Let's just be lovers

"I told you you're too small!" you break out in a mad giggle and point your wet paintbrush at him in triumph. Typically man - he was sure he could reach every corner of the ornamented ceiling without the help of a ladder. His balance was very good, though…until two seconds ago when he crashed down from the insufficient chair he thought was enough to do the job, while you - the naturally clever woman - were using a ladder and carefully repositioning it for every inch of wall to be painted. He had been laughing at your pedantism. Until now. Now you are laughing - seeing that he isn't injured except for his ego.
The whole day of painting your new flat had been spiced up by his mocking. He can be so damn accurate and pedantic himself - You would have been finished long ago, but he constantly brought up ideas of how to do things better and discussed them instead of just doing them.

Now he's crouching at the wall that he'd been painting above him, his paintbrush dropped somewhere during his artistic fall off the chair. He's got paint on his cheek, on that beautifully chiselled cheekbone, wiping it away, and is giving you a look you've never received before.

He's your best friend.
He never saw how much you adored him, his skills and kindness, his laugh and wit, the strong hands that were used to doing everything on their own, the bright blue eyes and his heavenly voice. You didn't want to lose him by stepping forward and scaring him off. He could have every woman he wanted. And he had. Before your eyes he was dating models or sportswomen - not for long, but it hurt. He didn't see your pain. He was your friend. You were his shoulder to cry on. He would never see anything else in you.
That was what you thought. But this look…you drop your own paintbrush and stare back at him. Your heart hammering in your chest. His eyes piercing yours in a search for something, a silent question never asked before. Oh my god…the sudden intensity of his stare changes everything, blows away the bricks of the wall you'd put up around you to shelter your ego from being smashed by his.

You just stand there, staring back. What is going on, what is he thinking? For the first time in years you cannot read his mind. "Marten." it sounds like a question.
His glare is your only answer.
"Talk to me. Hey. You make me nervous. Did you hurt yourself?"
He shakes his head slowly. "You've never laughed at me that way."
"What?"
"You've never laughed at me before. You have always been close-lipped when it came to my foolishness."
You are confused. "Why…should I?"
"Friends should sometimes open each other's eyes…however they do it. I've been such a fool many times and you never dared to be upfront with me. You should have been."
"Indeed. You could have broken your back right now." you chuckle, puzzled by his look.
"That's not what I mean. It just opened my eyes. Now I see…" he slowly leans forward to get up from his position. Your mouth opens but you can only stare as he straightens. This is going in a very wrong direction…"You…" you point at his cheek, "…you've got white paint…"
"Have I?" he says softly and wipes his face with his sleeve.
You can only nod. He has never walked up to you that way…You slowly retreat, shaking, whether from the shock of his noisy fall or the sudden change in his attitude you cannot tell.
"You've never laughed that way before, it's so sexy." he states and stops short.
Oh gosh - he's said it. A forbidden word friends shouldn't use.
"I wish I'd have made you laugh like that before…but somehow I didn't manage to…why is that?"
Because I was a coward and respected you too much? Afraid to be careless? You think.

"Come here." he says, approaching you like a predator his prey. You don't recognise your friend anymore.
"Uhm…" you slowly walk backwards around the blotted table you've been using for the brushes and paint buckets.
"Put that brush down." he orders, seeing you're trembling, hypnotised by his eyes. "That laugh…" he turns to point at the overthrown chair, "…all of a sudden - makes me want you." his eyes pierce into your skull, not letting you go.
You are aware that he is about to destroy what was the best friendship you've ever known. And you realise you don't care. "I…Marten, I…I'm sorry…"
"Sorry?" he laughs out loud. "No, please don't be sorry." he is trapping you, slowly following you around the table until he got you in a corner of the room - you cannot retreat further cause the paint behind you is still wet. "It opened my eyes…I mean - look at you." he whispers.

