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Cure For Writer's Block	By : xreverie Category: Celebrities - Misc > Het - Male/Female Views: 3262 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a story of fiction. I do not know Chris Evan's personally or professionally or at all. I do not get paid for writing this fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Cure For Writer's Block
- 1
CURE FOR WRITER’S BLOCK
By Joan Reverie
     “Oh, Bucky baby.” I pouted, whimpering helplessly, staring wide eyed at the screen, the popcorn I was about to shove into my mouth, forgotten.
Winter Soldier was kickass!
“‘Bucky baby’?” came an incredulous snort from my left, “No sympathy for the Captain, Mac?”
I snapped my head to look at him, throwing the now remembered popcorn, “Hell no! Everyone’s like, “ I put on my ‘whiny’ voice, “‘Oh poor Steve Rogers, he feels out of place, he needs to catch up with the present. Oh how cute, he has a little list on what to catch up on! Aw, poor Steve, the woman he was in love with now has Alzheimers, and got married so he’ll never get that dance with her.’ Po-or Steve, po-o-or Captain Rogers! It’s just so sad that he got to partake in super secret, state of the art experiments to make the U.S a Super Soldier. So sad that he got to change his body in three point five seconds and all he needed to do was close his eyes and wait. How horrible that he’s able to do things the regular man can’t! Oh please!” I threw my hands in the air, popcorn flying every which where, “What about Bucky Barnes? He fell off a freaking cliff! His arm was mangled! He doesn’t remember today from yesterday! He was experimented on by some weird German toad! At least Rogers had Stark, who knows what the hell he’s doing, besides the fact that I totally dig the ‘stache.”
He just stares at me for a few beats, like I’m some novelty that needs to be caged for research.
I’m used to these looks from him.
“... Actually, he was Swiss.”
I glare at him, until he put his hands up in surrender, “All right, all right, calm down, Smokey.”
“I’m just sayin’,” I continued on as if he never said anything, “It’s Bucky I’m worried about.”
     The movie ended and the screen went back to showing my desktop and I gently took the popcorn bowl off my lap and into his to go unhook my laptop.
“You know, we could have just watched the movie on an actual movie screen…”
“I know that.” I huffed, fiddling with technology, “But you said you wanted to watch it with me, remember?”
Chris ran his fingers over his scruffy jaw. Scritch scritch, “Yeah, but I was thinkin’ I can go incognito or somethin’,” noting my expression he added, “Like wear a disguise!”
“Wearing a baseball cap and a hoodie isn’t a disguise, Evans…” I reasoned, expression deadpanned.
     Chris and I have been friends since high school; since he helped out the ‘quiet girl’ from getting picked on by one of the more popular boys.
Granted it was his boy, but still… I appreciated the sentiment.
Even back then Chris was a likable guy.
All the girls liked him, he was funny, smart and athletic.
Like a trifecta of hawtness (that’s how we talked back then, no judgement).
Although, it was pretty obvious most of the girls were digging the ‘athletic’ part.
It’s probably really cliche’... ‘Quiet Girl’ gets saved by charming ‘Popular Guy’, they become friends, they get together, yadi ya... what-the-fuck-ever!
Real life doesn’t work like that, kids.
It might be a decent recipe for a teen movie or something... but in reality? Nah, in reality it doesn’t work out so much.
Mostly because, ‘in reality’ I never got passed the ‘friend’ part.
     Oh sure, I was pretty much devastated when I figured that part out. It was my senior year in high school. I’ve read a lot of books, watched a lot of movies, and senior year (for a girl) is supposed to be epic. That year was supposed to be teetering on a precipice between awesomeness of epic proportions or copious amounts of epic failure.
Two guesses on which way mine went.

