Sorry, Callie. I don't mean to keep zoning out. Things have been pretty hectic um here."

She hesitated before following him out of the elevator. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you at work."

Not knowing what she wanted was stretching Anson's nerves to an unhealthy degree. With a shaky laugh, he pushed open the door to the unit in which he'd just finished the custom woodwork. "I hope you don't mind sitting on the floor. If you're allergic to sawdust, we can try somewhere else, but I was by myself in here all morning."

Callie stared at the condominium's features-everything that could be was built in. The design made for narrow drawers and accommodated only projection screen televisions, but it was visually striking, the epitome of clean lines. "This place won't need much in the way of furniture," she said.

"It's weird, everything hidden away, but I kind of like it."

[Come on out, son. There's no reason to hide.]

That shows how little you know, mom. Can't you see? Don't you want to?

Anson shivered, inexplicably cold, still not ready to come to grips with the things that his stepfather had done.

"A neat freak's wet dream."

Anson forced a laugh and took a deep breath, demanding that his mind attend to Callie and the present. Running his hand along a perfectly flush cabinet door, he added, "A bitch to do, though." Callie's eyes widened as she copied his gesture. "You did all this?" He was critically examining a bookshelf when he nodded. "God, Anson, this is gorgeous. I'd give anything to have something this nice." Anything? Like the sound of that! Ducking his head, casting about for something to do other than grin like an idiot because she'd complimented his work, Anson opened the bag Callie had brought and drew out the largest sandwich he'd ever seen. "It's turkey and havarti," Callie said. "I didn't know what you liked, but most people like turkey, so I ah picked that." She seemed uncomfortable with silence. "Is that ok?" "Yeah," Anson replied. "Turkey's fine." Belatedly remembering his manners, he blurted, "And thanks. I mean, I'm glad you like my stuff. I like doing it. When I'm working like that, I can forget things." Realizing that he was babbling just as she had been, Anson asked, "Why are you here, Callie?" Unhurriedly, she sat on the floor, arranging her sandwich and pickles on a few napkins. Without looking at him, she said, "I wanted you to understand."

The smell of meat and cheese made Anson's mouth water and a big bite of the sandwich was extremely satisfying. "This is great. Thanks for lunch, too." The exasperation in her soft sigh prompted him to add, "I get that you don't want to see me again, Callie."

Her eyes traveled the room, lingering on various pieces of built-in woodwork. "That's not it."

Anson marveled that she wasn't accusing him of withholding information from her, getting into her bed under false pretenses, or some similar crime. He couldn't help wondering when she was going to get around to it. In the meantime, Anson decided to admit, "Then I guess I don't understand."

Holding up a finger, Callie finished chewing her bite of corned beef on dark rye. "I ran your sheet, Anson. There were no surprises. Everything you told me was there but nothing else."

Bitterly, he grunted, "What would've been the point of leaving stuff out?"

"You might have figured that I wouldn't look for more, given everything you'd said."

He shrugged, focusing on his sandwich, determined to enjoy it and her company while both lasted. But he couldn't leave well enough alone. "I would've been wrong."

Fidgeting, Callie muttered, "You'd be surprised how many people will confess to lesser crimes for the sole purpose of throwing off an investigation of more serious ones."

Seeing something he couldn't identify in Callie's bearing, Anson spoke with care. "That would be a what do you call it an occupational hazard for a cop, I guess."

"For me, it isn't just occupational."

The something he saw was vulnerability. Shit! Her lower lip was trembling. When she bit it hard to still it, Anson winced, reaching without thinking for the injury.

"Don't." Callie clasped her hands together around a defenseless pickle wedge, obviously tense and more than a little afraid. Before he could think of anything to say, she continued, "It's personal, Anson."

He had no idea what she was talking about, so Anson chose a course that struck him as safe. "Callie, I I'm sorry."

Shaking her head, she explained, "I'm not fishing for an apology, Anson. You already gave me the one you owed me."

His reaction to her casual assumption that he owed her anything was immediate, but Anson forced the anger back. He was proud that his voice was even when he muttered, "I'm not following you, then. Sor-." Anson was inordinately pleased to see that his aborted apology brought at least a wan smile to Callie's face.

"My friends say that I collect strays." Meeting his eyes, she clarified, "Stray people. I usually find myself in relationships where the guy half of the couple is more a project than a partner."

Relationship? Is that what we have?

You don't have jack shit!

Rubbing his eyes, Anson determinedly focused on Callie's voice. He didn't think he missed much.

"People think that it's because I have to be such a hard ass at work. The cold bitch with a soft heart overcompensates at home." Her words were soft-spoken but Anson knew self-recriminations when he heard them. He'd had a lot of experience in that regard.

"Is it wrong to want to be nice and and giving?"

