Love/Hate

A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead. The air conditioning was broken, again – the office sweltered in the unseasonal heat of the evening. Standing by the one open window, trying to get some benefit from the light breeze outside, Claire scrolled unseeingly on her phone, killing time.

“ – again?! You cannot be serious! I – ”

She was dimly aware of raised voices from one of the private offices across the room from her. Well, one raised voice and one tired but authoritative voice. The words didn’t make any more impression on her than the ones she was reading. Bored out of her skull as she was, a bomb could probably have gone off without her noticing straight away.

“…worked all week on that story! You can’t – ”

“She had it ready in time to go to print today. You didn’t. That’s the end of it. I suggested you work with – ”

“ – totally unreliable – I refuse to – ”

Claire sighed, willing the minutes to tick away just a little faster.

A door opened and shut. Heavy footsteps moving away. Boss going home for the evening. Which meant Claire could get away with slipping out any minute now. She sighed with relief.

Then she heard more footsteps, approaching her. She didn’t look up from her phone.

“Hey! Are you for real? Why would you do this?”

Jason’s voice. She half-glanced over to see him storming over to her, an unfamiliar fierceness in his eyes. He was an annoyingly good-looking guy, in a bland, clean-cut sort of way; square-jawed, good skin, nice tan, well-groomed. Word was he’d worked his way up from the bottom, busted his ass to pay for university, and he wasn’t going to slip up now. Even in this heat he was sticking things out in his full suit with its stupid patterned tie, though now overall starting to look distinctly rumpled.

Speaking of rumpled, his usually-immaculate black hair and precisely calculated stubble were off right now too; frazzled from a week of hard work in this relentless heat. Somehow it made him more interesting – that look in his eyes and the set of his jaw brought out something that was usually hidden. He really was cute when he was angry.

For the effort he put into being just so, the picture of professional conduct, Jason could hardly have been more different from Claire. She wore what she wanted, wore the hell out of it, and made no apologies. “Professionalism” was a word she’d never speak except to mock it. Right now, in her blouse with the top buttons undone, her skirt that was only an inch or two shorter than regulation, with a jacket thrown over her shoulder as she tried to survive the heat, she was as close to “business casual” as she ever came.

Jason was still staring at her as if expecting an answer. Claire sighed.

“Brady told you, huh?” She nodded in the direction their editor had made his exit.

“Of course he told me!” Jason snapped. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Claire shrugged. “Didn’t really give it any thought.”

“You poached my story – I had everything ready, and now I find out – ”

That caught her off guard, just a little. She looked up at him now. “‘Your’ story? I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Councillor Mitchison. The insider trading case. You do know. I brought it up in meetings!”

“What?” She shrugged. “I don’t pay attention to those. Who has time for that?”

“You – you’re unbelievable. Unprofessional, discourteous – ”

“Jesus. Even your insults are lame.”

“I don’t care what you think,” he said; the touch of heat in his voice told her that was a lie. “But if you think I’ll stand for you undermining me, over and over again, you’re wrong.”

He stood for a moment, a little out of breath, looking pleased with himself for having gotten the words out. Claire looked him up and down. Then back up.

“We are working towards a hate-fuck here, right?” she said. “‘Cause if not, I seriously do not have the time for whatever this is.”

Jason froze for a moment. “What?”

“You heard me.” She shrugged. “Seems like you’ve got some pent-up aggression. Maybe other stuff.”

“That’s not…” She could see him mentally stumble as he worked out what she was saying. “I have a girlfriend!”

“Had. Everyone here knows she dumped you.”

He visibly reeled from that one. So it was true. She’d suspected it – seen the signs, figured it was part of the reason he’d been throwing himself into his work so hard, and now she knew for sure. He’d actually kept things together pretty well on the surface, not that she’d tell him.

“Wait.” He ran a hand shakily through his hair. “That’s what this is? You’ve been undermining my work because you’ve got a crush on me?”

“What? You fucking dork, I’ve been doing my job. You’re the one who’s made it about ‘your stories’.”

Still no lightbulb. Did he think the whole world revolved around him? She shook her head. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she went on. “Wouldn’t even be thinking about this otherwise.”

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, searching for words. “You’re out of your mind,” were the ones he finally found.

“Like I said. Lame.” Claire turned to walk away. “Try harder.”

He grabbed her arm to stop her. She glanced down at his hand, then turned back to face him.

“Ok. Good start.”

“You crazy bitch – ” he snarled.

“See? Pretty basic, but at least it sounded like it had some fire behind it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Saying it’s not the same as doing it, loser.”

Maybe too hard of a push. He went deer-in-the-headlights for a moment. Whether it was genuine respect for women and boundaries, or fear of a sexual harassment suit, made no odds – she needed to get him past whatever line it was.

“C’mon, man, do you need a tutorial here?”

She grabbed hold of his stupid tie and towed him with her towards the break room. Everyone else had gone home for today, and the janitors wouldn’t be in until later. They had a window of opportunity she didn’t intend to pass up.

It wasn’t until she’d got him into the room and closed the door that he came to his senses, enough to pull free of her grip. He actually took the time to tuck his tie back in under his jacket as he searched for the words to rebuke her.