      Long story short: Chris’s acting career was taking off and I was too chicken shit to say anything.
I mean, isn’t that always how it goes, right? Someone’s always got to be chicken shit.
I went to college.
Chris went on auditions.
I was an art major.
Chris got a gig on television.
I became a writer.
Chris became a movie star.
I watched said movies… And smiled, because I can hear the people around me singing his praises.
I was proud of him. Am proud of him.
I came to terms with the fact that he wasn’t just ‘my’ Chris anymore (though technically, he was never ‘My Chris’ at all, but a girl can dream, right?).
Fun fact about Chris: He never forgets where he came from.
And what I mean by that is… He never lost touch with me.
Oh nothing romantic, keep your panties on.
Honestly, it would have been easy with his stars changing and all that, but lucky for me Chris just isn’t that kind of person.
      Chris would send me little text messages when he was on auditions, or a meeting with a director, or his manager. Chris was always keeping me posted, asking my advice.
I remember him being so nervous at one point:
“What if I mess this up, Mac?” his voice was deep with sleepiness.
It was maybe around ten at night at my time, but wherever he was… I think it was later.
I never said it out loud (mainly because it made me feel pathetic), but our nighttime interludes were the highlight of my day.. or night? Oh whatever, you get what I mean.
“Evans,” I would use my ‘don’t fuck with my wisdom’ tone, “you will not mess anything up.”
“What if I let them down?”“Who?” Because seriously, I find it difficult imagining Chris letting anyone down.
“Everyone?” Oh.
I paused, thinking about it for two seconds, then shrugged my shoulders even though he couldn’t see me and simply said, “Fuck ‘em.”
A pause, “What?”
I pressed on, “Fuck. Them. You went on this path for a reason, right?”
“Right.”
“You do it for your mom?”
“No.”
“Your dad?”
“No.”
“Your dog?”
I could hear the smile in his voice, “No.”
“What about for all them sweet chica bonitas that wanna get in your pants?”
“We-e-ell,” he droned to pretend to think about it, which made me roll my eyes.
“You’re such a slut.”
A mocking gasp resounded on the other line, “Excuse me Mackenzie Juliana Smoak? What did you call me?”
I felt my mouth drop as I stared blankly at my ceiling, “Whoa, bringing out the big guns, huh? You heard me, Christopher Robert Evans: You. Are. A. Slut-ah.” I enunciated each word with relish, knowing it would make him laugh. And it did, then just like that, everything was right with the world.
       We giggled for a moment, and I waited for the laughter to quiet, until the only sound I heard was him breathing.
“You’ve always been great at what you do, Chris,” I knew saying his first name did strange things to my stomach, but he needed to know I was serious, “I know you’re scared and I understand, but you wanted to do this. ‘Cause you love it. I can see you love it. When you told me that you were going to L.A to pursue this wild and crazy dream… You know, If anyone else had told me that, I would have called bullshit, but you? Nah, when you said ‘Smokey, this is what I wanna do.’ I believed you. I believed you can do anything. Still do. You’re my miracle man, Evans. Believe in yourself, because I believe in you. And hey, if it don’t work out? I got a couch, a gallon of cookies & cream with two spoons and a buttload of movies waiting for ya.”
       When my little speech was met with silence, I ain’t gonna lie: I panicked.
Shit, did I say too much? Oh fuck me, I probably said something weird.
“Thanks, Mac… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The way his voice sounded made my insides feel warm and I wondered if I was melting into my socks.
Any normal girl would have thrown in a bit of seduction right about then, you know?
He’s vulnerable, go in for the kill!
But then again, I’m fucking chicken shit, so instead I made everything into a joke… Like a moron.
“Oh, I dunno… Besides die of hunger? Because you don’t know the difference between your ass and your face?”
“You’re such a little shit.”
“You love me.” I said in a singsong voice.
“I do.”
That shut me up. Stopped breathing entirely. As in, my lungs were screaming for air and my brain was like, ‘what’s air?’.
“You’re a seriously good friend. Understanding and shit, without the pressure.”
Sigh…
That fucking word.
And just like that the spell was broken, or whatever the hell it was.
Doesn’t matter since it was obviously; painfully one-sided.
Now I wished I had died from my brief brush with asphyxiation earlier, anything to relieve the pain in my chest.
Now I wanted ice cream.
Though I’ll admit, the pain had dulled as he snagged the role after role and made a name for himself.
I knew then that these selfish feelings of mine were exactly that, selfish. That’s when I made myself box all of my feelings (internally of course, I’d never leave that shit hanging around) about ten years of them (I had to use a few more boxes) and shut them off, locked those suckers and threw them somewhere in my mind… Probably in the middle of the ocean, next to the Titans so they can be miserable and co exist together.
Though I’d be an idiot to deny that my heart ached a bit when I would see a pretty girl on Chris’s arm on a magazine or read something about ‘Chris Evan’s new beau’. I like I needed that reminder that I couldn’t have him.
I needed that like I needed a bullet in my brain.
        “So Ms. Juliana Smoke.” I cringed at the name, pulling myself back into the present, “How is the new book coming along?”
“It’s… Coming.” I sighed.
Juliana Smoke is my pen name. Not as creative as other folks, but I like to stay as close to the truth as possible.
I’ve written a few bestsellers and I’m rather proud of them. These books were my babies, I was happy they were so well received.
Chris was probably one of the only people, besides my publicist, who know my real face.
I don’t put my picture on the back of my books like most authors do.
I don’t do face to face interviews.
Book signing? Oh forget that.
I’m lucky to have a publicist that understands just how uncomfortable I am around people.
It makes me nervous.
I don’t like feeling uncomfortable.
And I like the anonymity of it, no pressure.
Abby, my publicist, is just damn happy that my work speaks for itself and no one seems to care that I won’t go on talk shows and talk about my book. I mean, I can do voice interviews, just not the ones when I would actually have to be present.
For the book signing, they’re such a rarity that they hold contests for books with my ugly ass handwriting in ‘em.
I say that sounds insane, but Abby seems to think that they’re good for me.
According to her, my reclusiveness is my niche’ or some shit like that.
She calls it my professional niche’, I say it’s because I generally don’t like people.
… And it tickles my fancy to see all the high school / college douches who picked on me, gush over every word.
Some perverse part of me wanted to come out to the public eye, to see their reaction, to say ‘HA! In your face! Big Mac did pretty good for herself, huh?’
I inwardly grimaced at the name. Such a stupid name.
     When they say that kids are cruel, what they meant to say was: kids are fucking assholes. I took a job one summer… At a local McDonalds. I didn’t mind it at first, I was saving up to buy a laptop.
I had a goal.
I had a plan.
And I worked hard.
I remember that fateful day when I was getting an order ready...
It was a particularly busy day and I was running around… And with my usual grace, I slipped.
… On a fucking fallen Big Mac.
I landed on my back so fast the breath was literally knocked out of me.
Stunned, I just laid there, staring at the ceiling, lungs struggling to breathe.
Usually I would have just gotten up, ignore the lettuce in my hair and move on, I had work to do.
I just wasn’t aware that it happened in front of the football team, who stood at the food counter laughing.
I wasn’t aware of the nickname until the new school year started.
High school.
Where the insecure assholes make fun of someone smaller and weaker, just to make themselves feel more important.
It was reserved for people who never saw life beyond high school.
It was for idiots.
With this in mind, is why I changed my mind about the whole ‘public’ thing.
They’re not the reason why I do what I do.
      “He-e-llo?” A hand was waving in my face, “Earth to Smokey.”
I made a half hearted attempt to bite his hand and he jerked it away laughing.
“You’re a million miles away.”
I sorta was.
I snuggled into the couch more, tucking my sock clad feet under me, “I’ve been in a little bit of a slump.”
“Slump…?”
“Yeah. My MCs are supposed to have this wicked scene together---” I eyed him, before abruptly shaking my head, “No no, it’s nothing. I wouldn’t wanna--”
He was already sitting up straighter, “Whoa whoa! Come on, Mac. Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t wanna know.” he looked right at me with those baby blues and it was a struggle to not get lost in them.
All right, Mackenzie. Keep it in your pants.
“I’m having a little trouble with a scene.” he waited for me to elaborate, “A, uhm… A sexual one.”
Eyebrows quirked upward, “A-a-and I’m listenin’.”
Of course he was.
Men. When we talk about those pesky feelings they get an ear full of wax. Mention one thing about sex, these fuckers are al-l-ll ears.
I wrote romance.
Romance that bordered on erotic, but I’m a sucker for plot.
Make love, not porn and all that.
“I haven’t been inspired. I’ve watched all the romantic comedies, I’ve been watching Ange-fricken’-lina Jolie like it’s a sport and I’m almost ashamed to admit, but I’m getting tired of looking at Scarlett Johansson's ass. I just… Nothing, nothing comes to mind. And I have a deadline coming up and I need to show something, but I haven’t written anything that fucking speaks to me and I think I’m going to just throw my ass out my window just for dramatic effect!”
“Have you tried watching porn?”
…
I think I just died.
“No!” I scream, a little too quickly, “Why the hell would I do that?”
He shrugged before tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it in his mouth.
What I would give to be that piece of corn fluff…
Quit it!
Feelings. Box. Meet Pacific Ocean. Say hello to the Titans.
“Dunno, Smoak. If I were trying to write a steamy love scene, I’d watch porn.”
Good point.
I rolled my eyes, “As if you need a reason to watch porn.”
He smiled cheekily as he shrugged boyishly, “Meh.”
        When I sighed, staring off I didn’t notice that he was closer until my nostrils were filled with him.
Clean skin.
A deep, masculine scent that couldn’t be described as anything else but Chris.
Don’t flinch away. Don’t flinch away.
Don’t scoot closer. Don’t scoot closer.
Please dear God, don’t make a damned fool of yourself.
“Lemme see what’cha got so far.” He nodded to my laptop.
My first reaction was to scream like a banshee and bludgeon him to death with the popcorn bowl.
      I always found it embarrassing when people would read my work knowing it was mine, while I was in front of them.
I like it just as much as I like getting attacked by fire ants.
Recognizing my expression, he narrowed his eyes, “Mackenzie. You’re a fantastic writer. You’ve got a gift. You never ask me for help, but you were always there for me when I needed you. So! Since I see an opportunity to help you, best believe I’m gonna take it.”
“Fine.” I sounded like a petulant child.
He was about to smile in triumph when his phone started wailing.
Saved by the Imperial March. Which also told me that it was his manager, Brad.
I grinned at the song choice, I always did.
Chris was such a little shit like that.
“Yes mother?” Chris answered, nodding his head as he motioned me with his hand to get him a paper and pen.
Thinking that it must be important, I rushed to get it for him and he scribbled something on it before he handed it to me, never missing a beat in his conversation.
Send me your draft
Right now
No lip

I recognized Chris’s sure, steady scrawl, but what I saw confused me.
I blinked, wondering if I read that correctly.
I did.
His scowl met mine as if to say ‘Do it now. I’m not going anywhere until you do. I’m gonna watch you do it.’
True to his silent words, Chris didn’t leave until I sent it to him.
“You’ll thank me later for it, Mac.” he told me as he rushed out the door, placing a kiss on my cheek before he left.
I knew it was a friendly ‘I’ll see you later, homegirl’ kiss, but I relished in the lip contact on my skin.
So. Fucking. Pathetic.

C-DAWG: It’s morning.
C-DAWG: The sun’s barely out, so the sky’s still a sleepy blue, but the air is cool enough that you snuggle next to me under the heavy blanket, seeking warmth.
C-DAWG: My arms circle around your waist, pulling you snug against me.
Your skin feels so soft and my arms squeeze you closer, wanting no space between our naked bodies.

Uh… What the fuck?
I read the text again, blinking the sleep out of my eyes.
Nope. Still the same.

ME: Wtf? :/

I can hear my heart beating in my ears, my head was swimming.
Did he think this was some kind of joke?
That my feelings were some kind of joke?
How he knew about them was beyond me, and that should have scared me more, since I was very careful about it.
Meaning, I haven’t told a single soul. Not even Abby and she was the closest person to me (besides Chris).

C-DAWG: bear w/ me, Smokey. Not askng 2 to txt back or evn 2 elaborate
C-DAWG: Jst read n hopefully i can inspire u

Oh. Negative Ghostrider, secret is safe.