Her question clicked for Anson. "You want to make a difference to someone."

She nodded, smiling in what looked to be gratitude. "But I end up getting the proverbial short end of the stick. I do get taken advantage of, but it's not like I don't get anything out of it. I'm not a complete failure."

The pronouncement ended abruptly, as though she'd been going to append, "No matter what they say." Anson didn't know who the people were who were feeding Callie's insecurities, but he hated them for it. Gently, he said, "I can't imagine you failing at anything."

That actually got him a laugh. It was really too bad that it was infused with bitterness. "I don't see how you can say that."

"You're strong." She looked at him sharply, denying the assessment with her eyes. Anson insisted, "For Christ's sake, Callie, you work homicide. You see the worst of what people do to other people. How can you think you're anything else?"

Callie sighed with a wistfulness that took years off of her face. "I cry at weddings and at the end of those cheesy romance novels I read."

"So you're strong and sentimental." After a brief pause, he muttered, "The three Ss."

Curiosity engaged, she demanded, "What's the third?"

He hesitated only briefly. "Stubborn. That's another reason why you succeed."

"I don't, Anson. Not at relationships. I fail miserably ever single time." Finally releasing the poor, abused pickle slice, Callie stared at her hands. "After Roger, the emotional train wreck of Y2K, I decided that I was through setting myself up to get shot down like that. Then came Michael." Chuckling softly, she murmured, "Marlena clued you in to how successful my interaction with a "normal" guy went. I was bored within a week. He was nice enough but distant. A little cold." She shivered. "I need warmth, Anson. I understand that about myself now, anyway, so I guess he wasn't all bad."

Anson tried to follow, but Callie's digressions were confusing. He couldn't relate them to himself all that easily. When she fell silent, he ventured, "You think I'm a project."

"I don't know what to think about you."

Smiling his very best little boy smile, he admitted, "It sounds to me from what you've said that I'm a project, Callie."

Her laughter broadened his smile. "You're confusing, Anson."

"I'm the confusing one?"

His incredulity made her laugh harder and blush. When she sobered, she asserted, "Yes, you are. You told me your name-your real name-up front. You described all the things you did but left out any extenuating circumstances."

She leaned forward and traced the scar that disappeared into the hair along his temple, a permanent reminder of the anger and grief of a cop when his partner was killed. "I can read between the lines of a police report, Anson. Sometimes I think there are more dirty cops than clean."

He shuddered under the gentle touch and she drew back. "But you did your time, went through however many years it was of counseling and got out with a decent psyche profile. You were immediately employed and assigned to a psychiatrist and a group home. You haven't missed a day of work or a doctor's appointment, although you ran through several doctors before settling on Sidney Kerrigan. He cleared you to get your own place and you did. Your bills are current; your parole officer has had no trouble with you and doesn't expect any, because he thinks that you want to see your daughter too badly."

Mention of Annabel, however obliquely, made Anson tense. "All that isn't on my sheet."

"I spoke with Dr. Kerrigan, Officer Malloy and Ed Kennor."

Anson paled. "You talked to Ed? Shit, Callie, I need this job!"

Callie took his hand, squeezing gently. Anson was too distraught to complain about the pickle juice. He'd hated them ever since he was a kid. His stepfather had been a bit too fond of dill pickles.

"Anson," she calmly explained, "he'd fight to keep you even if you violated parole. Mr. Kennor made it quite clear that he needs you to get his condos finished to his satisfaction. Having seen this one, I understand why."

His sigh of relief sounded loud in the cavernous condominium living area. Anson's heart rate had almost slowed back to normal when Callie added, "And then there's the sex."

"What?" came out as a whimper. When she didn't respond right away, Anson became aware of the small circles that she was tracing on his palm with her thumb. The little tingles of stimulation were distracting, but he didn't pull away.

"I haven't felt like you made me feel in a long time, Anson. I wouldn't let myself and no one that I took to bed could break down my barriers." She stared into his eyes. "That's a bit of an overstatement, really-the taking to bed part. The men I end up with generally just let me suck them off and then bitched me out if I mentioned that the cutest, unrepentantly voyeuristic gay couple lives across the street."

"Across from the bay window?" Anson was amazed that he found this information interesting in a sick sort of way and wisely allowed himself to follow that track as opposed to the intense desire he felt to kick the shit out of the guys who'd just used Callie that way.

"Yep."

Callie seemed more relaxed, so Anson pursued the matter. "The window my ass was plastered against."

"The very one."

"Well, shit." A muffled chuckle from her prompted Anson to venture, "I guess we should've given them more of a show." After giving the appearance of thinking hard, he added, "But I guess your backside wouldn't have been all that much of a draw."

