What You Want

CODE: D (set in the D Is For Damien storyline)

TAKES PLACE DURING (specific story): Scenes 1 & 3: The Scorpio Murders (in progress); Scenes 2 & 4: NA

PAIRING: Trooper Broderick Broderick/Anna Clare (M/F)

EXPLANATION: Trooper Broderick, uncle of Scorpio high priest Luther Broderick, and the shy, rather agoraphobic ex-cultist Miss Clare, first met and started a romance in the in-progress The Scorpio Murders. The first and third scene here ("What You Want" and "Double Dream") are what take place during (though not included in) that storyline. These early scenes were probably some of the more romantic ones I wrote back then, as Miss Clare is a very nervous, repressed character, and Trooper Broderick is very patient and chivalrous. I just thought that if anyone could get through Miss Clare's shell, it would be him. I guess I was right.

DISCLAIMERS: The first one or two scenes are rather old, so may have errors in continuity and characterization, plus the writing may be stilted. There are also a ton of horrid POV switches in "What You Want"--blagh!! Also in that scene, it's mentioned that it's 6:14 AM and sunlight is streaming into the room...yet this scene, I believe, takes place in October--so it wouldn't be that bright out that early! In "Can't Sleep," it says, "Ren couldn't see their faces"--but I believe he'd already seen them. Oops. o_o

* * * * *

What You Want

He turned and headed back for the door. "I should be going now. Goodnight."

For some reason she didn't want to see him go. The thought of being all alone in the house after he'd been there was more than she could take. "Trooper Broderick..."

He paused at the door, turning to look back at her, his glance questioning.

She hesitated. What to say? "...Why don't you stay a little while? I'll make coffee."

He looked at her for a moment more. She was sure her heart was loud enough to be heard across the room. Then he smiled graciously.

"All right," he said. "I accept."

She smiled back and had to keep herself from running into the kitchen. Coffee was the last thing on her mind.

All the Brodericks, did all of them have such magnetic eyes as that? She knew Luther had had them, and while they'd never targeted her she could sense them. Trooper Broderick had them as well, and when he'd looked at her she felt that he knew everything she was thinking. Considering the situation, that would have been embarrassing.

She could barely keep her hands from shaking as she poured him some coffee. The last thing she wanted to do now was scald him! He accepted the cup and waited for her to pour herself a cup and sit before taking a drink. That little nicety didn't pass her by; she wondered if such a thing as chivalry was dead with this man around. For a while they sat and talked about nothing serious--that was, nothing having to do with the present investigation.

After a while she got so lost in thought about him that she didn't even realize that he'd asked her a question. He paused and waited for an answer, receiving none.

"Miss Clare?"

She continued staring into space. He cocked his head to look at her and her eyes focused on his.

His eyes are drawing me in.

Unconsciously she started to lean forward. He noticed the movement; his eyes broke contact briefly, then moved back up to her face. He leaned forward to meet her; their lips met and she felt a thrill run through her. He'd accepted coffee, he'd accepted this; so far, he had accepted. That was all the test she wanted. Whatever she'd felt, then he'd felt it, too.

She opened her mouth. He continued to accept her. When she moved closer his hand brushed a strand of her hair back. The thrill repeated itself. He isn't drawing back! He finds me attractive! She hadn't felt attractive since her early days with Scorpio--and Alec Bodine had taken away all that. His brutal treatment had never made her feel particularly attractive or wanted.

Yet Broderick's kiss was gentle, not brutal; his touch was almost soothing. And he didn't back away.

She finally told herself to let go of her inhibitions; he wanted her, didn't he? And didn't she want him? She drew closer and placed her arm over his shoulder, touching his face with her other hand. If she moved any closer she would practically be in his lap. She wondered how he would like that.

His hand reached up and touched her face, breaking the kiss. She pulled her head back. Was he going to refuse her, after all? Yet his eyes were still kind, and still drew her in.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked, his voice soft but serious.

He was asking her what she wanted. Something Bodine had never cared to do. She felt like crying, only a dull ache was rising in her belly. It startled her; she'd never realized how badly she wanted him, wanted him inside her, until now.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice husky. "More than anything."

She prayed that was confirmation enough. He took her face and kissed her again; she felt his arm around her waist and was ready to stand, kneel, do whatever he wished however he wished it done; but he was lifting her up, carrying her in his arms much as a groom carries his bride, never breaking the kiss. After a moment she realized that he was taking her to the bedroom--and she wondered why that should have surprised her so much. Bodine, he would have done her anywhere--the floor, his room, against a wall--he'd never considered her wants. But the bedroom was the most comfortable and private place--and he was taking her there--

He reached the room and entered; reaching the bed, he gently laid her down. The room was dark--just as she wanted it, for she couldn't stand doing it in the light, it revealed too much--and she could see his shadow above her. He paused as if looking down at her, then knelt by the bed.