ME: O.O You’re going to sext me?
C-DAWG: lol kinda ;)
ME: Dude. Not sure if I’m ok w/ this. You don’t think it’s kinda fuckin’ weird?

As in more than kinda fucking weird?

C-DAWG: …
C-DAWG: No
C-DAWG: I don’t.
C-DAWG: It’s u mac. How can it b weird?

Okay… Not sure how to take that one. It’s not weird because it’s me, because he doesn’t find me sexually attractive, OR it’s not weird because it’s me and he can talk to me about anything?
I’m going with the second one, the first one… Just hurts my womanly pride.

ME: Idk, man. >.<
C-DAWG: Y? Am i turning u on? ;D

JESUS H. FREAKIN’ CHRIST!

ME: >:/ Not in your wet dreams, asshole.

Even though he was, but for me to admit that would be a cold fucking day in hell.

C-DAWG: Good :)
C-DAWG: because I already have my hand between your legs and you’re already wet for me. You’re kind of embarrassed, but I like that, makes tasting you sweeter.
C-DAWG: I kiss the side of your neck as my fingers stroke your pussy, I can feel your wetness coating my fingertips and I love it.
C-DAWG: Love knowing how much I affect you.
C-DAWG: Your breaths become warm heated puffs and I can’t tear my eyes away from your chest, your nipples are hard and aching, making me want to taste them.

And I’m dying.
I must be.
I notice the distinct change in his texts. When he’s being normal he does the ‘you’ as ‘u’ or ‘are’ as ‘r’ shit and I know he does it just to piss me off (I chalk that up to occupational hazard), but I sorta appreciated the sentiment of his texting in semi proper english… Makes me feel like he’s making an effort.
I also kind of hate that I like the fact he’s making an effort.
Ooh, my head hurts.
I look at the time on my phone the digital numbers telling me it was four in the morning.
Holy sweet Lord in Heaven, it’s early.
What was he doing up?
And why was he sending me dirty texts?
But then again, why am I not stopping him?

C-DAWG: Your moans are so fucking sexy, urging me on when I rub against your sweet ass.
C-DAWG: Can you feel how hard I am? How much I want you? Can you feel what your body does to me? How it makes me hungry for you? How much I want to possess every inch of you?
C-DAWG: I think you know. You’re spreading those pretty thighs for me, baby. You’re begging for my fingers to be inside of you, any part of me inside you.

Why do I feel lightheaded? Oh yeah, that what happens when you don’t breathe.
Breathe you fucking idiot.

C-DAWG: You’re begging me to fill you, pushing your ass back, rubbing it against my crotch and I’m aching to give in…
C-DAWG: But I won’t. This session is for you. I’ll take care of myself later.
C-DAWG: I sink my fingers deeper, rocking my hips against your ass, just for the friction.
C-DAWG: My mouth is at your ear, my tongue doing wicked things to it, my lips whispering dirty, truthful words. How I want to fuck you. How I want to feel your pussy clamping around my dick when you come all over me. I want to taste your orgasm on my tongue.

Oh help me Jesus… I don’t realize how hard I’m breathing, like the room had no air.
Was I gonna hyperventilate?

C-DAWG: You’re coming for me. I know you are, I can feel your hot, little body tighten, the walls of your sweet pussy is pulsing around my fingers. I’m almost jealous of them.
C-DAWG: Your back is arching, your hands clutching at me, telling me not to stop.
C-DAWG: And when you finally give in to the feeling, you look so fucking perfect. Skin flushed pink, those beautiful eyes clouded with pleasure and I am overcome with the feeling of wanting you and I’m proud of the fact that I made you like this.
C-DAWG: Knowing that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.

I stared blankly at my phone screen, not knowing what to do.
What to say.
When to bust out my vibrator.

C-DAWG: Sooo
C-DAWG: Did I get those creative juices flowin? :)

Certainly had some kind of juices flowin’, jezzus.

ME: Hm. Let me sleep on it and we’ll see.

There. That sounded nonchalant.

C-DAWG: k smokey. This is kinda fun! I’ll lyk when I think of smthin else. Gnight.. er mrning! lol
ME: Let me sleep, buttface.

Okay, who am I kidding? I didn’t fucking sleep.
I mean, who fucking sleeps after something like that? The man I’ve been practically in love with (secretly of course) is sexting me, making me feel like a goddamned teenager again and you think I’m going to sleep?
Hell no. Not without some wine.
I was half a bottle in before I was out cold.

       Working at home has it’s perks. One, I can go to ‘work’ in my jammies and no one could give me lip, who was in the office? No one. Just me. And my Batman jammies.
Don’t judge me. Batman’s the shit.
Two, I can be slightly inebriated all mother fucking day. It makes writing a bit more interesting.
But right now? No writing is being done.
No, I’m literally just sitting there staring at the word document program I have open, seriously squinting my eyes at two mother fucking words, bold and underlined: Chapter Thirteen.
I’ve been building up the sexual tension between my two MCs for the past how many chapters and I knew this would be the perfect time to take it to the next step.
I actually tried incorporating Chris’s nighttime sexting into the story, but it didn’t seem… Intense enough.
I needed intensity, but I couldn’t come up with fucking intensity. Completely drawing a blank.
I had gotten off the phone with my editor, Quinn, asking how the story was coming along. I panicked,
I’m not gonna lie. I kept as close to the truth as possible, that I was in a bit of a lull, but I was taking steps in getting past it, and that it was working. That I was playing with a few scenarios in my head.
Lie. Lie. Lie. So much lie.
I was about to imprint the keys of my keyboard on my forehead when my phone pinged.
CHRISANOVA: (Had to change Chris’s name on my phone, getting dirty messages from ‘C-Dawg’ was too much. At least this way the naughtiness made sense.) You’re wearing a blindfold. I don’t want you to use your eyes. Sight will just distract you.
CHRISANOVA: No, baby I want you to feel. Your hands are tied behind your back and you're laying face down on the bed.
CHRISANOVA: At least you think it’s a bed. You feel silk beneath your cheek so you hope it is. The air is cool, not too hot, not freezing. You’re doing what you were instructed to do and that was to change into the clothes I bought you.
CHRISANOVA: Were you expecting a dress? Silly girl, of course it wasn’t a dress. Pretty dresses are for ladies… Right now I don’t want you to be a lady.

I promptly choked on my wine, forcing myself to swallow it or risk soaking my poor computer in cabernet.
My eyes watered and I coughed, knowing that some of it was in my nose.

CHRISANOVA: No sweetheart, I want you in lace. Your body was made for lace. Not red, that’s too much. What I wanna do is trashy, dirty… But you, you’ve got class.
CHRISANOVA: Not black either, too cliche’. You’re better than that. I’ve even toyed with the idea of you in white. White is innocence, and you make me wanna corrupt you.
CHRISANOVA:But with your honey skin? I know you would look divine in a deep green. And holy shit was I right.
ME: Do I get to wear garters? Stockings?
Don’t ask me what the fuck I’m doing.
I have no idea what I’m doing.
Blame it on the wine, it must have gone up my nose and seeped into my fucking brain.
Yeah, that makes sense.

CHRISANOVA: God yes.
ME: Shoes? Am I wearing classy pumps or fuck me pumps?
CHRISANOVA: None.

None?
Before I could ask why my phone was already pinging with a new message.
How does the man text so fast?

CHRISANOVA: You don’t need them. Women use them to look sexy, but you’re already sexy. No Sweet Girl, you don’t need the pumps.
ME: So I’m face down w/ my arms tied behind my back… Are they tight?
CHRISANOVA: Tight enough to make your hands have a slight tingle. But if it gets too much, you’ll let me know.

I gulped.

ME: Like a safeword?
CHRISANOVA: Exactly. Yours is?

Jesus H. Christmas, what was in that wine? I must have drank too much that I’ve warped into the world of 50 Shades of What-the-fuckery.

