"Mad Love" 
By Viridian5 
5/30/00 

RATING: NC-17; Berg/Pete. If m/m interaction bothers you, what 
are you doing here? 
SPOILERS: "El Matrimonio Loco," "The Monitor Story," and 
"Another Moving Script"
SUMMARY: Pete and Berg escape the wedding party to renew 
their own ties.
ARCHIVAL/ DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as you ask me 
first.
DISCLAIMERS: All things _Two Guys and a Girl_ 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, Berg wouldn't run around so 
much, and Pete would know who The One is. 
FEEDBACK: can be sent to Viridian5@aol.com
NOTES: The disappointing recent season had only the occasional 
great episode, but the finale was a return to good form.  I loved 
Robert Goulet saying he would marry Pete and Berg if it became 
legal....  When the show's at its best, it's really hard for me to write 
something *more* demented.  Doesn't stop me from trying, 
though.


=================== 
"Mad Love" 
By Viridian5 
=================== 

As I dragged Pete toward his room, I could hear the mariachi band 
playing and even a bit of Robert Goulet singing on the roof for the 
insane, brilliant Cinqo de Mayo-themed wedding Irene had put 
together for Sharon and Johnny.  It made the perfect demented 
accompaniment to my lust.  And his whining about doing it in my 
room instead this time.

Not that he didn't want to participate; he just didn't want to do it in 
*his* room.  His life might not be as neat and controlled as it used 
to be, but he still liked to keep his bedroom that way, especially if 
he'd be leaving it for three months.  My take was: he'd be gone, 
and he didn't know anybody would be seeing it, so why should he 
care, right?

Well, too bad he cared.  I had plans for his room while he was 
gone.

"Berg, why can't we--"

I stroked the roof of his mouth with my tongue to stop his protests 
while closing the door behind us.  I'm talented, okay?  And that's 
one of the spots on Pete's body that can shut down all brain 
function for him when touched correctly.

"We don't have much time," Pete gasped as he devoured my face 
in quick kisses.  Had him back on track now.  He kicked off his 
shoes, and I did mine.

"I'm up for a quickie. Way up." He had too damned many buttons 
on his suit, and he was having trouble with mine too.  Sex was so 
much simpler when we were sitting around in our sweats watching 
_Teletubbies_ or something.

I was so hard, so ready, but I held it back through sheer will.  I 
wouldn't see him in forever, so this had to be good.

"I told Marti I had some last minute things to do."

"And that's not even a lie." She'd have him for the next three 
months, so why shouldn't I get him while he was still here?  
"Yeah, the wedding party would notice if we disappeared for too 
long."

"I hate being mad at you." He had my jacket loose and started on 
my tie.  I already had my hand down his pants, stroking.

"Well, you're not very good at it.  Look, I'm sorry too.  I know you 
well enough to know you didn't want me to see her even if you 
couldn't ask me not to.  I know you're passive-aggressive."

Pete smirked as he pulled off my tie and flung it, then did the same 
with my jacket. "You're a prince among men."

I did hate us being mad at one another.  Usually, with most people, 
I saw arguing as good, clean fun, a kind of sport, but it didn't feel 
like that with him.  It hurt when we did it.

If Robert Goulet hadn't been there to talk Sharon and Johnny out 
of their wedding jitters and me and Pete out of our mad-on, Pete 
would be leaving for fireman's boot camp with the two of us still 
hating each other.  "Three months." I hadn't meant to say that.  Or 
have it come out in a whimper.  We've never been apart for more 
than two months in all the years we've known each other.  I kissed 
him harder and threw him onto the bed.

Pete acted like he didn't notice my pathetic whimpering, like I'd 
just made a simple statement.  Maybe it helped that I'd already 
stripped him naked.  "It won't be very long."

Relieved, I played along.  "If those big, burly firemen make you 
their bitch, I want all the details." 

He threw the last of my clothes aside.  "I'll try to sneak a camera 
in."

"That's friendship.  Fuck me, Pete."

"I'm glad you asked." 

He pinned me down on the bed and put his mouth to work on my 
cock, balls, perineum, further, oh yeah....  No light strokes here, he 
made me feel it all the way to my scalp as he thrust his tongue 
inside me.  Sometimes I couldn't help thinking that he kept his hair 
that short just to keep me from being able to get a good grip and 
yank it out at times like these.  I was begging him for his cock.  I 
only hoped it came out coherent when I told him that I didn't need 
the fucking fingers; I was ready *now*.

I made myself understood somehow, because he reached for the 
slick and condoms in the night table.  Even better, he did one of the 
world's fastest preps before thrusting home in a perfect burst of 
weight, pressure, heat....  "How do you want it?" he whispered, as 
he slowly corkscrewed back out, torturing me.

"Fuck me through the mattress. I want to still be feeling this 
tomorrow."

He purred-growled and started a pounding rhythm.  His mouth and 
hands were everywhere, exactly where I needed them.  From long 
practice, he knew how I liked it.  Moaning, I wrapped my legs 
tighter around him and stroked and kissed every part of his skin I 
could reach.  I knew how he liked it too.  I grinned as I realized the 
mariachi band upstairs was playing "Suspicious Minds," and Pete 
smiled too.  We moved together, on the same page for the first 
time in too long.  

He felt so good on me, in me.  He always did.

I came first in a blaze of pleasure, bucking him deeper into me one 
last time, which set him off.  Tangled, sweaty, tingly-happy, we 
rested there and tried to fight off post-sex comas.  We still had to 
have a quick shower and get back to the party.

Yeah, we'd get up.  Any day now.