She could sense him there rather than see him; she could hear him breathing. His fingers touched her face.

"Tell me what you want."

His voice was barely above a whisper. It startled her to hear him say that, and she answered, confused:

"I want you."

A soft sound that might have been a laugh. She was thankful that he couldn't see her flush bright red. "No...tell me what you want."

She had absolutely no idea. She'd never been given the choice before, and now that she had one she didn't know what to say. The truth was, with him, she didn't care. So she answered truthfully.

"I want you...in me."

Her voice faltered; she knew how silly she must sound. She'd never said such things to Bodine unless he'd told her to, and even then they were more vulgar than that, more coarse than anything she'd ever want to say. Yet it was the truth.

She wondered if he were smiling. After a moment she felt him stand up; then his weight on the edge of the bed. She tried to keep from shivering. His hand stroked her face; the shadow she saw above tilted its head slightly.

"You first?" he asked. "Or me?"

Another choice! He was going to leave the whole thing up to her. Struggling to wield her newfound power, she summed up her courage.

"You," she said.

The shadow tilted its head in a possible nod.

"Would you like to, or do you want me?"

"You," she answered again. The ache was growing sharper. "Us both."

Another nod. He stood and she heard the rustle of his clothes as he disrobed. Her heartbeat grew faster as he leaned on the bed again. She didn't realize how tensed she was until she felt his hand and gasped.

"Relax." He brushed the side of her face again. She nodded, not sure whether he saw or not. This was what she wanted, but she was still a little nervous. She was grateful for his self-confidence, or experience, or whatever it was. She felt that she needed that now.

She felt his hand undoing the top button of her dress. He moved carefully, not too fast, yet also not so slowly that she should grow impatient. She wondered how he could control himself so well when her breath was already coming faster, the ache down in her middle growing sharper.

Finally he reached the last button and carefully pulled her dress top down. She raised herself a little so he could pull it off. She'd forgotten about her shoes until he removed them; that gesture didn't pass her by either. He removed her slip in the same way; then she was surprised to feel him kiss her. She put a hand over his neck and pulled his head down.

He didn't need to ask her how she wanted it; her gestures were answer enough. She trembled as she felt his weight shift, his leg go over hers; then he was on top of her, his body against her but not crushing her, as Bodine would have done. His hand continued to caress her face and bare shoulder as they kissed. She took it and placed it on her breast; in response he unlatched and removed her bra. She could feel his hand tracing circles, cupping her breasts; he moved his head and took one in his mouth. She gasped with pleasure; Bodine had done that, but he had always been rough, and she was sure she still had at least some scars from his teeth. Broderick, if he noticed them, didn't seem to mind; his tongue explored all the ridges and convolutions, and moved on to the other one. She could barely keep from squirming in delight. After a while he moved back to her mouth; his hand took hers and guided it downwards. She gasped again as soon as she felt him, hard and hot and ready for her, though still holding off to give her pleasure. Bodine would never have cared. She caressed him as he had her; this time she could sense the increase in his breath, the burning, throbbing hotness within her hand. She lifted herself slightly to allow him to remove her underwear, which so far he had refrained from doing. His other hand went down to touch her; her breath hitched as his fingers explored inside her. Bodine had never done that; as soon as her undergarments were removed he would be inside. Her heart beat faster; she unconsciously started to move her hips slowly from side to side. A moan escaped her throat; she grabbed him with both hands, felt him raise himself in the air, ready for her; he drew his hand away and touched her thigh; her legs parted of their own volition. Still holding him, she guided him down and inwards and he penetrated her.

Another moan rose from her throat; her hips started moving, up and down now. He sensed the movement and timed himself. She didn't know or care that she was actually controlling the movement; she'd always wished to go slowly, so she could hope to feel something, but Bodine had always been fast and furious. Broderick, however, kept himself in time with her own slow movements. He felt a burning, seething inside but held it in check. This was her choice. Her pleasure.

She could never remember feeling this way. The dull ache was replaced by a deep burning. Every movement of Broderick inside her, every slow, deep thrusting, caused the fire to become more intense. Bodine had never brought her this. She'd never known that she could feel such pleasure being with a man.