ME: Why can’t it be ‘stop’?
CHRISANOVA: Because there’ll be a time when you’ll be begging me to stop, but not really want me to. The safeword is so I can tell the difference. Safety first, Smokey Bear.

My belly dipped at the endearment.
I loved that endearment, if any one else heard it they wouldn’t understand.
I loved how it was just for me and him.
Cool it, Smoak.

ME: Fire. Safeword is fire.
CHRISANOVA: That’s perfect, baby.

My tummy did that stupid fluttery thingie again. I was annoyed by how much I liked this.

ME: OK. Face down, hands tied and I can’t see.
CHRISANOVA: But you can feel, can’t you? You can feel me standing behind you, my hands sliding over your beautiful ass. So round and so fucking perfect. I’ve had dreams about your ass.
CHRISANOVA: At my urging you get onto your knees, the stockings making it easy for you on the silk sheets, but you’re keeping your face down, because my hand is there, tangling into your soft brown hair, pushing your face into the bed firmly.
CHRISANOVA: But you like that, don’t you Sweet Girl? You like giving into me, like giving me all the control.

I can hear his words in my head. I can see the picture he’s painting and it’s enough to make my face heat.
I’m imagining myself blindfolded and tied, my ass in the air with Chris kneeling behind me, not too far, but close enough to feel his heat.
Oh dear God.

CHRISANOVA: I place soft kisses to each globe of your cheeks before I push my face into the core of you, where it burns the hottest and my God do you smell fucking amazing. I won’t tell you that you smell like honey, or sweet cream, because that would be bullshit.

CHRISANOVA: You smell like sex, you smell like woman, you smell like desire. And I want to consume you. I can’t help myself.

CHRISANOVA: I plant my hands on each cheek, spreading you wide, so wide that I can see your drenched pussy. Using my nose to push away the flimsy fabric of your panties, I flick my tongue to taste you. I can hear you moaning and you’re backing your sweet ass onto my face, wanting me to do more to you. But I don’t like that baby, I call the shots here.

I swallow, eyes transfixed on his words. I’m sweating slightly. In excitement? Embarrassment? … Of which I’m not so sure. Not so sure about anything.

CHRISANOVA: You’re whimpering after the first slap. I stand up, my hand slipping to my fly. I unzip myself, and you’re straining to hear every sound, trying to sense my mood.
CHRISANOVA: I take myself out of my pants. Damn, I’m so hard and aching, pre-come leaking from my dick. You’re a hard one to resist, face down with your ass in the air. Like a offering. All for me. All mine.

CHRISANOVA: I give in to one simple pleasure as I rub my shaft against the crack of your ass. I want to fuck you so badly right now, and it’d be so fucking easy. All I had to do was tilt my hips and I’d slide right in. But I have another plan in mind for you.
CHRISANOVA: I sit down at the edge of the bed and drag you roughly over my lap. You’ve been a naughty girl, Smokey Bear. I don’t like being told what to do.
ME: But I’m sorry. I was just reacting, I couldn’t help myself.
CHRISANOVA: Oh Sweet Girl, that’s why I did it. I knew you couldn’t help yourself, I’ve got you where I want you. Punishing you is what I crave.
CHRISANOVA: I love it, it fucking turns me on seeing the welts on your soft skin, the whimper in your voice, the fear. But you trust me. You know I’m gonna take care of you, baby. But I want to torture you first.
ME: I don’t know if I can take it.
CHRISANOVA: You can, and you will. And do you know why, baby? Because I’m not giving you a choice. Now how many slaps do you think you deserve?
ME: … Two?
ME: I’m very hopeful that you’ll give me two.
CHRISANOVA: Oh please, as if I would only give you two. Since you’re being a smart ass ten will do just fine. But you’re gonna count them for me.
CHRISANOVA: Better count well, I might forget and give you double. I slam my hand onto your cheeks, hearing you cry out makes me hard, and I smooth my hand over the sting, then I do it again in the same spot. You’re wriggling and crying, but your pussy is dripping between your thighs so I know your panties are soaked, naughty girl.
CHRISANOVA: I slip fingers inside of you between slaps and you’re screaming for me to stop, but that just turns me on more. So much that my dick is aching, poking against your stomach. But that turns you on too, doesn’t it? Making me hard? Making me want you? Knowing that I want you badly.
CHRISANOVA: By the time I finish your ten, you’re sobbing, your ass is red and angry, welting quite nicely. But I reach between your swollen cheeks and I find more wetness, so I know your tears are just embarrassment, you’re embarrassed that I spanked you like a child.
CHRISANOVA: Embarrassed because the lines between pleasure and pain are blurred, and you like it. God, I love that your face is just as red as your ass. Fucking beautiful, baby. Did you learn your lesson? Do you know who you answer to?
ME: Yes.
CHRISANOVA: Who?
ME: You.
CHRISANOVA: Me… Who?
ME: You… sir.
CHRISANOVA: Mm, good girl.
CHRISANOVA: You deserve a reward, correct? Mm, yeah I think you do. You feel something slip around your neck. The smooth leather, the cold bite of metal. Seeing my collar around your throat is sexy as hell.
CHRISANOVA: Latching the chain to one of the silver loops makes me feel like I’m bounding you to me. You want to be connected to me, baby?

I wanted that more than anything.

ME: Yes.
CHRISANOVA: That’s good. That pleases me. I know you like pleasing me.
ME: I always want to please you.
CHRISANOVA: I tell you to go on your knees, and you do it without question, with complete trust in me. That warms my heart, Sweet Girl. You know what I want, and your sexy little mouth is already open and waiting.
CHRISANOVA: I slip my dick inside, smiling as you guard your teeth with your lips, tongue licking the underside of my shaft. Fuck yes, that feels good. I’m cupping your jaw with one hand, the other one is controlling the back of your head and I slide a little deeper, your throat relaxing.
CHRISANOVA: The head of my cock hits the back of your throat and before you gag, you swallow, your throat opening wider to accommodate me. It takes everything I have not to come right then, fuck your mouth feels good.
CHRISANOVA: You’re moaning around my dick, sending vibrations straight to my balls and I can’t help wanting to fuck your face. I slide my dick all the way down your throat, but you’re a little trooper aren’t you? You’re taking my dick with such ease that I get more turned on by how slutty you can be.
CHRISANOVA: But you’re my dirty little slut, right? Your jaw must be killing you from sucking me so much, but you want my cream that bad. I’m so fucking proud of you at this point that I give it to you, pumping my hips faster until I’m filling your mouth with my come, knowing you’ll swallow it. You wouldn’t waste a single drop.

I know I should have been indignant about being called a slut. The feminist in me was like “Aca-scuse me, bitch?” but since I was being honest… I liked the thought of me being a slut for him. I liked him liking that I was a slut for him.
And in the end I didn’t feel too bad about sending women’s rights back about twenty years.
I dutifully apologize for my sluttiness… Kind of.
Hashtag sorry not sorry.

CHRISANOVA: Inspired yet? :D
ME: You’re crazy, Evans.

I needed to find common ground, my world felt like it was tilting.

CHRISANOVA: Jst gvn u ideas.
ME: Thanks
ME: You know, you don’t need to do this...
ME: You’re busy as it is.
CHRISANOVA: Jst killin time b4 my intrvew. Nw :)
CHRISANOVA: dnt i alwys make time 4 u?

This was true.
It was sometimes hard to believe he was some famous celebrity, he’s always texting me.

