"Control"
By Viridian5
3/8/99

RATING: NC-17.  Berg/Pete.  If m/m interaction bothers you, 
what are you doing here?
SPOILERS: none.
SUMMARY: Berg works around to getting what he wants.
DISCLAIMERS: All things here are property of Infront 
Productions and Twentieth Century Fox Television.  Anyone who 
thinks I'm infringing or making a cent from this is on drugs.  If 
Pete and Berg were mine, they would be much happier, and Berg 
would have more opportunities for evil fun.
NOTES: I used to watch Bob Ross while in college.  I never 
painted a thing, but the show always gave me a smile. 


===================
"Control"
By Viridian5
===================

Sitting Indian-style on the couch, Pete balanced the remote on his 
knee and prepared for a soothing half-hour of Bob Ross.  The man 
was Xanax without the side effects.  

A warm weight slid down to settle between Pete's back and the 
couch back.  "Give me the remote, Pete," Berg said.

"Nope, it's mine."

"You always have the remote this time of day."

"Only because you're usually in class."

"Yes, that was a fortuitous case of food poisoning, wasn't it?  Just 
bad enough to temporarily incapacitate."

"You had nothing to do it with it."

Berg could be the sound of false innocence itself.  "Of course." 

As Berg wrapped around him, Pete had the oddest image of his 
roommate as the Cheshire Cat, all sinuous grin and devious lunacy.  
He could *feel* Berg smiling.  "What do you want to watch?" Pete 
asked.

"That's not the point.  I just want the remote."

Pete clutched it tighter.  "We can't always get what we want."

That was the last coherent thing Pete managed to say before Berg 
started to tickle him.  Clever hands attacked his stomach and the 
bottoms of his feet.  He twisted, trying to get away, but his 
roommate had him firmly gripped.  He tried to shriek out threats 
between the helpless laughter and gasps for breath, but Berg just 
seemed to find it entertaining.

"What was that?" Berg asked.  "You'll give it to me?"

"N--no!  Gonna... smother you... in your sleep... later!  Bastard!"

"It's a shame you're so ticklish.  You know, it never fails to amaze 
me how I can bend you like a piece of paper..." Berg did so, 
bringing Pete's feet in closer.

"Stop!" Pete couldn't breathe and struggled harder to get away.  
When his head went flying back, he heard Berg yelp before his 
roommate's head whiplashed back at him.  It knocked them both to 
the floor.

Berg stopped to catch his breath, giving Pete a breather in the 
process.  Panting, they both looked around for the remote before 
they saw it perched on the couch.  They lunged at the same time, 
with Pete getting hold of it first.  They twisted--wrestling for a 
while, with Berg throwing in the occasional ruthless tickle--until 
Pete threw it across the room.

"Look... at that.  What... are you going to do now, Berg?" Air had 
become a necessity, even more than usual, and Pete needed a 
break.

But Berg, who was sprawled atop Pete between his legs, closed in 
for a kiss instead.  As Bob Ross burbled on about happy squirrels 
in happy trees, Berg explored Pete's mouth.  Distracted, Pete 
couldn't have fended off the hands heading for the waistband of 
his sweatpants even if he'd wanted to.  

"I see you decided to go commando today," Berg said.

"I... didn't have anyone... I needed to impress," Pete panted, 
speaking of his whole sitting-around-at-home ensemble of old T-
shirt, sweats, and bare feet.  And no underwear.

"*I'm* impressed," was the last thing Berg said before showing 
how impressed he was.  Pete didn't know if it was all the talking 
that gave Berg such a dexterous tongue, but he certainly didn't 
intend to complain while it was tracing hard circles on his aching 
cock.  He currently couldn't communicate in anything more 
complex than low moans anyway.

Bob Ross said, "Let's put a few more branches on that tree...  
Swoosh.  Swoosh," and Pete could swear Berg had timed his 
tongue strokes to coincide.

Berg reached under the couch cushions for condoms and a tube 
while he kept his mouth busy.  Pete thought of a million things he 
could say: about people who manipulated their lovers and kept so 
sneakily prepared, about how he'd get rug burn, about how 
mattresses were so much more comfy than the floor or couch.  
Breathless and desperate, he said nothing that might distract Berg.  
He'd have opportunities to complain later.  Now he spread and 
moved to better accommodate the slick fingers that stroked inside 
him with intimate knowledge of how he liked them best.

"Oh, God, Pete," Berg gasped as he watched Pete.  Then he briefly 
looked up at the TV and grinned.  "I *love* Bob Ross."

Pete stared.  "Then why--"

"I think the happy woodchuck is ready to go home to his happy 
burrow."

Berg thrust in on a slow, easy glide and just stopped there for a 
while.  As Pete tried to catch his breath and wondered if what he 
felt now could be qualified as erotic asphyxiation, he enjoyed the 
sensation of fullness and the teasing nudges at his prostate.  Pete 
wondered if Berg realized that he had such a tender look in his 
eyes as he gazed at the roommate and lover he'd folded into 
another shape in erotic origami.

Then Berg started to move, his thrusts occasionally accompanied 
by Ross' exhortations to sketch the grass in with long, light 
strokes.  Berg's strokes may have been long, but they certainly 
couldn't be considered light.  Pete yelled out his appreciation at the 
pounding he took, especially when Berg's hand started to pull his 
cock.  Even the carpet rubbing against his bare elbows and ass felt 
pretty good for now.

So Berg's happy cock had found its happy home, and the whole 
situation was completely happy.  Pete felt very happy all over.  He 
came hard when Berg tongued his ear along with everything else.  
Berg let out a low moan as he tightened his arms and legs in a 
deathgrip around his roommate in orgasm.

Berg pistoned a few more times before he collapsed onto Pete, 
spent.  Eventually he said, "And the experts say people don't get 
any exercise while watching TV." 

Pete tried to catch his breath to sigh.  "If you 'love Bob Ross,' why 
did you fight me for the remote?"

Berg grinned.  "As Bob Ross would probably say, if he weren't six 
feet under, sometimes it's the process that matters most."


*********************THE END************************