He was so hot, so hard deep inside of her; with each pull out she would guide him back in. She marveled over his feel; she decided to let her hands wander, down his strong back, his chest, his buttocks; he caressed her as well, his hand going down to cup her own behind, lifting her a little with each movement so he could go deeper. She couldn't stop whimpering, her head turning from side to side, her legs moving. He took her leg, brought it up, and hooked it over his; she did the same with her other leg. Each time he lifted, she lifted; each time he pushed inside, she rose to meet him.

The fire inside her moved downwards, coming to rest between her legs, where Broderick's steady but gentle thrusting was building to a head. She could feel his need, strong inside of her, hot and hard and swollen; yet he held back. She didn't know how he could do it. He was nearly panting, his breath hot on her face and neck; she ran her hand along his side to encourage him, and then realized--he was waiting for her.

The thought surprised her; Bodine had never waited. And what was there to wait for, anyway? Surely nothing could be better than this--

Yet the fire grew hotter and hotter; she felt tighter and tighter, and even Broderick's steady strokes seemed more labored. It seemed like she would burst into flames if the fire got any hotter; she squirmed against it, and also against Broderick; she heard his breath catch and felt something go inside her--just a little. Then he was kissing her, his mouth covering hers; before she could recover her breath he was at her breasts, sucking and fondling. She began to pant. Both of his hands moved down to her buttocks and he pushed, she going up as he came down into her. He slightly increased the speed of his thrusts. She whimpered and squirmed again, unable to help it. She managed to find her voice and whisper.

"Fas-faster."

He readily complied. His hands lifted her, his strokes increased. He felt inflamed inside her; yet still the fire burned, hotter than ever.

"Please--faster!"

He was thrusting steadily into her now, not so slowly as they had begun. His hands squeezed her buttocks, almost painfully; the heat and the tightness increased, his breaths and hers were short and quick, he felt like a searing rod of steel inside her--

She heard a rushing sound in her ears. Her eyes were tightly shut and her teeth clenched. She and Broderick still moved together, he swollen and inflamed inside, she hot and tight welcoming him; yet the pressure and her breaths and his thrusts increased--she felt she was going to blow apart--

Stars burst behind her eyes as she felt her insides explode. Surely the fire would run out of control and consume everything in its path. Yet she felt Broderick thrust inside one last time, felt his hot fluid enter her, consuming the fire and everything else and putting it out. She cried out and writhed against him; he caught her and held her to him, stilling her cries with his kiss. He was still hot and hard within her; she could still feel his fluid entering her body. Would it never stop? Simply waiting she felt another climax; she shuddered and writhed against him again, a strangled scream escaping her throat. Her legs rubbed against his; he was already panting but the movement caused him to start and gasp; another spurt entered her body. She arched and moaned a third time as shivers ran down her spine. He no longer felt so hard inside of her; his hands touched her body while he pulled himself out. She still writhed, small whimpers escaping her. As if he understood, he moved slightly--his other part could be of no use to her now--and placed his hand over the area between her legs. She moaned. His fingers worked inside her, touching, massaging; her breath came fast and hoarse. They went deeper; he leaned down and kissed her, his tongue exploring her mouth. His other hand fondled her breasts. Unexpectedly, she felt another explosion; her back arched as her muscles spasmed frantically at his touch. The fire died down, extinguished; she sank back onto the bed, letting out her breath in one last whimper. His hands left her body; she felt his weight leave her as he shifted to lie beside her. Then his arms encircled her; in her exhaustion she managed to shift herself so that he held her from behind. He rested his head beside her neck; she could feel his breath upon her ear, slowing down. She knew that he could feel her heartbeat under his hands.

For a long time they were still. Yet she could tell that he didn't sleep; she turned over and curled up against him in the circle of his arm. He gently stroked her face and she sighed.

Her mind, though, was racing. Should she tell him? And risk sounding foolish? He'd listened to her up until now. She seriously didn't think he would laugh.

"I've never felt this before," she murmured.

He moved his head slightly, as if to look down at her. "Felt what?"

"This...I don't know what it is. Like a fire. Inside me. And an explosion. I saw lights. I thought I was dying. I've never felt that before."

A long pause. She wondered if she'd upset him. Then, his voice subdued:

"You've never felt that before?"

He sounded upset. She felt a twinge of dismay, and looked up at him.

"No, but with you...I mean, it was wonderful..."

He moved back slightly so he could look at her in the dimness. "I know...but, not to upset you...I've heard about what Bodine did to you." Her heart thudded. "And never once...?"

She shook her head. "Not with him. He never waited for me...like you did." To show him how much his simple gestures meant to her, she snuggled back against him, sighed, and dozed off.

Yet for a long time Broderick held her and stared ahead into the shadows, his eyes troubled.

