Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

~TRICK OR TREAT~
PART 1

Kelso shoved the invitation into Hyde's hand. Hyde was the last in the basement to get one, but his friends' cheek-scratching and wrinkled foreheads did not bode well. Kelso had started with Fez at the lawn chair, gone to the couch and tossed an invite each at Forman and Donna, but he'd skipped over Jackie. She probably already had one, seeing as she was Kelso's girl.

Hyde read over the invite. It resembled the Frankenstein monster's head—green, rectangular, and with paper electrodes jutting from the bottom—and it said:

MONSTER MAKE-OUT MASH-UP
DATE: October 28
TIME: 9:00 pm-?
PLACE: Kelso Residence. You know where it is. If you don't, you stole this invite.
ADMISSION: $1.50
DRESS-CODE: Costume not optional. Mask strongly encouraged.

"Kelso, what the hell is this?" Hyde said. "A Halloween party?"

"No, not just any Halloween party," Kelso said. He moved in front of the TV, blocking Chrissy Snow and Janet Wood's racks from view. Hyde tried to see past him, but it was futile. Kelso reached back and shut the TV off. "It's a Casey Kelso Halloween party."

"Isn't Casey in the army?" Forman said.

"Was. He's out—and he's back!" Kelso laughed and thrust his fists into the air, as if he held the secrets of the cosmos. "Man, you guys don't know how lucky you are to have me as a friend. Casey used to throw these parties when he was in high school. They're crazy. He tried to keep me out of them, but I snuck into one once. Yeah, I had my first make-out during it."

Jackie pushed herself off the couch and charged toward him, her knee-high boots clomping on the cement floor. "What do you mean you had your first make-out during it, Michael?" Kelso's promise ring gleamed on her finger as she jabbed his chest. "I thought I was your first kiss."

"Oh, you were, baby!" He clasped her shoulder, but she glanced back at Hyde, like she regularly did when Kelso said something stupid. "The first kiss that meant anything. I was twelve when that other kiss happened—"

"You said it was a make-out," Fez said from the lawn chair. He was fanning himself with the invite. "But according to Jackie, you didn't use your tongue well until after I kissed her, and she taught you a few things. So how could you have made-out at twelve?" He tilted his head to the side and stroked his chin. "It is quite the mystery … unless by make-out, you mean a bunch of bad kisses following one another."

Kelso marched to him and snatched the invite from his hands. "That's it. You're not going."

"Neither am I," Forman said. "Not unless you tell me what Monster Make-Out Mash-Up means."

"Okay, so this party's for singles only," Kelso said. "You gotta wear a costume with a mask. No one's supposed to know who anyone else is. At some point, you'll get grabbed, thrown into a dark closet with a chick, and you'll get to make-out commitment-free." He grinned, wide enough to crinkle his eyes. "Multiple make-outs with college-age girls, Eric. All hot 'cause Casey doesn't invite uggos."

Hyde struck the invite against his thigh. "How'll we know they're hot, man? They're all gonna be wearin' masks."

"Trust me. I've seen the chicks Casey pals around with."

"Doesn't Casey, like, hate you?" Donna said and held up her invite. "How did you get these?"

"How do you think?" Hyde said. "He swiped 'em."

Kelso pointed at Hyde and nodded. "And Casey'll never know 'cause you're all gonna be wearing costumes and masks. Just hand in that invite with a buck-fifty, and you're good." He stared at everyone in turn except Jackie, who was standing beside him and tapping her boot on the floor. "Well?" he said.

"'Well' what?" Hyde said.

"Where's my thank-you?" Kelso slid his arm around Jackie's shoulders. Her boot stopped its tapping, but Hyde's leg bounced in its place. He should've been used to the sight of them together, but his body reacted. Always reacted. "Since I'm the only one here in a relationship right now," Kelso said, "I figured I'd do you guys a favor. I mean, Eric, Donna—have either of you guys even made-out with anyone who isn't you?"

Forman and Donna looked at each other across the couch, but Donna dropped her gaze to the invite.

"And Hyde," Kelso said, "you dated Melissa for, like, a month! That's your longest relationship. You've gotta be stinging from the breakup."