ME: Good luck on the interview. You’ll be great.
CHRISANOVA: Gna get 2 wrk smokey?
ME: Yeah, gonna try :P
CHRISANOVA: gl
CHRISANOVA: Dnt force it
CHRISANOVA: Relax
ME: Thanks :)
CHRISANOVA: Np u need n e thing call me. ttyl

      After a few days of that kind of torture, I decided I couldn’t take it.
It was too much.
It made me too hopeful, and I knew from experience that was a painful endeavor.
I didn’t feel like fooling myself anymore.
And I still wasn’t able to write a fucking thing, my mind was too caught up in him.
This wasn’t working.
      The scene Chris painted today was beautiful. I noticed he was trying out different scenarios of lovemaking. The others I was able to separate myself to a point, but this… this scene hit too close to home.
Today we were in a summer house, near the beach. He started off with foreplay… and it was the first time he actually “kissed” me. In all the scenes we’ve played out, he never once “kissed” me. But the way he approached it made my heart ache so bad that I wanted to cry.
Which was stupid, really.
But apparently rationale was out the fucking window today.
When I had gotten so weepy, I’ll never know.
I thought I grew a thicker skin by now. His words had gotten me hot, but he never played on my emotions like this before.
He was playing on them now and it didn’t feel good.
Correction, I felt wrecked. Please insert Miley Cyrus “Wrecking Ball” here, thanks.

CHRISABIO: (Because let’s face it, by this point he’s taking over the romance world. Fabio move over. Fucking has-been.) We’re finally able to go away together. We both needed a vacation. You remember that beach house you rented one summer? When you were having a rough time? I was able to reserve it for you.
CHRISABIO: You wanted to go to the beach and it’s such a rarity for you, I couldn’t help but indulge you. You’re digging your toes into the sand, smiling at me with that adorably crooked grin of yours and I’m lost.
CHRISABIO: You’re not wearing make up today, but then again you never do when it’s just us. I love you like this, fresh faced and free. You’re the most beautiful when you shed your responsibility and just chill. You don’t do it often, that’s why whenever you do it’s pretty damn special.

I stopped breathing. Blood suddenly roaring in my ears.

CHRISABIO: You’re laughing at me again for not paying attention to what you’re saying. I apologized, telling you that my mind was wandering. I’m not sure I want to tell you what I was thinking.
CHRISABIO: Should I tell you how special you are to me, how I think of you all the time, how I lay alone at night wishing you were there with me even though I just finished talking to you? I want to tell you my feelings, but I don’t think you feel the same.
CHRISABIO: You’ve got a good poker face, Smokey Bear. Sometimes I can’t tell that goes on in that beautiful head of yours.

Oh god oh god oh god…

CHRISABIO: You’re teasing me, calling me names and poking at me playfully. I decide that those touches aren’t enough for me. So I finally do what I’ve been dying to do for a long time.
CHRISABIO: No punking out like I always do.
CHRISABIO: Catching your hand, I use your natural lack of coordination to pull you against me. Fuck, you always smell so good. None of that perfume crap, but like clean, fresh soap and softness.
CHRISABIO: You’re looking surprised now, those big chocolate brown eyes staring at me. Your pretty pink mouth parted and I just can’t take it anymore. When my lips meet yours, I imagined that this was what heaven feels like.
At this point my eyes are welling up.
I very much wanted that to happen.
I’m torn between feeling angry, because he’s dealing a low blow and sad, because I’m fairly certain he isn’t even aware of me slowly dying inside.

ME: Fire.

That’s it.
I said nothing else. I couldn’t handle anything else.
I ignored his calls and deleted his messages without hearing or seeing them.
I just couldn’t do this anymore, how I dealt with my shit all these years is a mystery, but today… Today was the straw that breaks my back or in this case, my heart… Maybe even our friendship.
“Okay ‘Kenzie, I was able to talk to the company and I got them to agree to your extension. Are you sure you don’t want me to come over? You sound horrible.” Abby’s concerned voice drifted to me over speaker phone.
Of course I sounded like shit.
Crying and drinking, then crying some more can make anyone sound like a nasally, drugged out Fran Drescher.
“Dank yew, Abbeh. Buh I’m ohchay.” I muttered before clicking off.
        Dragging myself into the shower was a good idea. Funny how a simple shower can make you feel human again. Spending the past few days in a haze of cry worthy romantic comedies and cheesecake... with so much wine that I stopped using a glass by the third bottle, I needed to feel more human.
A wine hangover was not a pleasant one. Which was probably the reason why I didn't hear him come in.
I gave him a key a few years back, because he was always dragging my ass out of bed to let him in… One time he got creative, this was when he was shooting the first Captain America, he got a week break and he was feeling like an action star (insert eye roll here), so he broke into my apartment.
I was so scared out of my bunny slippers that I almost killed “Captain America” with a baseball bat.
I gave him a key after that train wreck, for more his safety than mine. Why I forgot about that… I’m gonna chalk that up to my glorious hangover and depression.
So please pardon my ‘I almost pee’d my pants’ moment when I hear a voice come out of nowhere.
“Really, Smoak? You resort to the childish ‘I ain’t talkin to you’ bullshit?”
Almost coming out of my skin, I spun abruptly at a scream.
“HOLY SHIT!” seeing who it was, I placed a hand on my chest in attempts to quell my hammering heart,“You scared the fuck out of me, Evans! What the fuck?”
I knew ‘what the fuck’ was going on.
I knew he knew that I knew ‘what the fuck’ was going on.
I knew he was pissed.
I knew he wanted an explanation.
I knew I was in deep shit when I noted the Boston flavor in his tone.
“‘What the fuck’?” he repeated, I cringed, “‘What the fuck’, she says. I’ll tell ya what the fuck, you’ve been ignorin’ my ass for days, woman.”
Uh oh… I’m no longer “Smokey” or even “Smoak”. I’ve just been demoted to “woman”. At least it’s still a human species, though at the moment I felt more akin to scum.
I didn’t know what to tell him, so I opted for the classic ‘I ain’t sayin’ shit’ plan.
It did not tide over well.
It took everything I had not to cower when Chris advanced on me. He looked genuinely pissed, but I’m a selfish cow… So it didn’t register that I was in shit. I mean, I knew I was in shit, but I didn’t know I was in shit.
My heart hurts. Gotta let me pass on this one.
Granted he didn’t know he was hurting me, it’s not exactly his fault… But I’m gonna pull the ‘I’m a girl’ card, though I will own up to the irrationality.
Owed him that much.
        “So what? Still got nothin’ to say?” he growled down at me, teeth bared, blue eyes flashing.
I tried to back up, to get some distance, but my ass was flat against the sink counter.
There goes plan A.
I sucked in my lips between my teeth. I still didn’t know what to tell him.
What? That his last fucking scenario hit too close to home? That I was pissed at myself for being pathetic enough to let it get to me? That I’m so fucking terrified that I may have just outed my feelings for him for reacting the way I did? That I found it easier to be mad, because being sad meant more crying… and I was so sick of fucking crying.
How did everything get so fucked up?
Oh. Yeah… One dirty text at a time.
       Chris sighed and I felt his breath on the top of my head. I shifted my weight on my feet, uncomfortable at how close he was. I kept my eyes transfixed on his chest, it was easier to stare at since I couldn’t bring myself to look at his face.
You know me, always trying to take the easier route.
“Was it too much, Mac?” I was surprised at the soft tone, especially since he was so angry earlier.
Yes.
No.
I don’t fucking know.