"The only thing I ever liked about us fighting was the make-up 
sex," I said.

"I'll miss you," Pete said into my neck as he stroked my hair.

"I'll miss you too." More than I could ever tell him.

Pete finally untangled himself from me and got up.  I could see 
places on his neck and chest where my bites would leave bruises. I 
wondered if Marti would notice.  I hoped she would.  I watched 
Pete pull his usual self back around him until it made a perfect 
shell again.  I couldn't say anything about it, not when I had my 
own shell.

"Now I have to change the bed and--"

"Don't worry about it.  I'll do it."

"Oh sure."

"Really.  It's only fair." Sure, I'd do it.  The day before he got 
home.  No point in doing it now when I'd be jerking off in here for 
three months anyway.  I liked the clean way he smelled, okay?

"Okay, I'll take your word on it."

"Great."

"Don't mention it."

He started to walk to the bathroom, then came back and said, 
"Could you...." As if he didn't want to leave.

"What?"

"Could you look after Irene for me?  I mean, I know she stalked 
me and made a voodoo love doll of me--  Wait, why am I asking 
you to do this?" 

"Because she threw a great wedding for our friends and her 
minister got us to forgive one another?"

"Yeah, Robert Goulet.  Who knew he was a singer, a minister, a 
notary, *and* a couples counselor?"

"The man's a god."

"Yeah.  So look after Irene for me.  I know I broke her heart when 
I went for Marti, but she's just too crazy, at least for me."

"And I'm not?"

"You're different."

"Of course." I shook my head.  "You sure do attract the psychos, 
Pete." What was up with that?  They flocked to him, while I had to 
work hard to get and keep them.

"I'll see you upstairs in a bit," Pete said before he left for his 
shower.

I burrowed into Pete's sheets and tried to work up some 
enthusiasm for going back to the party.  I had to say a brave 
public goodbye to him before he went off to fireman's boot camp 
for three months.  Boot camp of any kind didn't sound like any fun 
to me, but it was important to Pete with his whole "That's where 
they separate the firemen from the wannabes" thing.

It was rough when life seemed to be working out for everyone but 
me.  Did that make me selfish?  Probably, but who cared? 

I'd get myself back together and give a perfect front to the world.  
I was good at that.

But first I'd have to stop listening to Pete showering and stop 
thinking of ways to chain him up in the tub so he couldn't leave.  I 
know he wouldn't appreciate that.

This was going to be a long night.

******************************************************

Enjoying her piggyback ride to my apartment, Irene kicked and 
giggled as she tightened her stranglehold on my neck.  "Ride 'em, 
cowgirl!"

Pete being gone had led to me and Irene drinking together in reject 
misery which led to kissing which led to dancing which led to this, 
whatever this was going to be.  This probably hadn't been what 
Pete meant when he'd told me to take care of Irene, but, hey, he 
had Marti for three months so he had no right to tell me to go 
steady with my hand.  I had needs too.

I know, I know.  Irene? Well, I liked my women crazy.  

And we were both smashed.

"Air.  Need air," I gasped.

"Oops!  Sorry." She let go and slid down my back to the floor.  
After adjusting her K-Mart-styled senorita wear, she said, "I have 
to use the little girl's room.  Be right back!" She sped away in a 
cloud of curly hair and long, red, flouncy skirt.

I wondered what kind of medication her doctor had her on.

I drifted off for what I thought was just a second, but hearing her 
scream, "Oh my God, you and Pete are lovers!" brought me back 
fast.

Oh shit.  She'd wandered into Pete's room.  I should have known 
she would, but the two brain cells that weren't sozzled had missed 
a trick.

I ran in after her.  The smell of sex and the messy, rumpled sheets 
made it too obvious what had been going on in here, but how did 
she get the idea that Pete and I had been going at it?  "We're not 
lovers."

"Yes, you are!"

"No, we're not."

She looked like she was about to go all the way into hysteria.  I 
wondered if I'd have to dial 911.  "You are!" she shouted.  "All 
this time, all that effort, watching Pete, studying him, and I missed 
this?  How did I miss this?"

"We're not! I can explain this!" Think fast, think fast....  Pete and 
Marti?  No, she hated Marti, so that wouldn't be much better.  I 
know.  "Oh my God, someone broke in and used his bed!  The 
fiends!"

She... smiled?  "How sweet! You're a gentleman.  You don't have 
to kiss and tell because I know.  I know what Pete smells like and 
now I know you too."

I'm scared.  Hold me?

"This is great!" she said.

"What?"

"We have even more in common than I thought.  We both want to 
do Pete!"

"Yeah, but I actually got to, uh, *do* him."

"And I'm taking his seconds.  I feel so much closer to him."

"Uh." Really, what could you say to that?

She patted my chin.  Since the top of her head only came to the 
middle of my chest, she had to reach to do it.  "You poor thing!  
You're hurting too."

"Well...."

"Don't you worry.  Mommy will make it all better.  Three months 
will go by like a breeze!  In fact, I have some toys I think you 
might like.  I haven't tied on the ol' strap-on for some time, but it's 
like riding a bicycle.  How does that sound?"

I managed to choke out a "I'm really, really hurting.  I could use 
some comforting."

"I'll be right back." She turned back to look at me, her eyes 
darkening into evil, danger.  "And then I'm going to fuck you 
right in this room.  Pete's room." Then her tone returned to its 
normal, chipper-on-speed tone.  "It's going to be such fun!" She 
left to get her... toys.

I thanked the Great Beneficent God of Psycho Women.  And I 
especially thanked Pete, who was kind enough to provide for me 
even when he went away.

That was love for you.


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