“Just take it off, man,” she told him. When he didn’t move, she grabbed at the buttons to undo his jacket and pushed it up until he had to shrug it off. He continued to stare at her in bewilderment.

“Seriously,” she said, “are we doing this or not?”

“You are fucking crazy.” He shook his head. “Who would even think about doing this?!”

“Maybe someone who’s not the most boring human being on the planet.”

She backed herself up against a table, still holding onto his shirt. She started to unbutton it, without much care for the integrity of the buttons.

“Hey – ” he threw his hands up, but failed to try and stop her, “That’s a good shirt – !”

“You got a name tag sewed on it someplace? Bet you do.”

“Fuck.” He finally pushed her hands aside, the shirt halfway undone. She got of a partial view of his muscled chest underneath – as she’d suspected, he was in annoyingly good shape. Obviously worked out without going crazy over it. Safe, conventional, frustratingly hot.

“Well?” She gestured to herself. “You finally taking some initiative here, or…?”

Slowly, his hands shaking, he reached down. Starting to unbutton her blouse. Carefully – almost tenderly – as if in a dream. Claire felt her pulse race. She’d done it now. All according to plan.

She saw the conflict in his eyes as, slowly, his efforts revealed what lay beneath, her round breasts rising and falling in the confines of her bra. Hunger, doubt, anger, excitement. Perhaps he could have stopped himself if he hadn’t noticed another detail, that made him keep going despite himself. His eyes moved down her arms, tracing the black ink of her tattoos being revealed little by little until she slipped both sleeves off and let the blouse fall. Taking in the patterns that stood out against her honey-coloured skin: flowers, stars, feathers, each a memento, all woven together.

She followed his gaze down. “Oh, you like those?”

“They’re dumb.” He shrugged. “You’ll figure that out eventually. And then you’ll have the rest of your life to regret getting them.”

“Figures you’re too much of a fucking coward to have any,” she bit back.

He actually blushed. Shit. Did he really…?

He didn’t resist this time as she finished undoing his shirt, making sure his tie stayed round his neck. She found herself staring in disbelief as his shoulder was bared to reveal – sure enough – a small, intricate design tattooed there, a heart in two interlocking segments.

“Holy fuck,” she murmured, “you do have one.”

He gritted his teeth, saying nothing.

“Wait,” she said, realisation hitting, “you got it for her – and then she dumped your ass?”

His face said it all. She laughed in disbelief.

“God, you’re pathetic.”

“You fucking bitch.” Now there was real fire in his eyes. His blood boiling, the repressed caveman rising to the surface, determined to put her in her place. She grinned at him and reached back to unhook her bra, not trusting him to manage it in good time. She did leave him the job of removing it, savouring the lust in his eyes as her tits were left bare.

For a while, neither of them said anything – just the increasingly heavy breathing from effort and arousal as she pulled down his trousers and he peeled away her skirt. She slid her own panties down, already damp from the wetness that oozed between her legs. She could see the shape of his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers – which were plain, professional, boring, of course – the hard length yearning to get out of its confinement and inside her.

“That all you’ve got in there?” she managed, knowing she didn’t sound very convincing. He just grunted, and pulled his underwear down. In his excited, agitated state, his cock stood proud and ready, enticing, and Claire couldn’t help but lick her lips in anticipation. She really had him going now.

His fingers slid between her thighs, parting her folds, making her gasp as he touched her in just the right way – he was good at this. Sally – was that her name – ? was, had been, a lucky girl in at least one way. But it was obvious that neither of them needed much more preparation. Jason flicked his hand to the side as if in disgust, to get rid of her sticky juices, and grabbed hold of her ass to pull her into place on the table. She leaned back, lifting her hips, eager even as she glared daggers at him.

He landed a stinging slap on her ass, making her gasp. “Now you’re going to fucking get it.” His voice was raw with unformed emotion. She licked her lips and braced herself as she felt his hardness press against her aching pussy.

There was a delicious contrast between the roughness with which he manhandled her, and the delicate care with which he, now, slowly, began to slide himself into her warm and waiting vagina. She grabbed his butt, nails digging against hard muscle, pulling him deeper in, urging him to fuck her. Thrills ran through her as she felt him filling her up – maybe not the biggest she’d ever had, but a nice, satisfying fit. Teeth bared – but maybe more now with the excess of sensation than with hostility – he started to get into a rhythm that made her groan with pleasure. His stupid fucking necktie still hung down, tickling her tits as it and they went back and forth.

She let him keep it up for a while – it felt too good to interrupt, no good barbs or insults springing to her tongue. God she’d needed this. The break room table creaked underneath her as he pushed deep inside with steady, controlled thrusts. She moved against him, pleasure building with a steady momentum inside her. But it was –

Too controlled. Too safe. Time for a curveball. She leaned up as if to kiss him, then tilted her head and closed her teeth sharply on his clavicle. He let out a surprised and hilariously high-pitched squeak.

“What did you just – did you bite me? What the fuck?”

“Jesus, you’re whiny.”