I stayed silent, jaw clenching when no words would come out.
“Did I make you uncomfortable?”
Yes?
Kinda?
No?
“Do you hate me now?” his voice was barely above a whisper.
“No.” Of course not.
He seemed surprised at my answer.
Wow, did he really think I hated him?
Well, you did ignore every call, every text and his every attempt to contact you, so why wouldn't he think that? Mackenzie, you’re a fricken genius!
       I’ve never felt this awkward with Chris before. Our entire relationship was based on our friendship. We were comfortable with each other, we could tell each other anything, I’d like to think we told each other everything.
You know, besides me being completely and irrevocably in love with him.
       We didn’t say anything for a long time. The edge of the counter was digging into my lower back and I was counting the breaths I felt on the top of my head; counting each slow, heated puff.
Chris’s hands reached out to grip the edge of the counter, successfully caging me in.
“Chris…” I started.
“Oh, she fuckin’ speaks now.” His tone was soft, his words, however, felt like a slap.
All right that’s fucking it!
       With a growl I planted my palms on his chest, forcing myself not to fucking gawk on how solid said chest was and pushed with as much strength I can muster.
He. Didn’t. Fucking. Move.
Well it’s either I’m weak as hell or he should do a role switch with Chris Hemsworth.
“Give it a rest, asshole.” I hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring the sting in my eyes.
I was so tired of freakin’ crying.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold’a you for days, Mackenzie.”
Ouch. My first name this time.
“Yeah, well. I was busy.” Crying and weeping like a bag of dicks.
“Yeah, so fuckin’ busy, but you got enough time to contact your publicist--- Don’t gimme that look, you weren’t takin’ my calls or answerin’ my texts, so I needed to at least know you’re still fuckin’ breathin’.”
Oh. Well, then.
His hands closed over my shoulders and it took everything I had not to lean into him, I think I’veembarrassed myself enough, yeah?
His thumbs rubbed circles into my exposed skin.
Did I imagine that?
No, I didn’t. Chris was rubbing small, deliberate circles into my skin.
“Chris?” I didn’t recognize my own voice, it sounded small; raspy.
“Why’d you run, Mac?”
Why indeed?
Because I’m chicken shit.
Because he had described probably the best fucking day of my life and it wasn’t even real.
Because that’s all I know how to do.
Because it’s Chris and anything that has to do with Chris and feelings are always kept separate.
Because I wanted it to be real so bad that I just couldn’t take it.
Because I was so damned in love with him that it made my chest ache and my head hurt.
       “Mac?” I felt Chris’s fingers tilting my chin up to look at him. And I was caught in an endless sea of blue.
I hadn’t given him an answer.
And he wanted me to give him one.
His thumb stroked my bottom lip, distracting me.
Why was he touching me like this?
“Because I’m an idiot?” my voice was breathy, shaky, I’m finding it difficult to breathe with my heart beating in my throat.
“Mac.” Chris warned.
“Because I’m scared.”
“There ya go, now we’re getting somewhere.”
Those were his exact words before his mouth slammed on mine, pressing me harder against the counter, forcing me to brace my hands at the edge behind me.
Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck!!!
I think it finally happened.
I think I’ve finally gone insane.
Lost my marbles, lights on but no one’s home, bonkers.
I pulled back quickly, sucking in a harsh breath.
The man needed to quit distracting me, having Chris at such a close proximity was proving to be a serious mental hazard.
“Tell me what’s got you so scared?”
I’ll tell you whatever y’want. The grass is blue, Elvis is still kickin’ and ended world hunger, brought peace to the middle east, the government isn’t screwed and pigs really do fly! But there’s no way in hell I’m telling you that!
I opened my mouth to reply when he cut me off with his mouth again.
I pulled away, wiped the stupid look on my face and glared at him. I tried to talk again and he attacked my mouth again. After the fourth time doing this song and dance I eventually stopped trying to say something and gave him a confused ‘what the fuck?’ look.
Then he cut that look off with his ‘no bullshit’ stare, “Don’t you dare try to feed me some BS that you aren’t. I’ve known you for a long time, Smoak. I can smell your bullshit from a mile away.”
As much as I enjoyed the lip bombs, the idea on strangling him was getting more attractive.
       Then I lost my train of thought a-fucking-gain when Chris shoved his hands into my armpits and I was moving upwards until my ass hit the counter, with him nestled between my parted thighs, my hands retrieving purchase on his hard shoulders in efforts to keep balance.
I was rendered momentarily speechless at the swiftness of the movement.
Geez Louise, only he can lug my ass around like I weighed nothing at all.
We were face to face now, which I couldn’t decide whether it was daunting or refreshing.
I chose the latter.
Chris’s hands were gripping my hips, branding into me.
         He was nuzzling me (eep!), completely invading my space. His breath warm on my ear, “You seriously piss me off sometimes.”
One, I can tell. And two, right backatcha, fucker.
Shit, if this is him pissed off, I’d hate to see him angry, I might have a heart attack.
Again, all snappy remarks never made it past my lips.
“Why are you so mad, Chris?”
Oh for the love of--! Apparently only the stupid shit gets passed the gate.
His tongue flicked at my earlobe. I felt that lick somewhere else, “Mm, you’re callin’ me by my first name. Must be gettin’ somewhere good.” teeth nipped, then I got tongue again.
Then I got annoyed.
Don’t ask.
I blame the sensory overload with the addition of the major emotional conniption I seem to be harboring.
“Quit fucking with me, Evans.” I growled pointedly using his last name, “You don’t need to molest me to prove a point.” I was pushing against his chest, which irritated me more when he did... not... fucking… move!
Instead he held fast, his face burrowed at the space where my neck met shoulder and he growled, deep, the sound vibrating over my skin.
I shouldn’t have liked it… But of course I did.
“And what point would that be?” his voice sounded strangled, like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scream at me, “That I can make you feel something?”
Deny deny deny!
I started shaking my head and Chris rolled his eyes, “God, you’re so full of shit. I love you to death, Mac. But holy fuckin’ shit do you try my patience.”
I sighed sadly, “You do make me feel something…” my voice trailed off, knowing we meant different things.
“Is it really hard for you to even think that maybe, just fuckin’ maybe, that my feelings for you may be different?”
Hm? Wait, what?
We do want each other in a different way.
Wasn’t that the reason I’m acting like an idiot?
Be brave, Mac.
“Don’t we? Want different things, that is?” my words were barely louder than a whisper, but Chris was so close, so I had no doubt that he heard me.
Chris went scary still, “And what, pray tell, do you think that is?”
Now his voice had that scary tone.
“I’m gonna ask you again, Smokey Bear. What made you run away? Why are you so scared?”
Oh hell, what was the point? I pretty much fucked this friendship up beyond repair.
“I wanted it.” I swallowed passed the lump in my throat, “Everything. I wanted it so bad that everyday it got worse.”
“What did you want, Mackenzie?”
Suddenly I wanted to cry again, “You? Wanted you to love me, to want me, to see me as more than a friend? … For as long as I can remember.” my voice broke over the last word and Chris’s body sagged against mine.
“Thank God.” he moaned with relief before he took possession of my mouth, his tongue sliding in, doing wonderful things. I kissed him back, my arms slipping over his shoulders, breathing him in I whimpered.
He ground his hips against the junction of my thighs, his crotch rubbing against the heat of me.
I gasped, his teeth pulled on my bottom lip gently, his hips rocking into me, “You feel that? Can you feel what you do to me?”
Oh god.
I groaned softly, my hips rocking into his in answer.
Christ, that felt good.
If you told me hours ago that Chris and I would be dry humping on my kitchen counter in my Star Wars jammies, I would have knocked you upside the head.
But that’s what was happening right now.
         We were a mixture of hands, limbs and tongues. His hands were in my hair, mine were in his shirt, his tongue was in my mouth, mine was rubbing against his, licking, tasting, glorious!
My legs were wrapped around his lean hips, his hands braced under my ass and he was lifting me off the countertop, his legs taking long strides to wherever we were going.
At this point, I’d follow him anywhere.
Except my mom’s house… That’d be weird.
         I felt the warm familiarity of my bed on my back, then the unfamiliar warmth of Chris’s body falling on top of me, then it was the unfamiliar, but getting familiar feeling of his tongue in my mouth.
My head was spinning.
Schoop! There goes my jammies.
Then my tank was ripped over my head, my hair falling over my face in wild disarray.
The cool air just barely touched my skin before Chris was on top of me again.
Skin to skin.
Wait. Was he naked?
I peeked down to check.
No. He left his boxers.
I feel strangely disappointed.
        Chris caught my attention with laughter in his beautiful eyes, “So impatient to see what I’m workin’ with, Smokey?”
Heat crept into my cheeks, “Shut up, I just didn’t want to be the only one naked.”
“No one told you not to wear underwear.”
“Dude,” I glared, “You broke in to my home. When someone is home, underwear is not only illegal but optional.”
Then his eyes trailed down my body in slow prowl, like he was memorizing every detail, “Definitely not complaining with the results.. Mm, definitely not.”
I was struck with a sudden burst of insecurity.
I was, by no means, in any shape like those models and actresses he was often surrounded with.
I did yoga and if beer pong was a sport then I should go pro, but other than that my butt was plastered to my office chair or a couch cushion.
        When I tried to cover myself, Chris immediately grabbed my wrists, “What are you doing?”
If my face heated up anymore, I swear it was going to melt off.
He loosened his grip on my wrists and immediately cupped each naked breast.
His hands were warm, my skin pebbled, as did my nipples, in reaction.
“You’re beautiful, Mac.” he rasped, his voice rough, deep.
Like he was having trouble breathing.
Fingers plucked gently at my hardened peaks and I couldn’t help but arch my chest into them, I wanted him to touch me more, I honestly think I need him to touch me more.
          The warm, wet heat of his mouth enclosed around my nipple was probably a feeling I wont be forgetting in the near future.
I couldn’t look away.
I watched in heated arousal as his tongue flicked at the hardened nub, his straight, white teeth pleasuring it with tortured slowness, the palm of his hand running down my ribcage to the back of my knee to pull it higher and closer to his side, his hips nestling deeper into the cleft between my thighs.
My very naked thighs.
His purpose was to drive me insane.
I say: Mission accomplished.
“You wet for me, baby?” his mouth was at my ear.
I nodded, “Y-yes.”
It was impossible not to be.
“Touch me.”
And it just occured to me, I had my hands fisted in my sheets. I immediately untangled my hands and seriously had no idea what to do with them.
I was no virgin, not by a long shot, but suddenly I was in college again and I haven’t a clue as to what I was doing.
Cold fingers touched heated skin. I trailed my fingertips over Chris’s ribcage, his hard chest, then down the bunched muscles of his stomach, which contracted when I touched them.
Chris was breathing was uneven; choppy, his muscles twitching under his smooth skin.
I was utterly fascinated.
Fascinated that I can affect a man like him, especially like this.
Made me feel powerful.
Beautiful.
Free.
       I grew bolder as I traveled south, my hand gently cupping Chris through the cotton of his boxers.
Chris hissed through his teeth, “Shit.”
“You’re so hard…” I breathed in wonder, exploring his length and also getting a little nervous.
“You okay?” He asked me, his expression concerned.
I really love this man.
“I’m a little nervous, honestly.” I tell him truthfully.
“Is it because it’s me?”
“That too..”
“Then what is--”
“I’m scared you might hurt me.”
A crease formed between his eyebrows, “Mac, I would never--”
I immediately shook my head, “No I mean--” I sighed, “Man, I am fucking this up.”
I licked my lips nervously, “I’m a little on the small side compared to you and…”
He looked at me blankly for a minute, then his head snapped back, his broad shoulders shaking as he barked with laughter, “Oh honey.” he chuckled into my neck, “Oh baby. I’ll definitely fit.”
Now I wanted to kill him.
“I know you’ll fit, dumbass.” I’ll admit that I may have pouted at the end of that sentence.
       He was looking at me seriously now, the pad of his thumb caressing the sensitive skin under my jaw, “I’ll take it slow, Mac.”
“I know.” I spoke to his ear, not ready to meet his eyes.
“... Smokey Bear.” the way he said the name, with such tenderness with such familiarity, my chest contracted involuntarily.
With all these heart squeezes going on… Those aren’t signs of a heart attack, right?
Because it really can’t be healthy.
Chris rested his forehead on mine and I appreciated the closeness.
Our breaths mingled and I found the courage to look at him.
“There she is.” I felt his words more than I heard them, it made my lips tingle.
     We laid there like that for a few more breaths, our lower bodies plastered against each other, my hands resting on his narrow hips, his massive arms caging my head between them and our foreheads touching.
Lips only centimeters away from each other.
I can feel the tip of his hardness at the core of me and just knowing that he was so close, that he was aching just as badly as I was, made my heart clamor inside my chest.
In excitement or nervousness? I’ll take both in equal measure.
But I knew that Chris would not move until I was okay.
Love this guy.
I tilted my hips slightly, rubbing myself against his blunt erection through his boxers.
“Chris,” I sighed, lifting my chin to offer my mouth to him, “I need--”
His lips crushing against mine silenced whatever I was going to say, which I appreciated, because I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted.
How does one ask for their best friend to have sex with them?
Not easily I imagine.
The swipe of that talented tongue of his was making it hard to form coherent thoughts, so it barely registered that Chris had slipped his underwear down his narrow hips, his hard thighs and was now rubbing the head of his erection against the most intimate part of me, the blunt head slick with my wetness.
We both sighed at the sensation.
           Chris broke the kiss and rested his forehead on mine again. He was breathing like he was running a marathon, his arms straining as he forced himself to hold back.
I thought it was sweet.
I reached between our bodies, my hand closing around the length of him. I felt Chris hold his breath as I guided him to my slick entrance.
“Please…” I moaned in a voice I’ve never heard before. It was throaty, husky, womanly.
I liked it.
“Fuck.” He hissed between clenched teeth and his hips pushed forward, through my slick folds, slipping wetly through my channel in agonizing slowness.
I was gasping now, my body straining to accept him, stretching to accommodate him.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” he growled, “so fucking tight…” I don’t think he was talking to me, so I just whimpered in answer.
No, my eyes were glued to the view of him slipping inside of me.
I’ve never watched that particular act before, I’ve always been too embarrassed to look, but it’s the middle of the day, my room was bright despite the curtains being closed. Sunlight
I saw everything.
And it was beautiful.