Callie grinned, a playful light appearing in her eyes, as she pressed a little harder with her thumb. "True." Working his palm with a more determined effort, she got a near purr of appreciation for her efforts. Heartened, she mumbled, "Ok, I'm lame but I have to know. Was it good for you, Anson?"

He remembered both the intensity of the pleasure and the absolute darkness that surrounded it in his mind. He didn't understand the latter, but Callie was helping him recall the former with greater and greater clarity. "Yeah, it was, but I guess I'm not sure how sex figures in your project versus partner thing."

"It doesn't really," she admitted. "But it was nice."

Anson widened his eyes, adopting a wounded expression. "Nice? What does that mean? Kissing-your-sister, nice, or-."

"It was I'm-fantasizing-about-you-taking-me-right-here-on-this-dirty-floor nice, Anson."

Anson barely stifled a groan as his mind's eye showed him Callie on her hands and knees in the sawdust, with her bare ass high, looking back over her shoulder at him begging to be fucked.

Blushing, Callie added, "And you were fishing for compliments."

"Yeah. Thanks for biting." Anson was proud that his voice sounded normal, elated as he was by her obvious appreciation of what had been his best efforts in bed.

Callie laughed, whispering, "Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Greene."

Watching her closely, Anson reached with his free hand and lightly traced her lips. When they parted, he allowed her to take his forefinger in her mouth. The spark that ran down his spine when she nipped it surprised Anson with its ferocity. "What what would you say if " Anson paused to take a deep breath, "I asked you to do that again?"

"Don't ask, please." The intensity of her fear frightened Anson. Her playful mood had vanished almost as quickly as it had arrived.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's not what you think, Anson. At least, I don't think it is."

This was by far the strangest conversation Anson could ever remember having. Puzzled, he said, "I think I scared you by by wanting you."

"I scare myself by wanting you."

Anson was helpless against the wave of desire that flowed over him. "Jesus."

"I'm not sure He's interested in helping either of us."

Bending one knee to hide his reaction, Anson recalled ancient catechism. "He helps those who help themselves." Shrugging, he muttered, "I guess we've gotta help ourselves, then."

"Oh, I'd like to help myself to you, Anson, believe me."

Her breathlessness made him shudder. Anson dropped his head onto his knee. "Don't say stuff like that, Callie."

Sitting up straighter, Callie squared her shoulders and faced the music. "Ok, Anson. Here's the deal. I'm afraid that I'm backsliding into my save the world one guy at a time mode. I'm really scared that I'll lose myself in trying to save you."

Frowning, Anson muttered, "I don't want you to save me. And even if I did, I'm not sure you can. Dr. Sid is big on cleaning up your own messes and that makes sense to me."

Callie looked as though she was trying to determine the veracity of his statements. "A lot of people want someone to save them, Anson."

"If I was in a burning building, yeah, but the problems I've got are mine to solve." Anson realized that Dr. Sid had had a real impact on him at the same time that he understood something far deeper seeded. "I think that some of them came about because I used to want someone to save me."

"Can I ask who?"

If Callie had spoken with any hint of entitlement, Anson would've refused. The caring in her tone gave him the courage to answer. "My mother at first. Then my wife. And and "

She squeezed his hand. "Forget it. I don't need to know, but it doesn't necessarily follow that it's your fault if a parent or a spouse lets you down."

"I need to say it." Refusing the comfort, Anson's words were barely audible. "And then I wanted my daughter to be the answer. She's just a kid. Christ, talk about shifting your burden." He shook his head, determination filling the void recently occupied with lust for Callie. "I'm making my own way now."

"For what it's worth," Callie offered, bringing the back of his hand up to her lips and kissing each knuckle. "You've made a good start."

They stared at each other for a long moment. He waited for his internal pessimist to weigh in, surprised but not disappointed by the silence. Heart pounding, Anson asked, "You wanna come along for the ride?"

Callie smiled, but there was wariness in her eyes. "One step at a time, Anson. How about trying dinner again?"

"When?"

Jesus Christ, could you at least try to be cool?

Anson refused to be ashamed of his eagerness.

"Can?" she hesitated. His quiet attentiveness was rewarded. "Can I have a little time to get used to the idea?"

A light went on in Anson's head. "You didn't come here to ask me to dinner, did you?" Her shaken head saddened him, but Anson wasn't fool enough to ask the obvious follow-up question. It didn't matter what she'd come here to do; she'd done what she'd done.

[Forward, Anson. Look forward, the past is set in stone.]

Smartest damn thing Dr. Sid ever said.

"How about Friday again?" Anson suggested, thinking that four days ought to be ample time, hopefully without being too much.

Callie stood, wiping wood dust off of her pants. "I'll see you then. 730 pm, ok?"

"Cutting out early?" Anson asked for something to say as he collected their lunch trash, recalling the 900 pm start time of their first dinner.

"Why not?" she asked. "I've got a date."

The End

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

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