Hyde shrugged. He and Melissa mutually called it quits a week ago. She'd gotten really into him once he pulled his head from his ass. But she'd spotted every tell on his face, the betrayal in his voice. His leg bouncing now—she would've called him on it, just like she called him on the other cues. "It's Jackie," she eventually said, and he respected her too much to deny it.

Melissa was a cool chick. Smart, hot, and someone he could've fallen for … if hadn't already fallen for someone else.

"Fez, you never have a girlfriend." Kelso flapped Fez's invite in Fez's direction. "I was trying to help you out, but you just had to go and burn me."

"For your information," Fez said. "I have a date with a beautiful woman in a month. Once she comes back from her family's dirt farm in Mississippi—"

"Big Rhonda?" Kelso's arm slipped from Jackie's shoulders and he passed the invite back to Fez. "Okay, you need this."

Fez looked over the invite but frowned. "This says nothing about candy. There better be candy at this party."

"There'll be a keg," Kelso said.

Hyde's eyebrows rose. "I'm in." A night of beer and make-outs didn't sound so bad. He just had to come up with a costume that wasn't lame. He hadn't dressed up for Halloween since he was eight.

"I don't know..." Donna said.

"I'll be there," Forman said. "No better way to get this moving-on thing started than by swapping spit with a couple of drunken strangers."

Donna peered up at Jackie, and Jackie spoke for her. "Donna'll be there, too. I've seen Casey's guy friends, and they are hot. H.O.T.-hot." She patted Kelso's arm. "And what are we gonna do tomorrow night?"

"Oh, uh … I was planning on going to the party," Kelso said.

"What? You said the party's only for singles!"

"But I gotta make the party horrible for Casey. Jackie, do you know how many birthday parties of mine he ruined? Finally, I've got a chance to get him back."

Her lips pressed together, and she glared at Hyde. Was she trying to get sympathy? Or confirmation of Kelso's stupidity? Hyde forced his leg to quit bouncing, but he began flicking the invite. In his most secret hopes, her glances were pleas for help, to get her away from Kelso, to convince her to drop him for good. But if Kelso's own behavior hadn't done that by now, nothing would.

Her chest rose with an inhaled breath."Fine," she said to Kelso. "I'll spend Halloween without you, but if you even think about kissing a girl who isn't me, we're through."

She turned from him and headed for the basement door.

"Jackie, wait!" Kelso said, and she stopped by Forman's stereo. "Halloween isn't until Tuesday! I thought we were going trick-or-treating together."

"Whatever, Michael." Her hair whipped behind her as she continued toward the door. She grabbed her jacket off the wall hook, and she was gone.

Kelso stared after her and scratched his chin. "Man … good thing she can't read my thoughts, huh?"

Hyde's fingers quit flicking the invite. Tension was finally leaving his body, and he said, "Maybe she can." Melissa had practically read his, and it had screwed them.

"Nah. She would've broken up with me months ago." Kelso turned the TV back on and sat between Forman and Donna on the couch. "But thinking about doin' it with other chicks doesn't count, right Big D?" He elbowed Forman in the ribs, and Forman grunted. "Eric, you thought about doin' it with tons of other girls while you two dated, and Donna stayed with you."

"Playboy Bunnies don't count, Kelso," Forman said. "It's not like I'd ever meet any of them."

"And if he did, he could never get them," Donna said.

He grinned at her. "I got you."

"Technically, I got you."

"And, just as technically, I'm the one who broke up with you."

"Burn!" Kelso shouted in Donna's face, and Donna scrambled off the couch. "Donna, technically that was a burn."

She stuck her index finger into one of her ears and wiggled it. "Okay, my ears are ringing now..." She waved the invite at Kelso and Forman. "But both of you can get bent—and I've got to figure out what I'm wearing tomorrow night."

She left the basement, and Forman pointed at the door once it shut. "That's right, Pinciotti!. I won that round!"

Three's Company's theme song filled the room. The episode was over. Hyde had gotten only a glimpse of Chrissy and Janet's chests, but in exchange he'd gained access to the inner workings of Kelso and Jackie's relationship. Trust was a limited commodity between them. If Kelso made one wrong move, they were done.