       Chris lifted himself until he was upright, his hands lifting my hips more firmly onto him until he was rooted so deep and completely into me I was almost mindless with need.
I moaned instead, my back arching and my eyes fluttering closed.
“Keep them open.” I heard him growl harshly, surprising me.
I swear I felt myself get wetter.
I opened them immediately to look at him.
His lips curved in a crooked grin. Good girl.
      I did an ab crunch and planted my feet onto the bed to help me sit up, forcing him to sit on his ass. I smiled at him wickedly as I reached back to tug the material of his boxers off his legs.
Chris smiled back as he kicked it off his feet, his arms wrapping around my waist to crush me to his hard body. My hands gripping his shoulders for purchase.
I didn’t think Chris could have gotten harder, but that moment proved me wrong. He seemed to have swelled more inside me, making me shiver slightly at the sensation.
      I was looking at him through heavy lidded eyes, my hips moving with their own volition over his hard erection, circling before bearing down.
I felt drunk with arousal, with all the sexual energy emitting from the both of us.
Chris looked at me like he wanted to eat me alive and I found myself even more turned on.
He made me feel sexy, wanted; desired. I wanted to bask in the glory.
His arms tightened around me as he thrusted up, bending his knees and at the same time using his arms to pull me down more firmly onto his stiff pole, stealing the breath from me.
“Ah!” I gasped, my back stiffening as I gripped him harder.
He stilled immediately, “Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”
I was already shaking my head, “No no, God no. Don’t stop please, “ I stared at him imploringly, worried that he would, “You feel so good, please don’t---”
He kissed me again, groaning as he used his strength to keep my hips from moving while he groundhimself shamelessly from under me. I moaned into the kiss, my arms sliding over his shoulders as we deepened the kiss, tongues and lips tasting,
      Then I was on my back with Chris on his knees thrusting into me, his hips pounding in heavy thuds, forcing me to wrap my legs around his lean hips to help absorb the impact.
Chris was cursing and I was moaning, lifting my hips higher to meet each thrust. He gripped each round globe of my ass and grounded himself against my sex and I saw stars lighting behind my eyes as I came without warning, my neck straining while my body was wracked with shudders from my climax. Chris was moving above me, his eyes watching me with stout awareness.
His skin glistened, chest was heaving as he took in deep breaths, and I could literally see his heart pounding.
“Holy shit…” he eyed me appreciatively.
I felt boneless and my mind was already floating when he reached between our sexes to touch me.
I let out a small scream in surprise, “Oh God!”
“I wanna make you do that again.” he gave me a lazy smile and I realized that he was still rock hard inside me.
Immediately flushing with embarrassment I looked away, “I-I’m so sorry! You didn’t--”
God! I’m a selfish cow! I can’t believe I didn’t at least wait for him to be close to coming before I shot off like a rocket to the fucking moon!
The high I felt earlier came crashing down.
I was such an idiot.
“Babe.” he was using his reassuring voice, “shut the fuck up.” Chris was shaking his head at me, his body still working me. I was still sensitive from before, but he was being patient, his hands and fingers building up pressure at my center.
I got that melty feeling deep in my belly.
Dear God, was I ready to go again?
Apparently so.
I placed a slightly sweaty palm on his chest and pushed firmly. Chris looked at me questioningly, but he conceded and pulled out of me.
I immediately felt empty, but before I could dwell on that I flipped to my knees in front of him aligning my rear to his straining hardness.
Chris swallowed hard, bright blue eyes glued to my ass, “Mac?”
“Please fuck me,” his eyes shot to mine in surprise and I smiled boldly, “hard. I need you to pound me so hard until I’m mindless and I can’t even think straight, let alone remember my name. “
I rubbed my dripping sex against the hard length of his shaft, “Until you’re the only thing I’m thinking about. Please?”
Chris groaned, his hips rocking against me, “Damn. I almost came just by looking at you.”
I relished the feeling of fullness when Chris slid inside me again, my previous climax making it easing the way.
One had gripped my hip and the other was smoothing the line of my back as he rocked into me in a steady rhythm.
“Shit… Shit.” He chanted under his breath, “Holy fuck, you feel fucking amazing.”
I lowered my face to the mattress, my hand reaching between my wide spread legs.
“Mac? Are you--Shit!” Chris groaned, his hips pistoning into me as I rubbed myself concurrently.
I was once again flipped onto my back ( really the man needed to stop lugging me around ) and Chris let out an appreciative moan at the sight of my fingers working my sex.
He slid into me again, this time roughly, making me sigh with pleasure.
“Touch yourself more.” he grunted and nodded when my hand reached up to cup my breast.
“Like this?” I asked unnecessarily, liking the look he was giving me, definitely liking the view of his manhood disappearing inside only to reappear more slick and shiny.
“Fuck yes.” he breathed, his strokes becoming shorter and more erratic.
I let myself get lost in the sensations, of my fingers teasing my clitoris my hand working my nipple into a hard peak, each hard thrust inside me.
It was too much.
I was overwhelmed by everything.
The smell of musky sex, harsh breathing, low cursing, feminine mewling, the heat, the tang of sweat, everything.
My eyes were closed and I knew I was getting close.
“C-Chris?” I called, not really knowing what I was asking for.
To come?
To scream?
To fall apart?
“Yes, God yes!” he was panting.
And it was like the floodgates opened and I saw white hot sparks behind my eyelids as I came with complete abandon, even harder than the first (which I didn’t think was possible).
I felt Chris stiffen above me, a low guttural moan, his muscles tensing. I didn’t realize he came inside of me until I felt him trickle down my inner thigh.
“Fuck.” Chris must have realized what he did because he was staring harshly between our bodies.
“Chr--”
“Damn it, that was stupid of me.” he clenched his jaw, “I get regular check ups, I---”
I raised my hand to stop him, “Okay, me too I--”
“Damn, fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair, “If something happens, we’re gonna be okay. I have a lot saved up in the bank, we can play this smart---”
“Chris, for the love of God, shut your trap for a second and quit interrupting me, you know I get annoyed when you do that!”
“But--”
“I’m covered.”
He looked at me with the most adorable expression of confusion.
“Contraceptive? I’m covered. We’re okay.”
His face blanked for a moment before he spoke again, “I overreacted didn’t I?”
I nodded, “Yep.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“Yep.”
“Noted.”
“Totally written in stone, Evans.”
Silence.
For the first time in our entire friendship, Chris and I had nothing to say.
We had actually run out of shit to say.
And he wasn’t looking at me.
Why wasn’t he looking at me?
             And just like that my heart became a hard lump in my chest as it fell heavily into my stomach.
How did it managed to get so fucked up so quickly?
Ashamed, I slowly pressed my thighs together and sat up, hugging my naked knees to my naked chest, sitting naked on my bed next to a naked Chris who is still kneeling naked on my bed:
Still.
Not.
Looking.
At.
Me.
In fact, it looked like he was seriously trying not to.
Well that’s an ol’ kick to the chitets.
Girl meets Boy.
Girl and Boy become BFFs.
Girl and Boy have sex after years of Girl’s secret loving.
Now Boy can’t look at Girl.
Girl needs to drown herself in the nearest body of water or throw herself out the closest window.
Story of my life… I should start writing a Biography.