You look down at your blotched self. The much too wide jumper, the torn jeans. Your hair put up in an unkempt ponytail. You look long enough to let him reach you. He grabs your hand and pulls you near. You forget to breathe.
"I suddenly want you…" he rasps, somehow knowing you felt the same for years.
"But…" you try to protest, but his lips are parting yours, drowning you out. His hand pulls down your hair, ruffles it, and lifts it over your shoulder. His kisses trail down your neck and collarbone. You decide you have to resist because friends don't do this kind of stuff. You waveringly grab his arm around your waist, but his grip is like steel. On your back you feel his hand wander upwards under the jumper, to the clasp of your bra. You gasp and wriggle in his arms, totally blown away by what is finally happening to you. His hand on your naked back, so strong and determined. You feel your bra being opened with one skilled movement. Of course. He's trained.
His kisses make you throw your head back, still in his firm embrace, his free hand is travelling to your front, touching you, it feels like a heart-attack when his thumb grazes your nipple. "Oh, Marten…hey…" you try to stop him, but to no avail. He is pulling the jumper over your head, taking advantage of your confusion, stripping off the bra. You instinctively cover your breasts to escape his fiery look. "Marten…" you don't know whether to laugh or cry. But he doesn't let you decide, pulling you close, his hands in your hair and his tongue parting your lips again. Your hard nipples brushing the rough fabric of his shirt make you gasp again, he stops to grab your wrist and forces your hand under his jumper.
You don't dare to really let yourself touch him, you try to pull back, but he pushes you against the wall, you cry out, the cool wet paint on your naked back, in your hair and on your jeans now.
He just laughs, a dirty laugh you've never heard before from him. "Why do you try to resist?" he chuckles softly in your hair.
You crane your neck to escape his hot lips. "Cause…we…are…"
"Friends?" he interrupts you. "I don't believe that's what you want us to be. Give in."
Your mouth is wide open, inhaling much-needed air. "No..." you try to fend his hands off. They are both caressing your breasts now, it makes you writhe and gasp, turning your head away to escape his kiss. This little fight is only increasing your lust for him. You want him so bad, enjoy his urging and pressing, his hot breath in your ear, the tone of his voice when he is trying to convince you…"We both want this…give in. Come on." he suddenly drops to his knees to pull down your trousers as well.
Again, you cringe and with both hands try to stop him, but he is faster and stronger, leaving you naked under his gaze within seconds. It's just your knickers left. This is too much. He is still fully dressed and you try to escape the wet wall as well as his look. "Marten!" you try to sound angry, while covering your breasts again. He just grabs your wrists and pulls them down, exposing you to his eyes. They travel across your full bosom, your stomach, your waist and hips. You feel your temperature increase under his stare. He is enjoying it.

One step forward and his hand is between your thighs. You grab it with both hands, but unable to take it away.
"Stop it." he rasps in your ear, and you are close to obeying him. He's never used that tone in your presence. You're torn, hot from anticipation and longing, but scared and confused by his determined ignorance of your fears.
He pulls his jumper over his head and drops it by your side. His smell is intoxicating as he steps close, leaning in, pressing his naked hard chest against you. He grabs your hair to make you look at him. "Tell me now that you want me." his breath is hot in your face.
You raise your eyes to meet his fiery stare. "I have always wanted you…" escapes your burning lips automatically, without thinking.