Not that it did Hyde any good. Jackie would probably date a football player next or the rich son of one of her dad's colleagues. She'd made her feelings for Hyde clear almost a year ago: they didn't exist, and he had to live with it.

"Ooh, I can't wait until tomorrow night," Fez said. "Maybe I will get to kiss Donna again."

Forman flinched. "Again?"

"Yes. She sucked my face when I told Caroline we were in love. That Donna, she puts her everything into a part."

"Right. Well, I plan on having copious make-outs." Forman cracked his knuckles. "Kelso, how many closets does your house have?"

Kelso counted on his fingers and appeared to whisper closet designations to himself. "Ten," he said a moment later. "And we'll have access to all of them. Kim's at college. My parents are out of town to visit Gramps, and they took the twins with them. It's gonna be an awesome night!"

Hyde folded up his invite and stuck it in his jeans pocket. Jackie wouldn't be at the party. Donna would be, but they'd recognize each other's voices and call it off. And if he ended up in a closet with a good kisser, maybe they'd have time to do more than make-out. He'd bring rubbers just in case. A closet quickie or two wouldn't un-fuck his heart, but they'd make for a great Halloween.

Fake gravestones littered Michael's front yard, as did a few jack-o'-lanterns. The whole property throbbed with the music of Alice Cooper. Red light bled from the house's windows, but if the sight was supposed to be intimidating, it failed. Jackie had seen worse at the nail salon, where old ladies got their knobby, arthritic fingers manicured.

She approached the Kelsos' porch, clutching two dollars at her side and the invitation she'd stolen from Michael's pile. She'd left her promise ring at home, but black gloves disguised her hands anyway. Her Batgirl mask was firmly on her face. No one would recognize her here, not unless she spoke.

Frankenstein's monster greeted her at the Kelsos' front door. He was as tall as Casey Kelso, and he had the voice to match. "Our first Batgirl!" he said through his mask. A plastic jack-o'-lantern bucket dangled from his left wrist, and he dropped both her money and the invitation into it. "Ever been to a Monster Make-Out Mash-Up party before?"

She shook her head wordlessly.

"Well, you're in for a treat. Here are the rules: try to keep your mask on at all times. When you drink or eat anything, lift it just high enough to get the grub into your mouth. At some point, you'll be grabbed. Just go with it. There are no uggos here. Anyone you're paired with will be worthy of whatever you're hiding under there." He circled his finger around her mask. "Got it?"

She nodded, and he stepped aside to let her into the house. A pile of skull masks was on a table in the foyer. She gestured to it, a silent question. Normally, she wouldn't care, but she had to act like someone else. Her costume was already so not her. A purple-wearing flying rat? But Michael couldn't know she'd come to this party. He'd I.D. her if she'd dressed as one of her favorite characters.

"Those are for people who didn't bring their own masks," Casey said. "Anyway, have fun and enjoy the tongue."

She gave him a thumbs-up but stuck out her own tongue behind her mask. She had no plans on kissing anyone who wasn't her boyfriend. But first she had to make sure he was staying true to his word. His stated intention tonight was to wreck the party, not to cheat on her, and she had little reason not to trust him. Their last go at a relationship, he'd betrayed her at the six-month mark. This time, he'd been faithful for seven months and counting.

His fidelity should've reassured her Too often, though, it grasped her heart and squeezed, buckling her knees and stinging her eyes with tears. "Why?" she often found herself asking God. Why did being with Michael again feel more like declaring bankruptcy than going into the black?

God was unlikely to answer her at this party, but at least she could find Michael. He'd come here as Dr. Zaius, the orangutan scientist from Planet of the Apes. He'd showed the costume to her last week. The movie was stupid. The costume was even dumber, but it would make her search less difficult. Super heroes like her roamed the living room, along with Disney princesses and cartoon characters. The party also had a few demons, both male and female, and half a dozen Grim Reapers. Dr. Zaius would be easy to spot.

