TITLE:            Comfort Zone
AUTHOR:           Panda
PAIRING:          Loxton/Quinnan
COMMENTS:         unbetad, not quite finished.
                  Part of a loose series.
ARCHIVIST'S NOTE: the author has moved onto other fandoms, and
                  was with difficulty persuaded to archive her unfinished
                  work.  If (like me) you would like to see her finish this
                  please tell her!

=======
Comfort Zone
=======


I wish he would stop pacing.

His restless, caged-tiger prowling is making me hot.

Yeah, okay...hot in more ways than one.

The fact that he is wearing jeans isn't helping either.  Here I
am absolutely sweltering in my mis-matched pieces of Arsenal
strip and there he is looking almost cool in jeans.  Cool and
irritated.  The only concession to the oppressive heat being an
untucked, unbuttoned blue cotton shirt lying open to expose his
too flat torso.

Steve Loxton has not stopped pacing since he arrived, uninvited
outside my door close to half an hour ago.  Uninvited, yes, but
I'd be lying if I said it was unexpected.  Not that I would
have bet money on it though.  From experience I know I'd be out
of pocket more often than not.

// From the beginning it has always been like this.  An
emotional need that predominantly equates to a physical need.

Today had all the hallmarks of being a classic example of this.
Nick Slater giving Steve grief about Jimmy Peake - poor one-
armed Jimmy Peake.  I'd tried to keep the two of them apart but
Nick just wouldn't leave it well enough alone.

I think it was more luck than good management that Steve didn't
punch Nick.  I could tell that he wanted to and although Nick
was only doing his job, I wouldn't have blamed him.  Nick just
wouldn't give up and I could see Steve's level of irritation
growing everytime he heard Nick's voice.

I was glad when shift ended and we all went our own way.  Even
then I half suspected that I'd see Steve later.

He'd had a bad day and that's always been the catalyst.  We
gravitate to each other in moments like these.  Not to whinge,
just for comfort.

It works both ways.  I've arrived on his doorstep as often as
he has arrived on my mine. //

As I watch Steve pace back and forth across my living room I
come to the conclusion that it is down to me to get the ball
rolling, so to speak.  I have a feeling that whatever I say
isn't going to be received well initially, so I know I don't
have to put too much effort into it.  Which, in view of the
only thing think I can come up with, is fortunate...

"Heh...do you reckon he felt a bit like Richard Kimble today?"

"What?"

"You know, 'The Fugitive'...the hunt for the one-armed man and
all that..."

"What *are* you on about?"

Here goes nothing.

"Nick."

Success.  He stops pacing near where I am sitting, turns and
stares at me...

"Fuck Nick."

This is followed by complete, deafening silence.  Surround
sound, THX silence.

Irritation is radiating from Steve like an aura.  I swear I can
almost sense the air particles shifting around him.

I'm contemplating apologising for bringing the subject up when
I am suddenly struck by an absurd image that makes me want to
laugh - A billboard featuring a denim clad Steve standing back
to back with a denim clad Kate Moss...advertising the latest
fragrance from Calvin Klein...*Irritation*...

I can't help it.  What starts off as a smirk escalates into a
full blown laughing attack.  I'm amusing myself to such an
extent that I am barely aware that he has moved further away
from my chair and is talking.

"What on earth is your problem, Dave?" [pause] "I hardly find
the subject of Nick - over enthusiastic - Slater that amusing."

I'm helpless to stop the snickering.

"Fine.  Keep laughing then.  See if I care..."

It gradually sinks in that laughing isn't the best thing I can
do in the circumstances and taking a few deep breaths, I force
myself to stop.  I hope my irrational attack of laughter hasn't
caused too much damage.

I'm about to say something - what, I don't yet know - when I
sense that Steve is going to speak again, so I shut my mouth
and remain silent.

"I think I'd better go.  It's obvious you have other things on
your mind to keep you entertained..."

He doesn't sound too convinced though and the fact that he
hasn't moved from his position near the window gives me hope.

"No, don't go.  Please.  I want  you to stay."

I do.  I don't want him to leave.  Its never ended like this
before and I don't want it to end like his now.

Steve merely shrugs his shoulders in response but makes no move
towards the door.  Turning, instead, his attention to the view
outside my window.