“You mad at me?” came a small whisper that broke into my thoughts.
What?
“What?” I blink, “Mad at you, why would I be mad at you?”
“Well I sorta kinda came in here all chest puffed and full of hot air…”
True.
“Might have been a little forceful?”
Eh?
Wasn’t I the one asking him to fuck me earlier?
I gave him the ‘uhh’ look and he shook his head, “I pretty much took advantage of your vulnerability.”
I was shaking my head, “What? No! I think I made it perfectly clear that I wanted this, wanted you.”
We were talking over each other, words overlapping in a clusterfuck of noise.
“I just didn’t know how to tell you, I mean, I’ve been having these feelings and I didn’t know what to do with them, and you were always so cool and I could never read what you were thinking when it came to us. It was like you shut it down.”
I stopped talking immediately, “Wait, what?”
I had to shut down those feelings, they were killing me, I couldn’t! I knew it had to be that way.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
“It was like every time I made some move you’d laugh it off or shut it down. It was so effortless like you never gave us a second thought. Like it was impossible.”
What the fuck was he saying?
My body numbed as revelation hit me: Oh dear God… Did I just waste all this time…?

I groaned into my knees fucking hating myself,, “Auugghh, I’m an idiot.”
“I think we both are, but I concede to you if you wanna be the bigger one.”
“We’re so stupid.”
Chris nodded, “Mhm.”
“I can’t believe this shit.”
“I know.”
“Sex is not supposed to be that good.”
“I’m in love with you.”
… Eh?
We stared at each other for a few beats before a smile crept into both our faces.
Well then.

EPILOGUE
         “Mac? Are you in here?” he padded through the apartment, his barefeet thudding softly.
“In here!” her voice called, muffled, sounding distracted. Chris followed the voice to her home office and there she was, hunched over her keyboard, her fingers flying over it as she rapidly tried to get as much words out as quickly as she possibly could as if they would disappear as quickly as they came.
“Inspiration hit you?” he grinned for no good reason.
She eyed him with a side glance, those shimmering brown eyes twinkling with amusement before she rolled them, “Augh, whatever. If you’re gonna rub it in, I have a grapefruit in the fridge you can be boning for the next few days.”
Empty threat.
She was adorable.
Mac’s long, wavy maine was piled ontop of her head like a chocolate mountain, her light tanned skin fresh and make up free, her small curvy body encased in his tee, shapely legs folded under her.
And he knew she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Crap, his dick got hard just thinking about it..
“You’re distracting me.” She stated in a sing song voice, her fingers typing in rapid fire.
“What? I ain’t doin nothin’.”
She paused to turn to look at him as he stepped closer to wrap his arms around her shoulders, “One, you’re still naked. Two, I can see you’re excited. Three, you’re naked---”
“You said that already.”
“It bears repeating.”
“Love you, Mac.”
He felt her smile against his skin, “I love you too… Sir.”
Oh shit.
“You’re gonna pay for that, Sweet Girl.”
She turned her head to catch his lips with her own, “I’m so looking forward to that.”
THE END

A/N: Woo! This took me a bit to finish. It was supposed to be a short-er story. lol
But Chris Evans is my favy at the moment and I love him enought to write a fiction starring him in it.
I hope you enjoyed it!
If you have any other celebrities you want to read about, let me know!
I’m open to suggestions!
You can email me at j.reverie@yahoo.com or you can just leave me a review / comment!
Thank you for reading.

Yours,
Joan
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