She pushed passed a ghost to get beyond the foyer. Red light spilled onto the walls and people's costumes. The lamps' regular bulbs had all been replaced with red ones. A tacky choice, just like the cobwebs suspended from the ceiling. They were made of cotton, but they'd probably still scare Eric.

Eyeballs, severed fingers, and bits of brain—all made of plastic—cluttered the bookshelves. Bowls of Doritos, pretzels, and candy sat on TV trays. Willy Wonka was stationed beside a bowl of gummy worms, and he lifted his mask slightly to eat. The bottom of his face was visible in flashes, but the dim red light made identifying him impossible.

Michael. She had to focus on Michael, and she moved deeper into the living room.

Most of the party guests ignored her as she walked by, but a Grim Reaper saluted her with a plastic cup of beer The acknowledgment chilled her skin, as if he were death itself, and Jackie rubbed her arms. His dark hood didn't hide the skeleton mask on his face. It was was more frightful than the ones Casey gave out, and the gaze behind it lingered on her a little too long. His attention was understandable, however. Batgirl's skirt put her legs on display. The costume also showed off her waist and hips. Fortunately, a cape concealed her butt. She didn't want to cause a riot.

The Grim Reaper left her, his black robe billowing with each step. She pulled her own gaze from him, but a pair of screams froze her by the hallway. The Six-Million Dollar Man dragged Bugs Bunny past her. A demon was close by, yanking a female werewolf by the arm. The four of them disappeared into the hallway, and a metallic shriek followed.

That was the door of the Kelsos' linen closet, and Jackie peered into the hallway. The demon and Six-Million Dollar Man stood in front of the closet, arms crossed over their chests. Were they acting as sentries or prison wardens? Either way, Bugs Bunny and the female werewolf had to be in that closet, paired up for a make-out.

Jackie kept moving. She couldn't risk being seized herself and rushed toward the stairs. They led to the second floor, but more screams scraped her eardrums. This time, Darth Vader and a skeleton shoved Betty Boop and Ringo Starr into a living room closet. Both Darth Vader and the skeleton stood guard, and Jackie hurried up the stairs.

Michael had to be here somewhere, more than likely hiding live spiders in Casey's bed. Casey's room was farthest from the stairs, but she checked it first. Superman and the Tin Man were inside. Not Dr. Zaius, and she swallowed a curse. They were guarding Casey's closet, and Superman wagged his finger at her, as if to say she didn't belong.

She didn't, and she dashed across the hallway to Kim's bedroom. Huckleberry Hound and Jaws guarded the closet there, but Jaws looked at the watch on his wrist. He tapped it. Huckleberry Hound nodded, pulled open the closet door, and Michael stumbled out.

His Dr. Zaius mask was askew, covering the side of his head, and Jackie's mouth went slack as a tall, obviously college-aged woman emerged from the closet after him. Her Snow White mask was strapped to her arm, and she wiped her right hand on her dress.

Jackie closed her mouth and breathed heavily through her nose. The room's red light seemed to throb with her pulse, but she continued to spy from the doorway. Michael righted the Dr. Zaius mask on his face, and Huckleberry Hound pointed to the fly of Michael's slacks. It was down.

Michael laughed, zipped his fly, and buttoned it.

Jaws patted him on the back afterward, an obvious congratulations, and Jackie fled the room. She barreled down the stairs, but her heel skidded on a step. She lost her balance, started to fall backward, but her arms shot out and gripped the bannisters. Her reflexes were honed by years of cheer routines. No staircase was going to take her out, and neither was Michael.

She darted to an armchair once she hit the first floor. A Grim Reaper was sitting on it, this one obviously female. Her voice gave her away. She was taking to Wilma Flintstone, who lounged on the sofa.

Jackie crouched behind the armchair anyway, despite that it was occupied. She needed to regroup, mentally, physically. Her heart was thumping in her chest, competing with Alice Cooper's drummer. Her cheeks flushed hot, but she kept on her mask. No one could discover her, not yet. Confronting Michael in his own house, surrounded by drunk people, was not an effective strategy.

