Notes from Gypsy: ok, I'm not exactly sure how to say what I want to say here, so bear with me. this story was not mine originally. my best bud in the whole wide world, BJ, started this story a couple of weeks ago. if you've read my vamp trilogy, you'll remember BJ - he was the one who kept the story going whenever I lagged behind. plus he put out quite a few good fics of his own. anyway, BJ was in motorcycle accident last week and passed away. when I found this story he had started, I knew that I had to finish it for him, cuz he woulda done the same for me. fortunately, he left behind good notes on how he wanted this to end, so I think this was what he had in mind. hope y'all like it. godspeed, Billy boy...I miss ya already.

Today an old heartache came calling
An old flame I thought died out like some falling star
Instead it's rekindling some memories
That may start an out of control raging fire
That look in your eyes brings back memories
You still have that same smile that once won my heart
The bittersweet feelings still linger
That once fueled our out of control raging fire
An out of control raging fire
Pain has no memory when you burn with desire
The flames grow higher and higher
Till we've reached an out of control raging fire
Inside us the passion is burning
It's too late to stop what we've started tonight
How can we resist this temptation
To restart an out of control raging fire
An out of control raging fire
Pain has no memory when you burn with desire
The flames grow higher and higher
Till we've reached an out of control raging fire
Yes we've reached an out of control raging fire


Why in the hell did I let Jeff talk me into comin' to this damn party? Probably because he woulda whined for hours, hell days even, if I hadn't said yes. But right now, seeing him across the room, I wish like hell that I woulda just stayed upstairs in my room, alone with my Pepsi and the Cartoon Network. But noooooo. My darlin' baby brother, who can pout like nobody's business, begged me to come down here.

"C'mon, Matty," he said, "we only get to see half these guys once a month, and last time you wouldn't go, and everybody kept askin' where ya was, and if ya don't go, I'll stay here all night long and I'm gonna sing at the top of my lungs." I made a face at him and told him I'd just put on my headphones and ignore him. "Won't work, Matty," he said. "I'll sing '99 bottles of beer'…over and over and over, till you go crazy." I shot him a look that should have told him I was already crazy. But, to save what little shred of sanity I have left, I said I would come to the freakin' party with him.

Damn you, Jeff. Why do you do this to me?? He's over there, having the time of his life, dancing around, hangin' out with our buddies, and generally having a good time. And I'm stuck in this corner, watching everyone else. All because of him. There's a reason I don't hang out with anyone after a pay per view. There's a reason I don't watch Smackdown with Jeff. There's a reason I like to forget that the other half of this company exists.

And that reason is standing 100 feet away. And he's spotted me here alone in the corner. And he's coming my way. I look around but discover there's no way to escape, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I have successfully avoided being around him for 6 months now. Haven't watched him on TV, haven't run into him in the airport, hell, I haven't even spoken his name. Not out loud anyway.

I look down at the table, extremely interested in the beer bottle in front of me. Nice label. Nice bottle. Very brown. Damn it, what the hell am I doing? I'm acting like an idiot. But, I cannot, I will not, look up at him. I won't acknowledge his existence. Not after what he did. Took me a long time to find my heart after he ripped it from my body and stomped on it. Now I'm finally starting to feel a little bit better about myself, and here he comes.

He pulls out the chair and sits down. Doesn't ask if it's okay or anything, just presumes that I won't mind seeing him, talking to him, smelling his cologne. Damn him, too. "Hey," he says. I look up and take in his features. Still the same big brown eyes, same sweet smile, same little dimple, same pouty lips. Damn those lips. I remember how I used to run my tongue over them, relishing the feel of his bottom lip against mine, or the way he would run it up my chest or down my cock.

I nod at him and return his greeting. "Hey yourself," I say. Did my voice just crack? Fuck. Gotta stay cool. Can't let him know what I'm thinkin'. He leans forward. "How ya been?" he asks. I almost choke on my beer, but I stay cool. "Good," I say. "You?" He moves around in his chair for a second. Is he fidgeting? This makes me smile for some reason. He looks away, surveying the room, before his eyes finally lock on mine again.

"Like hell, thanks," he says. What? His perfect life, the one he left me for, ain't so perfect after all, it seems. I find it a little amusing and can't stop the small grin from kissing at the corners of my mouth. Cruel, I know, but if anyone deserves my cruelty, it's him. "Sorry to hear that," I say, trying my best to look serious. He gives me a half grin of his own. "Bullshit," he replies.

At that, I can hold my smile back no longer. I laugh. Not the belly-shakin', side-splittin' laughter that one uses when they hear a hilarious joke, but more like a nervous laugh, the kind that ya use when you don't quite know what to say or do, but ya gotta do something. He laughs a little, too, but not much. After a few minutes of giggles, he gets all serious, then says, "I'm sorry."

I look him in the eye. I try to search them, to find something, anything to hold on to. I want to hate him. I want to tell him to go the fuck away. I want to touch him. Okay, so I'm a little confused, but what do you expect? I loved him, adored him, worshipped him. I gave him everything I had to give and he left me alone, crying, heartbroken. All for some little blonde with a cute smile and a nice ass.