This is what he needed, he suddenly lifts you up, effortlessly, and carries you over to the painting table. You're dirty and wet from paint anyway, you stop caring about it as he makes you sit at the edge of the table. You are admiring his strong arms, the hard chest, muscular stomach. He is breathing heavily, and you notice not only from carrying you here. He has stepped back and is looking at you sitting there all messy and scruffy. "You are so damn sexy, why didn't I…" he gasps, hardly controlling himself. "Open your legs for me." his voice is hushed and low.
Your heart jumps, you have to remind yourself to close your mouth and resume breathing. "What…?"
He kneels down before you, unbearably handsome in just his jeans, barefoot and stripped to the waist. "I so want you…" he gasps, his hands on his knees, waiting, trembling with lust.
You exhale and slowly, shyly, fulfill his wish: you grab the rim of the table and allow his gaze to glide between your throbbing thighs, opening them bit by bit.
"God…" escapes his throat, and he leans in to grab your knees, forcing them further apart, hot kisses wandering from your calf upwards, across your knee and along the inside of your thigh. You try to not cry out with lust, finally feeling him so intimately, leaning back a bit and forcing yourself not to interrupt him. He has reached the rim of your knickers, you feel his grin against your thigh, his breath teasing you. "I want to pull this down and take you." he pants, looking up at you with another look you've never seen before. His face is glowing.
"Then do it…" you gasp, lifting your bum for him to pull the flimsy fabric down.
You're completely naked under his eyes - and it feels so good. Finally. After all these years.
He is fumbling with his trousers, pressing himself against you. You can already feel his hotness, the hardness throbbing between his thighs. Suddenly he's naked, pushing you back and down on the table, his hands all over your body as his first thrust makes you cry out. "God, Marten…"
His movements are fierce and urgent, he is gasping above you, burying himself between your legs deeper and deeper. "I had no idea…" he moans, "…you'd feel so good…"
The hard wood of the table, his voice and harsh thrusts, the feel of his hands all over you, his hot kisses and passionate little bites…you'll be a wreck and you love it, groaning loudly, ruffling his hair as you pull him down on you, arching your back as he is sucking your nipples and leaving little love bites on your soft skin, driving himself deeper with every movement. He grabs your bum to make you meet his thrusts, you cry out at the sharp pain that causes you, but cling to him panting, murmuring his name over and over in the back of your throat.
He is loud and rude, shoving the brushes and sticky tape away as he pushes down on you, his sweaty face in your neck, making fierce love to you like only your best dreams could have imagined.
"Marten…" you gasp, trying to slow him down, feeling pleasure and pain mix as he is burying you under him on the hard table.
"Hush." he pants, "Don't stop me now…" again pulling you back to the edge to meet his thrusts with a hard grip on your waist. He grabs one knee of yours lifting it up to get deeper, harder, faster. You cry out again, throwing back your head and arms in capitulation, feeling a harsh orgasm build up, it shoots from your ankles to your legs and spreads in your stomach, a hot throbbing making you whine and urge him closer, deeper, faster, your nails digging in the flesh of his back as you cry out his name again. He is shuddering, his ecstatic face carrying another expression you cannot believe is caused by you finally, he is burying himself deeper, holding your wet thighs in place, as he tenses, moaning loudly, nearly crushing the table under his weight and uncontrolled movements, as he throws his head back, grabbing your neck, a beastly groan escaping his throat as he jerks inside you, both of you coming almost simultaneously, your muscles sucking him in as he erupts inside you, his hot liquids filling you up. You gasp under his last thrusts, unable to process what has happened, giggling madly, while he is grinning down on you, panting, a stunned look on his face.

"What was that?" he bends down to nibble at your neck, making you writhe and try to push him away. You are still nailed to the table by his weight, pinned down by the hardness between your legs.
"I don't know. A dream come true?" you answer breathlessly, turning your head to at least bite back a bit.
His grip on your waist is getting softer. He chuckles, you love the tone of his voice so close to your ear. "We cannot be friends. Impossible. Look at the mess we made."

You crane your neck to look around. Brushes and pots, tape and furniture - a jumble in what should have become a freshly painted room by now.
"We'll never finish here…" you sigh, feigning disappointment.
"So sorry. I hope we won't…ever."
"Wow. Those words from your mouth?" you feel a tuck at your heart, the blind irrational hope he might imply a changed relationship.
"I could never again be your friend." he whispers.
Your huge eyes urge him to go on, explain.
He pushes inside you a last time, slowly, filling you to the brink. "Never again. Let's just be lovers."
A mad grin is spreading across your face, you pull him close and meet his slow thrusting, sighing with pure joy and relief at your biggest dream come true.