But Snow White had definitely touched him—maybe even kissed him—below the belt. Was she the first tonight? Would she be the last? Jackie had no wish to find out, but a thick arm hooked her around her waist. It yanked her from the chair, and she kicked out her legs. Her feet were no longer on the floor, but what what was she fighting? Michael had cheated, freeing her to kiss whomever she wanted.

She relaxed into her kidnapper's arms as he carried her to a huge, living room closet. He pushed her inside, but she caught a glimpse of him: George Jetson had chosen her for this fate, and his pal Porky Pig shoved one of the Grim Reapers beside her.

The closet door closed, shutting out all light. She was effectively blind, but a hand landed on her shoulder. She flinched and held her breath. The Grim Reaper—Death—was touching her. He didn't say anything, and she groped for his chest.

"Your dumb costume is so flouncy!" she said. Her fingers had gotten caught in the material of his robe. It seemed endless, but the hand on her shoulder sprang off her. "Don't be insulted. I just want to make sure you don't have boobs." She continued fumbling with the robe, but it hid Death's body too well. "Great. Those idiots did put me in here with a girl."

Or the actual personification of death.

"Are you even alive?" she said but silence answered her. "Ugh." She'd had the opportunity to get even with Michael, for everything, and Porky Pig had to go and ruin it.

She disentangled herself from Death's robe, losing one of her gloves in the process. The closet door had to be nearby. A hard knock should get the guards' attention. If it didn't, she'd scream until they let her out.

Her naked fist punched the air, searching for the door, but fingers wrapped around her wrist. They pulled on her gently, pressing her palm against a heartbeat. She splayed her fingers and discovered a solid, convincingly male chest . "Oh," she said. "Sorry."

If Death had been wearing gloves at the party, he wasn't anymore. His skin was pleasingly warm, not clammy, but her stomach churned like a ship caught in a storm. What if Michael had been set up by Casey? Casey could've found him out and spiked Michael's beer with hard liquor. Hoped Michael would act on instinct if put into a closet with a girl. He and Michael hated each other, and trying to ruin Michael's relationship wasn't above him.

Maybe Michael hadn't meant to cheat at all but wasn't in his right mind.

"I don't know what to do," she said, and Death released her wrist. "No, I know how to make-out. I'm a great kisser. but..." She snatched the material at his chest. It wasn't as rough or as light as his robe. It had to be a T-Shirt, and the lighter material of the robe fell over her arm. He must've lifted it up for her, and now he'd let go of it.

She tried to do the same to his shirt, release it, but her fingers were stiff, and her lungs couldn't seem to take in enough air. "I want to do this. Help me do this—"

Death removed her mask and cradled the sides of her face. The tenderness of his touch loosened her grip on his shirt. She shut her eyes, and a tremor passed through her. She hadn't kissed a boy besides Michael in almost a year. She'd closed herself off to possibilities, to real joy, but she cupped the nape of Death's neck. It was covered by the same material of his robe. Was he still wearing his hood?

Death's breath tickled her nose. It was tinged with alcohol, but mostly it smelled like peppermint. His mask had to be off, and she clenched her teeth as his lips pecked hers.

He put space between their faces but was still cradling her cheeks. His quick kiss had to be a question: would she let him do more?

Her temples began to ache, and she relaxed her jaw. He wasn't a drunken brute. He'd asked permission, and though being courteous didn't entitle anyone to anything, she liked how his hands felt on her face.

She nodded between his palms, and his mouth was on hers again. His lips moved with intent, and she opened hers slightly, but another tremor shook her. Her body and mind were threatening to go numb, just like they had a year ago when she'd kissed Steven.

Death deepened the kiss, giving her the briefest sweep and taste of his tongue. It was another request for permission—and familiar. Just like the sensation of his mouth, the kindness of his hands.

"Steven?" she whispered.

He didn't answer, but heat scorched the numbness creeping through her. She yanked off his hood. Her fingers sank into soft curls, and her lungs expanded in her chest, filling her blood with much-needed oxygen.

One of his hands slipped beneath her cape and settled on the small of her back, but the other remained on her cheek. He drew her face closer, and she offered him the fullness of her mouth. Their lips melded as if being together was their natural state. Her tongue circled his slowly, and he responded to her with an intensity that overwhelmed her senses. Blood pounded in her ears. It burned in her stomach and ached between her thighs.