"Are you?" I ask. He nods. "I don't expect you to forgive me or anything like that," he says, "cuz I know if it was me, I probably would be pissed as hell at you, and it would take a long time, a real long time, to forgive you." He starts playing with the ashtray in front of him, spinning it around on the table - one of his more annoying habits, as I recall.

I soak up what he's just said, processing it all through the thin alcohol haze my two beers have created, and I come to one conclusion. "I guess I'm just bein' selfish," he says. "I guess I just need to know that you don't hate me. You ain't gotta promise to talk to me ever again, or even be friends, cuz I know you can't do that, but I need to know that you don't hate me. I can't go through the rest of my life knowing that you won't ever forgive me. I can't live with myself anymore, knowing what I did to you."

He's looking at me now, that sad smile on his face, and I tell him what's on my mind. "You're right," I say. I see his confusion. "You are selfish. You're the most selfish bastard I've ever known in my life." I stand up, almost knocking the table over and start to walk away when he grabs my arm. Damn me and my hormones, cuz the touch of his hand on my skin is sending shockwaves through my body. "Look," he said, "I said I was sorry. Ain't no reason to go off on me like that."

I jerk away from him. "No reason?" I practically yell into his stunned face. "NO REASON? What about you telling me you loved me, then turning around and walking out on me? Isn't that reason enough? Or what about you telling everyone that Shannon made you happier than anyone else ever had? Is that a reason? No? Well, how about me laying awake at night, wondering what the hell I did wrong, why I couldn't make you love me? Is THAT reason enough for you, you asshole?"

I saw the tears in his eyes, but for some reason, I couldn't stop. I shoved him away from me, not too hard, but he got right back up in my face. "I said I was sorry," he said, his voice breaking a little. "What the hell else do you want from me?" Hmm, let me think about that for a moment - six months ago, I wanted him to drop dead; three months ago, I wanted him to disappear from the face of the earth; last week, I wanted him to not be here; fifteen minutes ago, I wanted him to stay on the other side of the room. Right now, standing in front of me, his eyes full of tears, that gorgeous bottom lip of his quivering, pleading with me to give him what he wants, I figure out the answer to his question.

I reach my arm around his waist and pull him to me, pressing myself against him as hard as I can. With my other hand, I grab the back of his head and pull him to me, kissing him as hard as I can. I want it to hurt. I want it to feel good. I want him to make me forget that I ever felt deficient, unloved, worthless. I can feel him struggling against me, unsure of what I'm doing. I just kiss him harder, until he relaxes against me. Then I feel his tongue in my mouth and I know that I have what I want.

I pull back and look into his eyes again. He's looking back at me, a mixture of love, lust, shock and confusion in his eyes. "Why'd ya do that?" he asked me. I shrugged my shoulders, never letting go of him. "Wanted to," I replied. He nodded. Then his eyes slip closed halfway and he looks at me. "What else do ya want to do?" It's my turn to tense up. Hell, what didn't I want to do?

I grab his hand and drag him from the bar. I vaguely remember Jeff saying something to me, asking me where I was going or something like that. The elevator is taking too long so I head for the stairs, him trotting to keep up with me. I let go of his hand in the stairwell, taking them two at a time. Yeah, I'm in a hurry. I want to get him in bed before one of us changes our mind.

When we reach my room, we don't say anything, just kiss and touch and grab. Our clothes are on the floor, our naked bodies pressed together on the bed, and those lips -god, those incredible lips of his are sliding down my chest and I feel them wrap around me, my cock twitching in his mouth. He's sucking me for all he's worth and I feel my hips movin' up and down, trying to get more of that sweet, wet heat. I seem to have forgotten about all the nights I lay alone, crying myself to sleep.

I'm feelin' real good, better than I have in a long time, when he stops. I look down at him and he's got that damn look on his face, the one that tells me he's thinking way too much, and I start to ask what's on his mind. "What are we doing?" he asks me. I smile at him. "Well," I say, reaching down and stroking his cheek. "I think you were apologizing to me." I crook my finger and he crawls up next to me.

I kiss him hard, then reach for the lube. He takes it from me and puts some in his hand. Then he reaches down and grabs my cock again. The look on his face when I grab his wrist to stop him is priceless. I take his hand and put it on his cock and his eyes fly up, staring at me. "You mean…." he says, his eyes full of questions, like I'm gonna tell him I'm kiddin' or something. I smile. I nod. He slicks his cock, then reaches down, his fingers at my entrance. But he still doesn't move.

"I forgive you," I say to him, and he smiles as the tears fall from his eyes. He kisses me slow and deep, his tongue invading my mouth as he slips his fingers inside. I groan. I move against him. Finally, he slides into me, and I lay there, thinking about what it was that I had never given him, what had made me not good enough. And as he starts pumping in and out, I feel the fire burning deep in the pit of my stomach.

Pride is a damn stupid thing to have sometimes. It was my pride that kept me from allowing him to have the one thing he wanted. But he was getting it now. And damn did it feel good! He's smiling down at me now, pumping his cock in and out of me, and I see that look in his eyes. Faster. Harder. And when he reaches the edge, he looks at me and whispers, "I love you. Always have. Always will." I nod, then say, "I love you too, Sugar." I follow him, crying out his name, echoed by his voice calling mine. Now we both have what we wanted. And I'll be damned if I let it go again.