// What we have, what we share...is something that can't really
be expressed or described adequately.  Our relationship, and I
hesitate over the that word, for it's not a relationship in the
true sense of the word, is unique.  It's almost as though we
are each others *mistress*.

Other people come and go but not a year goes by that we don't
end up in each others arms.

I try to convince myself that our situation is ideal.  We never
quarrel.  There are no mind games.  Just companionship and sex.
In that order.

It's not always about sex.

I'll always remember going to see Steve the evening after Jo
Morgan's funeral.  He'd seemed so exhausted, shell-shocked
even.  As if the impact of the last few days had finally caught
up with him.

We slept together that night. In pyjamas.  Curled around each
other.  Comfort.  Comforting.  Comfortable. //

A calmer, more reflective silence descends on the room.

>From my position in the armchair Steve looks for the world
like a statue.  A beautiful, graceful, immovable sculpture.  He
is so still that I can't even distinguish a breathing pattern.
Standing silent, arms folded across his chest, bathed in moon
and street light, he truly is a vision.

Even after all this time I still find him beautiful.

I find that I never tire of looking at him.  Especially in
light of the fact that there was once a time when I felt that
he wouldn't look twice at me.

// I remember the first time - so many years ago - as if it
were yesterday.  It had been one of those days.  Nothing had
gone right.  I'd lost a reasonably violent scuffle with a
suspect.  Steve had to retire from a high speed chase because
the Area Car had blown a tyre.  Nothing major.  All little
things.  Little things that add up.  Little things that make an
after shift foray to the pub near on compulsory.

When 'last-round' had been called I was somewhat surprised to
note that we were the only two left.  It's funny, even though
for the most part this night remains clear in  my mind, I can't
recall who it was that suggested that we carry on elsewhere.
Me?  Him?  Nevermind.  It doesn't matter.

My flat was closest.

I could hardly control the stupid urge to grin as Steve and I
made our way back to my flat.  It wasn't as though I actually
had any hopes...why should I?  I was just happy to be near him.
Don't get me wrong, I didn't have a crush on Steve.  He just
fascinated me.  His aloofness.  His unknown qualities.
Yeah...okay...I'd have been lying if I'd said that I didn't
want to...know him...taste him...

Once back at my flat we continued drinking.  I wouldn't say
however that either of us were drunk.  As usual, Steve at
least, was in full charge of his faculties.

At some stage I'd gotten up from the sofa to close the curtains
and in doing so couldn't stop from wincing.  It had suddenly
became apparent that I hadn't gotten off as well as I thought I
had from the scuffle with the suspect.

I hadn't expected Steve to look so concerned at this.  If
anything I'd expected a sarcastic comment along the lines of,
"Not that young anymore, are you?"

I hadn't expected a quiet, "You're hurt.  Let me take a
look..."

I certainly hadn't expected long, elegant fingers undoing the
buttons of my shirt.  The same warm fingers that then gently
caressed my bruised ribs...

...And one thing led to another... //

Even though Steve is staring out the window I don't think he is
actually seeing anything.  He seems lost in thought and I
suspect he is thinking about Jimmy Peake.

// In fact, on the subject of Jimmy Peake, I had been positive
that he would have been around that night.  He'd seemed pretty
shook up - well, as shook up as Steve appears capable of
looking - upon hearing the news that they'd had to amputate
Peake's left arm.

I was wrong.

I didn't see him again until next shift. //

I want to say something, to re-break the silence but again
can't think of anything to say.  Instead, without any formed
plan in my mind, get up from the chair and start to walk
towards Steve.

The creaking of the chair as I move from it alerts him to my
change of position and he looks at me momentarily before
returning his attention to the window.

"It wasn't my fault...I was cleared of all blame...Nick has no
right..."

The tone of Steve's voice is calm and I find it a little
difficult to hear him.  There is no measure of complaint in the
statement.  He doesn't appear to be whingeing or looking for
sympathy (as if...).  It's almost as though he is merely
thinking aloud.

Although this time I can think of a few responses, I remain
silent, deciding on a physical approach instead.