Their kiss last year hadn't felt like this. Back then, fear had bullied other feelings off the stage, but now it played only a minor part. She didn't want to stop, but what if Death really wasn't Steven? Other boys had curly hair. Other boys were capable of being tender and respectful. If she could convince herself Michael would be faithful, she could convince herself of anything.

She grasped Death's hip under his robe and spoke into his cheek. "Please," she whispered, "tell me you are who I think you are. Steven, tell me it's you."

Death nuzzled his nose in her hair. His arms wrapped around her back, and he said, "You wanna talk, or you wanna kiss, Beulah?"

Her blood pounded harder. Desire moistened her mouth and throbbed through her body. She plunged her hand into his pants pocket, hoping to feel his desire for her. Since last winter, once her fear subsided, she'd craved him. But she'd had to deny it, to deny herself, because he'd said no.

Her fingers closed around what had to be a pair of plastic-wrapped condoms. He'd come to this party prepared, expecting to have sex. "Did you use one of these tonight already?" she said and pressed a condom into his hand.

His fingers eased around her palm, trapping the condom between their skin. "Nope."

"Would you use one with me? Now?"

"Besides the obvious reason … why?"

A host of answers flooded her mind: to learn what sex would feel like with him—with anyone who wasn't Michael. For revenge. For freedom. Kissing Michael gave her visions of the future, a future, and he did turn her on. But kissing Steven just now had saturated her with his core. It was euphoric; it was exhilarating and nothing Michael could ever offer.

"It'll haunt me if we don't." She held Steven's hand tighter, and the condom's wrapper cut into her palm. Her connection to him was visceral. Its roots were buried so deeply inside her she didn't know where they began, but would they extend to sex? With Michael, all she experienced during love-making was disconnect. She pretended as if that weren't true, tried to explain it away, but any pleasure he eked from her was hollow.

"Fate pushed us in here together," she went on, "wearing two very tacky costumes. Or maybe it was God. The way you kissed me, Steven, you can't tell me you feel nothing. I don't want to lose this chance—"

Red light pierced the darkness as the closet door swung open. She covered her face with her mask, and Steven turned his back to the living room, but his hands were unmistakably his. Her gaze had wandered to them in the basement many times, her mind imagining what they were capable of.

"You want more time?" George Jetson said, and Steven reached behind himself and managed to close the door. George Jetson's muffled laughter came through, and Porky Pig said, "Guess that's a yes."

Jackie searched for Steven in the darkness, but she pushed into something soft and thick that resisted her—coats on hangers. She backed up a step, and her arm bumped into something harder. One of Steven cupped her elbow and clutched her hip, and he brought her to his body. He had to realize why she'd come to the party, why she'd allowed herself to be tossed into this closet. Why she'd kissed a stranger who, much to her relief, happened to be him.

"Do you still have the condom?" she whispered.

"Dropped it, but I got another. How you wanna do this?"

She ripped the mask from her head and thrust its elastic band over her arm. Michael was too clumsy to make love standing up. Even with her flexibility, he couldn't make it work. She and Steven had little time for foreplay, and darkness surrounded them. Facing him didn't matter that much, not in this case. Everything that he was would pass into her, for better or for worse.

A chill shuddered through her as she tugged her panties to her knees. She found his wrist and placed his palm flat on her thigh, just below her butt. "This'll be the easiest way," she said. "From behind."

"Yeah, okay … but let's get you a little help." He grasped her waist and guided her from the coats. A sharp sound followed, like he'd slapped plaster, and she stretched her arms above her head. Her hands pressed against the closet wall, and she jutted out her butt slightly. "This ain't gonna be the scenic route," he sad. "You cool with that?"

"I'm scared," she said and bit the inside of her cheek. "But I need to do this, to be with you."

"You don't have to be scared." His arm slid around her stomach, and his chin nestled in the curve of her shoulder. "You wanna stop, we stop. No questions asked, all right?"

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

His lips teased the flesh of her neck in response. He palmed one of her breasts over her the material of her costume, and the fingers of his other hand glided between her legs. Her breath came out in short puffs, but as his skill heated her blood and her body warmed up, she calmed down.

