Title: Intuition or, I Do Whatever The Voices In My Head Tell Me To

Author/pseudonym: Natalia Carter

Fandom: Action

Paring: Peter Dragon/Stuart Glazer . . . sort of.

Rating: R

Status: new

Archive: Yes

Series/Sequel: First of three

Disclaimers: They still belong to Chris Thompson and FOX, although I treat them better.

Notes: My original goal was to write a story that *didn't* end with Peter and Stuart becoming a couple. But I guess my muse is having a hard time getting used to the idea.

Summary: Weird Fluffy Crap. Peter has a dream. Stuart is a bastard

Warnings: It's slash. Deal, or go away. First time story. No ep spoilers . . . not that anyone actually cares ;-)

He knew.

He took one look in my eyes, and he KNEW. Got that knowing, shit-eating smile on his face, crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded. Knowingly. Little bastard.

Goddamn Stuart.

I have one more of these dreams, I'm gonna be royally fucked. Dreams. You know the kind--you wake up crying out, panting, sweating, so fucking hard it HURTS. Goddamn dreams are going to be my undoing.

Dreams about him. And he KNOWS. GodDAMN him.

I chose him for this job because he was so goddamn observant. Damn him. Fucking looking at me like that, like he's waiting to pounce. Like he fucking knows what I dream about. Like he knows whose name is on my lips when I wake up. Like he dreams about me that way too. Like, at the first opportunity, he'll jump me, devour me whole.

I try to ignore the delicious shiver that passes through me at the thought.

GODDAMN him. I don't want that.

Do I?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Oh, FUCK. Get a hold of yourself, Petey. Repeat: I do NOT want Stuart Glazer to suck me. I do NOT want Stuart Glazer to suck me. I do NOT *no, you don't want him to suck you.*

What?

*You don't want him to suck you.*

Damned straight I don't. Who the hell are you?

*I'm your goddamn conscience, Dragon. You've just never listened to me.*

Well, you don't have much to say.

*Hmm . . .*

I don't like that tone, mister.

*Why?*

It sounds dangerous.

* . . . *

What were you saying before?

*You don't want him to suck you.*

No, I don't. I know that already.

*You want him to fuck you.*

That's right, I--WHOA! Where the HELL did THAT come from?!

*It's _your_ feelings, pal. I just analyze them, pass them on when they're being ignored and neglected.*

Aww, FUCK--

*Yeah, that's right. You want him in you, on you. You want to scream for him. You want to hear every little sound he makes, every groan, every cry. You want him to scream your name, you want him to--*

FUCK YOU. Shut the FUCK up.

*You're just mad because it's true.*

I don't have to sit here and listen to this.

*Where you gonna go? He's sitting right outside the door.*

Shit. Fuck you. Damn. I can't go past him.

*Uh-oh, no need to.*

What the fuck does that mean?

The little voice in my head disappears as I heard a knock on my door. "Yeah?"

Stuart. Goddamn Stuart pokes his head in, looks dead at me with those EYES, God, his eyes alone turn me on. Shit, did I just think that? "What is it, Stuart?"

"Uhh, Peter . . . Can I come in?" He looks suddenly uncomfortable. I like the look on his face. I relish it. Treasure it.

I shrug. "Okay, whatever." He steps in, closes the door behind him. "Did you want something, Stuart?"

He shuffles his feet--yeah, actually shuffles, like a six-year-old--and clears his throat. "Um, Peter, I actually--" He stops and looks at me strangely.

"What?" I ask, trying not to squirm under his gaze.

"You look tense," he murmurs, moving toward me.

"I am," I reply. Dammit, number one Dragon Rule for Success, NEVER tell your minions how you're feeling. But the rules don't seem to matter anymore. "It's been a rough day."

He's behind me suddenly, tentative hands on my shoulders. "Relax, Peter," he breathes, his fingers pressing gently. "Let it go. Loosen up, Peter."

His fingers . . . oh, God. It's a full-blown massage now, his hands kneading my shoulders in circles, blissful relaxation spreading through my muscles. I can't . . . I can't . . . Can't hold it back. I give a little moan of contentment and relax back into the chair.

I hear him chuckle behind me, his voice is like silk, and he digs his fingers in harder. "Good, huh?" he says, not really a question. I am incapable of thought as I nod a little and roll my shoulders in time with his hands.

God, I am pitiful. My eyes are closed, I'm making these little whimpering sounds. I am completely gone, under his power. The damn world could end, and I'd be okay with it, as long as this incredible massage never ended.

I'm really getting into it, smiling, my head thrown back, when his hands begin to move. No longer confined to my shoulders, they roam up my neck, down my arms, all over. I'm turning into a little puddle of happiness as his fingers massage my neck, rubbing this incredible spot just below my ear . . . Stuart seems to sense just how good this spot feels, and stays there, rubbing with one finger, tiny circles, God, I'm gonna . . . shit, I'm getting hard.

I suddenly realize the massage has stopped, his fingers are lifting off my neck, being replaced by--oh, God, his mouth . . . My eyes flick open, and he jumps away, a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry, that was out of line, it was inappropriate, it was wrong, I'm sorry, I'm--" He's backing away from me. I can't let him go. Almost without thinking, I stand up, follow him.

"Hey, Stuart . . . Stuart, wait. Wait," I say, going after him. He stops near the door, eyes downcast, tenser than I've ever seen him. I step close, then hesitate before getting even closer, putting my hands on his shoulder. He twitches, then goes beautifully limp under my hands. I can feel the warmth coming off him, the joy and contentment rolling off in waves.

*You WANT this, Peter. Take it NOW.*

Damn voice. Always telling me what to do.

Why do I want this?

Although, it is a pretty smart voice. I lean forward, slowly, and kiss Stuart cautiously.

Suddenly, I KNOW why I want this. Oh, he's delicious. . .Stuart opens his mouth a little, moans. I intended this to be only a little kiss, the briefest contact, but I can't pull away. I just want to keep kissing him forever, keep my lips pressed to his. I want to wrap my arms around him, so I do, pulling him close and tilting him a little, getting him into a better position for kissing. He twines his arms around my neck, tangling his fingers into my hair.

I couldn't stop this if I wanted to. I couldn't stop if the world was crashing down, if the city was on fire, if--

If Wendy, Adam, and my uncle Lonnie were standing in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at me.

Shit.

Stuart and I pull apart, but from the shoulders down we're still pressed together. Wendy meets my eyes, nods, then walks out, dragging a bug-eyed Adam behind her. Lonnie shakes his head, chuckles, then walks out, pulling the door behind him.

I turn back to Stuart, who smiles a little, nervously. "You didn't have to do that," he says, shy.

I laugh and press my lips against his, gentler, sweeter this time. "No . . . but I wanted to." He melts in my arms, rubs his cheek against my shirt.

We stand like that for a few minutes, clinging to each other, before he sighs and pulls back. "What?" I ask, cradling his face in my hands.

"This is a one-time thing, right?" he says quietly, not looking at me. "I'm going to walk out of here and this will be forgotten. It'll never go anywhere, never turn into anything. It'll be like it never happened. Right?"

I nod, forcing myself to pull away. "Yes. It has to be." I move painfully behind my desk, sit down heavily. "Go," I whisper brokenly, eyes clenched shut. I hear him leave, footsteps muffled on the carpet.

end