Reaching Steve, I gently place both my arms around his waist
and pull him close. He makes no move to pull away.  A quiet
sigh escaping his lips as I lean forward and bury my face along
his collar bone, pressing my chest against his back.  He smells
so clean, of soap and shampoo and I know he must have had a
shower before coming here.

// Later that night - the first night - I'd woken up feeling as
though I was enveloped in a warm glow.  I'd quickly put it down
to what had to be a dream.  A wonderful, erotic dream.  I then
shifted position in bed and was amazed when my leg came in
contact with another's.  Oh my God!  It wasn't a dream.  Steve
was actually lying, fast asleep on his back next to me.  In my
bed.  I could hardly believe it...

The pessimist in me told me that he wouldn't be there when I
next woke up. //

We remain standing like this for a few moments.  Neither of us
moving.  The main sensation I'm aware of is the fresh, almost
intoxicating scent that is coming off Steve's skin.  I breathe
in deeply, trying to drown in the aroma.  All the time trying
to ignore how it contrasts to my own sweaty scent.  I wish I'd
had a shower instead of merely pulling on the first top and
pair of shorts that I had found lying on the bedroom floor.

I vow to have a shower before things continue much further.
First though, I know that I have to work on improving Steve's
mood.

Gradually I start to nuzzle his throat and am immediately
gratified when he shifts imperceptibly to give me better
access.

As I trail tiny butterfly kisses from his collar bone to his
ear lobe, I shift my arms slightly until they are under Steve's
shirt.  My arms resting on the warm, flat surface above the
waist of his jeans.

I can sense his mood lighten with each feather-light kiss.  I
also know him so well that I can sense he has one last thing to
share before he relaxes entirely.

"You believe me...don't you?...I wasn't to blame..."

Steve takes the opportunity to break from my embrace and turns
around to face me as I have to cease the attention I'm giving
his neck in order to answer.

"Of course I do.  I was there, remember?  You did what you had
to do admirably.  If almost anybody else had been driving he
probably would have lost more than his arm...  Ignore Nick, he
just wanted a result, that's all..."

This does it.

Upon hearing my words, the last of the tension appears to leave
Steve immediately.  Smiling gently, he swiftly resumes the
embrace and whispers, "Thank you," softly in my ear.  The warm
breath on my ear feeling for all the world like a ghostly
caress.

As I wrap my arms back around Steve, he leans forward and
plants a haphazard range of soft kisses on my face before his
mouth settle on mine.  His tongue quickly licking its way
inside and starting a soft exploration of the interior of my
mouth.  The intensity of the kiss is so that I find it
difficult to breathe, let alone return it successfully.

In the midst of this truly gorgeous sensation I can feel my
cock begin to twitch in anticipation.  The scent of combined
arousal soon filling the air.  This in turn makes me recall how
I vowed to have a shower before things continued too far.

Well, things have thankfully continued and in comparison to the
freshness of Steve, I feel somewhat similar to a sweaty pig.

I doubt that Steve would care, or even notice for that matter,
but I can feel it really beginning to bother me...

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, I pull back and stammer, "I've
just got to go and have a shower...I'm surprised you haven't
noticed how much I stink..."

Fortunately, Steve merely looks amused at my peculiar
statement.

"I don't think you smell.  Mind you..." [grin]  "I wouldn't
particularly care if you had just come straight of a football
pitch...all hot and sweaty..."

I believe him, and know that he is joking when he leans
forward, inhales deeply and pretends to faint in horror.  The
overriding expression on Steve's face is one of mischief and he
snickers at me.  He may not be bothered by it, but I still am
and now have an almost irrational need for a shower.

"Laugh all you like, I'm still going to have a shower.  I won't
be long.  Make yourself at..."

"Yeah, yeah...make myself at home.  Hey, I'd contemplate
watching a video but I'm afraid that the 'Many Glories of
Arsenal' just doesn't do it for me...although I'm sure it's a
*short* video..."

I can't help from making a snorting sound at this last comment.
Heathen.

"You don't know what you are missing out on..."

"I'm sure I don't, and I'd like to keep it that way if you
don't mind.  Now, hurry up, go and have your bloody shower
before I get bored..."

"Yes Sir!"

I mock salute Steve as I quickly depart the room, smiling like
a fool.  Happy that the Steve in my living room is a much more
content and relaxed Steve than the one who nearly paced a path
in my carpet.