"You good?" he whispered after a few minutes.

She pushed her palms hard against the wall and widened her stance. "Mm-hmm."

He withdrew his hands from her, and moments later his condom-sheathed erection brushed her thigh. He grabbed her hips, but she said, "Wait."

"Sure." His erection didn't move from her thigh. Unlike Michael, he was actually waiting after she told him to.

"Why?" she said. "Why are you doing this with me?"

He hugged her waist, though not tightly, and kissed her cheek. "Why not?"

Her skin tingled where his lips had touched it, and the buzz spread to her mouth. "It's me, Steven. I make you want to vomit."

"Think we both know that's not true anymore." He hugged her tighter, and the tip of his nose caressed her temple. "And considerin' we're about to fuck, let's not talk about puke—or at all—unless you're callin' it quits?"

"No," she whispered. The way he was holding her, how he was speaking, he had to care. Steven Hyde was good at faking many things, but affection wasn't one of them. "I'm ready."

His arms disappeared from her waist. He reasserted his grip on her hips, and he entered her slowly, carefully. His thickness wasn't a shock. Michael was slightly thicker, but Steven filled her aching center like Michael never had. "Still good?" he said.

"Uh-huh," she said, but her voice wavered. She was throbbing around him, and the pulses reached her stomach. "Steven … go."

He brought back his hips and buried himself in her again, this time even more deeply, and she let out a whimper. The sound surprised her, embarrassed her, and she squeezed her eyes shut. But as he began to thrust inside her, as his strokes became increasingly more fluid, her shyness fell away. She lost herself to the sensation of him … to his power, his rhythm.

She braced herself with the wall as her legs shook. She called out for him and God interchangeably, but he stayed silent. "Steven," she said as she drew closer to the end, "I need to hear my name."

His strokes slowed before stopping altogether. He was barely inside her now, and his chest warmed her back. He was hugging her like before, and he pushed himself into her with deliberate, agonizing precision. He hit a spot Michael could never seem to find, and she swallowed a groan.

"Beulah..." His voice betrayed his smile, and he kissed the skin below her ear. "Jackie."

Shivers trembled through her body, but these weren't cold. They burned like stars. Her name on his lips had created a universe behind her eyes. "Again," she said. "Please."

His sigh tangled in her hair. "You had to say please." He laid his forehead on her shoulder, and his curls fuzzed her cheek. "Jackie … can't believe we're doin' this."

Most of his body vanished from hers, and she drove her hips backward, eliciting a grunt from him as she took him back inside. He laughed, and one of hands went to her stomach. His fingers inched beneath the material of her costume. His palm pushed into the flesh under her belly button, and the pressure pounded between her thighs. She had no idea how he'd accomplished that. It was like a magic trick, but his fingers inched toward the pressure. They surrounded it, caressed it, and relieved it.

"Close?" he whispered.

"Mmm." She'd given him little more than a sound, but she was beyond words.

His other hand tightened on her hip. He thrust up, hitting the core of her pleasure over and over, and her lashes dampened with tears. She was seconds from release, but the stars behind her eyes began to burn out. "Steven—" she managed to say, "Steven, wait."

"Crap." He stopped but didn't pull out of her.

"Promise me this won't be the last time."

Two breaths pushed from his lungs. She opened her wet eyes but saw only darkness until he said, "It won't be."

She thrust her hips back, and he recovered his rhythm in seconds. She clenched her fists, dug her knuckles into the closet wall, and any sense of time and space abandoned her as she convulsed around him. Their voices mingled together wordlessly, but his grunts grew louder and more sustained until his rhythm fell apart.

She removed her fists from the wall. Her muscles were sore, and salt coated her tongue from a mixture of sweat and tears. Most of her questions had been answered tonight. All but one, and the answers had opened gates she'd feared were rusted shut.

"So..." Steven's damp cheek slid beside hers as he embraced her from behind, "some party, huh?"

Commitment-free," she whispered and hugged what she could of his arms.

"Yup," he said, but neither of them let the other go.