He reached out and grabbed her left boob, squeezing it hard, making her squeal in return. He gave the nipple a harsh tweak.

“Real fuckin’ imaginative,” she hissed.

“Unbelievable.” His voice was a growl. “Imagine me thinking of you as a serious rival when you’re just a horny slut.”

“Boring, basic fucking banter, dude. I’m gonna dry up here.”

“I work my ass off out there, I put the legwork in, do the fucking research, while you just flaunt your fat udders – how many guys did you spread your legs for to get that goddamned Mitchison story?”

“You’re just mad that I didn’t do it for you.”

“You are doing it for me, you dumb whore.”

“Oh, what I’m doing is definitely not for you.”

Got him. Again he recoiled, that macho dominance wounded. But he didn’t stop fucking her, and she didn’t stop fucking him back.

She looked into his eyes and saw the – confusion, animal lust, fear, but most importantly, that telltale gleam. They were in sync at this moment, on a frequency shared with nobody else. Hate, love, it didn’t matter what you called it. He was her whole world and she was his.

Maybe he realised it too. He gritted his teeth, bore down – increasing his pace. She gasped for breath as every thrust drove the wind out of her, eagerly, angrily bucking against him to match each meaty impact of his hips against her ass.

She looped her arms around his neck to pull him down closer – wrapped her legs to bind his hips. His strong, firm chest pressed against the softness of her breasts, his breath now hot on her face and neck as he lunged forward with each thrust. Each grunting with effort and to vocalise their hostility to each other, they drove on towards the finish, as one sticky, sweaty mass of half-insane lust.

He found the breath to hiss the words into her ear: “I hope you get pregnant, you brainless slut.”

“Like you could do it. Like you’d have the guts.”

“I hope I end your career. I hope I ruin your life.”

“Fucking do it, bitch.”

He thrust in deep, head alongside hers, breathless. A thrill of anticipation ran through her. He was going to do it. He was doing it. He –

They came together, Claire moaning loudly enough to be heard in the next building over. She felt his cum rush into her, filling her – the thrill of uncertainty, the powerlessness, the surrender to his control. While he was also surrendering to her. All of his reservations and inhibitions washed away in the tide of raw need.

Time froze for her in the throes of her climax, the waves of pleasure seeming to stand still for a long, otherworldly moment. She savoured it as much as her dazed mind could, still whimpering and groaning, as the feeling slowly faded into a deep, toe-curling contentment.

Fuck, that felt good.

Looking up at Jason, she could see his flushed face starting to turn pale, post-nut clarity breaking through the fog. Cold sweat beaded on his chest.

“Hey,” Claire mumbled, “good shit, right?”

He was shaking now. “What – what the hell was that?”

“What did I tell you it was? Hate-fuck. The best.”

“But – ” His eyes were wide, unfocused, near panic. “I’m not like that! I’d never…”

“Obviously you would.” She lifted a hand to stroke his stupid stubbled chin. “Whatever. Use these powers for good, young one.”

He stared silently at her. She closed her eyes, put her head back, and just enjoyed the moment a while longer, feeling him beginning to soften deep inside her, the cosy warmth in her lower belly. For a while, there was just the sound of their breathing and the clock ticking on the break room wall.

After some time, as if he’d suddenly remembered he was still inside her, he hastily withdrew, backing up. Claire sighed and sat up, rubbing her head to clear out some of the haze.

“So – ” Jason cleared his throat, “what happens now?”

“Nothing much.” Claire shrugged. “I’m going home to have a shower. You probably do the same.”

“But what – what about us now?” A note of panic. “W-we just work together like nothing happened?”

“Work together?” She raised an eyebrow. “Nah, I’m leaving. San Diego, new job. You almost missed your shot completely.”

“Leaving?” He recoiled as if feeling the whiplash physically. “No. Really?”

“Yeah. Moving up in the world. Bigger and better things.” She tilted her head questioningly. “You said Brady had told you.”

“That wasn’t what I was – ” He broke off as he processed the information. “So we – we won’t see each other again?”

“Nope.”

“Wait.” The desperation in his voice made her glance back. “Was this – all a mind game? You went through this to – ?”

“Dude.” She shook her head. “Get over yourself. You seriously do not occupy my thoughts that much of the time. There was a moment, we took it. Had a good time. Go us.”

“And…” He was almost whispering now. “What if that’s not enough for me?”

“Then too bad.” She shrugged. “You gotta figure shit out. Talk things through with Sandy.”

“It’s Sammy – ” He went even paler, some weird guilt of pseudo-infidelity gripping him. Standing silently, he watched Claire get dressed, seeming to forget that he was still naked except for his socks and tie.

She reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “Hey,” she said comfortingly, “you’ll find a way back to being your dumb boring self sooner or later.”

With that, she left him to clean up and do his walk of shame. He was the only one of them who needed to worry about keeping his job here, after all. He watched her go, still lost for words. As she closed the break room door behind her and headed for the elevator, the thought did cross her mind that he might try to follow her – here, now, or even all the way to San Diego. Typical sort of romanticist bullshit he might go for. What a fucking loser. The thought of it gave her a certain tingle of anticipation…