Hurrying to the bathroom I plan to have the quickest shower
possible...

// Happily - surprisingly, my bout of pessimism was proved
wrong.  I awoke to sunlight streaming in the window and Steve
sitting up in my bed, yawning.

I put it down to the fact that he must have been tired.  No
other reason. //

Once in the bathroom I strip off my grimy clothes and step into
the shower.  I've only just got the temperature right when I
hear the bathroom door open and out of the corner of my eye see
Steve wander into the room.

He looks me up and down briefly through the glass shower screen
before putting the toilet lid down and settling casually on it.

"Sorry!..."

He sounds anything but sorry.

"...I got bored and decided that watching you shower is a hell
of a lot more interesting...and exciting than doing an
inventory of your decidedly dodgy video collection...'Dennis
does Dallas' indeed..."

Fine.  I can handle this. In fact, I'd rather hoped for this
scenario in the back of my mind.

I step out from under the spray and quickly open the screen
door so he can hear me clearly.

"Instead of just sitting there maligning my video collection -
and don't knock 'Dennis' til you've seen him - why don't you
join me?...you can wash my back..."

A wicked smile crosses Steve's face as he continues to eye me
up and down slowly, making me feel like a prize race horse
being put out to stud...

"I thought you'd never ask..."

His response alone makes me feel like the luckiest man on
earth.  Not to mention that as I watch Steve gracefully strip I
begin to feel as though I've died and this is heaven.  A barely
warm, delicate shower spray and a naked man who has the sleek
physique of a top swimmer equating to my current idea of
heaven.  Next to him, however, I feel like I have the body of a
third division footballer who has just been dropped by his team
for being unfit...

Once he has stepped silently into the shower, Steve looks at me
for a moment before starting to snicker again.  I fail
miserably in my attempt to glare back at him.

"What's the matter with you?"

"You.  You look like you were comatose and I thought you might
drown, the way your mouth was hanging open."

I sigh and share with him how my body compares unfavourably to
his.  Even going so far as to tell him my unfit footballer
theory.

"Silly..."

Steve moves closer to me and places his hands on my shoulders.
Maintaining eye contact with me for a moment before leaning
forward until I can virtually feel his smooth body on
mine...his lips on my skin...

"...I like..."  [kiss]  "...the physiques..."  [a cat-raspy
tongue laps momentarily at my left ear lobe]  "...of third
division..."  [the tongue subjects my right ear lobe to the
same treatment]  "...footballers..."  [kiss]  "...even if..."
[sharp teeth nip along the length of my collar bone]  "...their
team..."  [kiss]  "...drops them..."

Is that pathetic moaning sound coming from me?

Oh God...

It is.  And it just got louder and more unintelligible...

The hands on my shoulders suddenly slip lightly down my torso
and come to a rest on my waist.  Steve's lips swiftly following
the path of his hands...  A trail of small kisses from neck to
navel.  My navel then becomes 'ground zero' and I lose all
thought control as his tongue swirls around it...and in and out
of it...

I make a futile grab at control as Steve removes his mouth with
a sucking motion and looks up at me briefly.  Tiny droplets of
water clinging to his hair and eyelashes making him appear even
more beautiful.

"I wouldn't drop you from my team..."

Using a supreme level of concentration I am about to respond
when Steve raises his head slightly and without a flicker of
hesitation latches his mouth around my right nipple.  Sucking
and teasing it with his tongue.  Nipping it with his teeth when
it appears to have been tweaked to his satisfaction.

I want to touch him in return but it is all I can do to keep my
balance.  As it is I have both hands scratching helplessly at
the wall tiles in a futile attempt to remain reasonably
upright.

The lack of physical touch seems to be no deterrent to Steve
though.  In fact, from the look of satisfaction on his face, I
think he likes this level of control.  Reducing me to a barely
coherent wreck.

A barely coherent excuse of a man who couldn't even spell the
word coherent if he tried, not now...not now that my left
nipple has just finished receiving the sucking/teasing/nipping
treatment and the hands on my hips are sliding sensually
further down...

Steve's hands come to a halt on the outside of my thighs, just
below my buttocks.  As with the earlier movement from shoulders
to waist, his lips follow the descent from nipples to navel
to...

...Nowhere?

I'm so strung out that I almost whimper in disappointment.  My
mind taking its time to register that he is merely making
himself more comfortable.  Lowering himself until he is
kneeling on the shower mat.

My eyes which I'd shut in disappointment, snap open at the
first contact of Steve's tongue on my sensitive cock.  A slow,
leisurely lick along the entire length reduces me to a
gibbering wreck.

This feels so good...so very good...so *right*...

When I feel his mouth start to alternatively suck and blow at
the tip I give up all hope of remaining in control and begin to
moan my appreciation.  Moans that only get louder and
increasingly more urgent as slowly more and more of my cock
disappears in his mouth and is on the receiving end of his
swirling tongue.

So close...I'm so close to climax that as one of Steve's hands
snakes its way from my leg and latches around my aching
balls...I lose it...totally...  My orgasm roaring in my
ears...transporting me from my mundane shower to places outside
the known universe.

The second he can sense that I was nearing release Steve sucks
hard one last time before removing his mouth and leans a little
back so he can watch the results of his handy work.  He never
swallows.  Not that I expect him to...it's just one of those
things.

Gradually I become aware of who I am and where I am and watch
silently as Steve rises a little unsteadily until he is leaning
casually and seemingly limbless against the shower wall.

I am still not capable of much rational thought and when I
manage to focus on Steve I can't help but blurt out the first
thing that enters my mind.

"God, I love you..."

I immediately become aware of, and regret what I said as an
unreadable expression flashes over Steve's face.  I open my
mouth to apologise...laugh it off...something - anything...when
Steve blinks a couple of times and forces a smirk.

"Hmph...  You don't love me.  At this exact point in time you
love a mouth...in fact, I reckon for all you were capable of
caring the mouth could have belonged to Reg..."

"Aaargh!...don't go there...I don't want to know..."

This causes the pair of us to laugh for a couple of seconds.
Effectively rectifying what can only be described as a blunder
on my part.

-- I force myself to ignore that I actually meant it --

At least my mind is clearer now and I know what I'm doing when
I reach forward to pull Steve towards me.  A momentary sense of
shock settles over me as he swiftly slides towards the door,
out of my reach.  Maybe I really have offended him...

The expression of confusion must be clear on my face because
Steve leans back forward and gently caresses my cheek with his
hand.

"Come on...don't think I'm letting you off that easily.  Just
not here...I think I'm getting waterlogged..."

He smiles at me whilst trailing his hand down my chin, neck and
chest.  I can't help but smile back.  Relieved that my big
mouth hasn't ruined everything.

Steve steps out of the shower and grabs the only towel as I let
the spray wash over my body one last time before turning the
taps off and following him out.  He looks at me slyly for a
moment and starts to slowly rub the towel over his body.

"Ha.  You'll have to wait your turn...you've only got the one
towel."

"You could always dry me..."

"What do I look like?  Your very own personal slave?  Tsk...and
to think that I just made you see stars..."

"Fine.  I'll dry you then..."

I make a move for the towel but Steve is too quick and dodging
my outstretched hand he opens the bathroom door and moves into
the hallway.

"I've got more in plan for you than merely *drying* me."

His voice drops to a low purr as he makes a performance out of
drying his back.

"I want you to...*fuck* me..."

Oh!  Does he really expect me to be capable of this now?  I
still don't feel completely recovered from the shower
experience...  Refreshed, clean even...but not overly virile...

"Aw...don't look so worried...you're not *that* old...and
besides I am confident that I can assist you..."

Damn.  I'd forgotten how good Steve is at seemingly being able
to read my mind

"You'll be *fine*..."

That purr again and as I suddenly feel his hard body against
mine as he briefly ruffles the towel through my hair, I suspect
that he's right...

The towel is then dropped on me and Steve sidles once again out
the door.

"See you in the bedroom then..."

// Steve stayed the second time too.

I woke up that morning to find him lying on his side along the
length of my body.  Snuggling up to me.  The undeniable
pleasure I felt at this still couldn't quash my preformed
opinion that it was a mistake.  That he had to be a 'love 'em
and leave 'em' sort of man.

I had to ask - pass comment on it - state the bloody obvious,
when he woke up.

"You're still here..."

I immediately regretted saying this when I saw how hurt he
looked.

"I'll leave if you want me to..."

He sounded so quiet and I began to feel that I may have
offended him.

"No.  Don't.  I like waking up next to you." [pause] "I'm just
surprised that you're still here..."

Steve had then looked away from me and ran his fingers through
his hair.  Leaving it all mussed up...and I just *had* to lean
across the bed to smooth it back down again.  As I did this
he'd caught my eye and softly responded.

"I like to stay...I enjoy waking up next to you...that's
all..."

And he's stayed everytime since.  Just as I always stay when I
go to him. //

After drying myself I turn the bathroom light off and make my
way to the bedroom.

The first thing I notice as I near the bedroom is that the main
light is off and from the soft light coming through the
doorway, the bedside lamp must be on.  The next thing I notice
as I turn into the room makes my breath catch in my throat...

The duvet is crumpled in a heap on the floor and Steve is
lying, flat on his back, in the middle of the bed.  Eyes
closed, legs slightly spread...with the soft amber glow of the
lamp washing over and complimenting his pale skin...he truly is
a vision.  An *erotic* vision...

An erotic vision that is slowly trailing his right hand up and
down his torso, circling his rapidly hardening nipples as the
fingers of his left hand weaves their through his pubic hair.

I stand in the doorway feeling my own cock stiffen in
appreciation at this wanton display as Steve continues running
his hands over his lean body.

An inane sense of jealousy quickly settles over me and I decide
that I'd rather it be *my* hands stroking the smooth skin.

My voice sounds thick with desire as I reluctantly break into
the silence.

"Enjoying yourself?..."

Steve's eyes slowly open at the intrusion into the silence and
he looks me in the eyes briefly before settling his gaze on my
groin area.

"Looks like it's working...fancy giving me a hand?..."

Do I?  Is grass green?  Is Reg Hollis a know-it-all?

I bite back the urge to bound onto the bed and using all my
willpower, attempt to show disinterest...

"You look like you don't need me..."

"Ooooh..."  That sexy sounding purr again...  "I *need* you all
right..."

That's it.  Fuck willpower...

Steve makes to roll over onto his stomach as I give up all
pretence of disinterest and stride towards the bed.

"Not yet..."

Quickly leaning over the bed I gently push him back down and
stumbling over the bed, settle down on top of him, straddling
his thighs.

Steve sighs contentedly as I lean across him and brace myself
by resting my hands on the bed above his shoulders.  When I am
as comfortable as I'm going to get in this position, I lower my
head to kiss Steve and find him staring at me.  Staring
straight at me.  Our eyes lock and through the desire I can
read trust in Steve's clear brown eyes.  Complete trust in
me...

...And that is what this is all about.  It's what makes what we
share so special... The six, however wonderful and exciting
pales in significance when compared to the inherent trust
between us...

I stare back at him for a moment before reluctantly glancing
away and reverting to my original plan, lean forward and
capture Steve's mouth with mine.  His lips part slightly and I
nibble at his lower lip gently.  My tongue slides into his
mouth and is immediately greeted by his.  We stay like this for
what seems like hours.  All I'm aware of is the ever deepening,
delicate sensation of the kiss.  I'm not even aware that Steve
has shifted under me until I can feel his hand trail lightly
through the hair on my chest.  I allow this for a few seconds
before breaking the kiss and sitting up slightly.  I had my
turn earlier and now I want to *give*.

Grabbing Steve's hand with mine I place it back alongside him
on the bed.  Lowering myself back down I quickly kiss him on
the lips again before beginning to lick and kiss a criss-
crossed path down Steve's body.  Starting at his chin, I lick
down to his throat and nuzzle it happily.  Once I'm content
that I've nuzzled every accessible part of his neck I turn my
attention his torso. The unbelievable texture under my tongue
as I lick a direct path from the hollow at the base of Steve's
throat to his navel is incredible.  His skin is so smooth and
soft and I love this about him.  The surprisingly bordering on
fragile feel of his skin being in direct contrast to the hard,
leanness of his body when clothed.


********

There can be no explanation other than I must be hallucinating
when I think I hear Steve mumble, "I love you too..."

Wishful thinking.  Without a doubt.