* * * * *

She awoke with a start, daylight filtering into the room. It took her a moment to realize what it was that had startled her--someone's arm was around her waist. With a gasp she drew away slightly; Broderick, asleep, shifted and sighed, then fell still.

Her memories of the previous night came back--how she'd asked him to stay for coffee, and how he had complied to that, and to much else. She felt a little sore--it had been years, after all--yet with the ache there was a deep satisfaction, something Bodine had never given her. She shook her head and told herself that she must stop thinking of Bodine--this man was nothing like him. That, and his acceptance of her, made her feel grateful.

She silently reached out and touched his face; he was so lost in sleep that he didn't notice. He looked younger somehow, less hassled than he did awake. She suddenly remembered his family with a pang. No wonder he'd accepted her; since then he probably hadn't been with anyone either. She had no way of knowing the dull ache that he too had felt on looking at her, why he'd accepted her for showing an interest in him. He had felt that way almost on first meeting her, that ache and the stirrings of desire; but she had been afraid and he didn't wish to upset her. That was one reason why he'd asked her if she was sure she wanted him; for he'd certainly wanted her, wanted her badly, yet he felt that he'd be taking advantage of her if he'd done so just for his need. But she had been sure--the coffee had been just a ruse, as he'd suspected--and he had been able to not only give himself much-needed release, but to relieve her as well.

Watching him sleep, she wondered if she should stay, wake him, or get up alone. Thinking about last night caused her heart to speed up and the breath to come quick in her throat; she could feel that ache again, and wanted only to feel him in her hands, inside her again; yet he looked so tired and slept so peacefully that she shoved those thoughts aside. Considering that they got through this case alive, and he still showed interest in her, there would be plenty of time for such things later.

She rose as quietly as she could, starting to pick up and straighten out their clothing. She decided that she would make him breakfast, and then they could head out to meet the others before too much time had passed. She gathered up the clothes and turned back toward the bed to see that he was awake and watching her.

She started and dropped the clothes again, then wished that she hadn't, for they'd afforded her some measure of cover. In the daylight she didn't want him to see her, to see the ravages Bodine had perpetrated, the scars on her breasts and belly where he'd cut her. She was certain that they were visible in the gathering light, and wished that she'd stopped to put something on first.

Yet he only smiled. "Good morning."

"Good morning," she could barely whisper.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes; the blanket fell and with surprise she saw that he too had a scar on his chest. Forgetting herself, she stepped forward and leaned on the bed.

"What is that?"

He glanced down at where she was pointing and smiled ruefully. "A reminder not to take the shooting skills of anyone getting out of a car for granted." Her eyes widened. "Before I was married I was driving with Mulroy and Mabarak behind us in his car when this other car sped by. He was tooling pretty fast so I took off after him. When we finally pulled him over I got out and started walking toward the car. Mulroy tells me this guy got out but all I really remember seeing is the gun pointed right at me." He shrugged. "I have some hazy memories of lying in the road with Mulroy yelling at me, hearing some car squeal its tires--that must have been Mabarak going after the guy--and waking up and seeing white lights in a hospital. I was touch and go for a while. The bullet entered about a centimeter to the right of my heart." Miss Clare looked like she was in shock. "Later Mulroy tells me Mabarak caught the guy. It turns out he's a fifteen year old out joyriding in his dad's car and he's only scared because he didn't have a license." Again the rueful smile; he shrugged one shoulder. "But he had pretty good aim for a scared fifteen year old. I remember that each time I pull somebody over now."

She reached out to touch it. His hand caught hers. She looked up in surprise and immediately was trapped by his eyes, caught offguard by the depth of desire she saw there.

The ache returned.

"I thought maybe we should get up..." she started, her voice trailing off. Yet when she looked at the clock it only read 6:14. Could it really be that early?

He smiled at her; she had to fight off squirming. Even his smile was turning her on! "If that's what you want," he said.

Her voice was numb. "No."

He raised his eyebrows as if in genuine surprise; perhaps she really had caught him offguard. "What do you want?"

Even before she spoke he knew the answer; it wasn't hubris, it was simply that, after last night, her genuine passion for him, he hadn't been able to stop thinking of her either.

She dropped her head. "God, I feel silly. I must look horrible..."

He put out a hand to tilt her face back up. She truly looked ashamed.

"Why? You look perfect to me."

"You're only saying that because you owe me."

He sat up and cupped her face, drawing her close. She tried to drop her eyes but he kept looking at her.

"After last night I'd say we broke even." That made her look at him, gape actually, in shock. He laughed to see the look on her face; she finally started laughing too. It took her a moment to realize that he was gently massaging her neck, and she dropped her eyes again.

"Daylight changes things. It brings the bad things out."

He touched her face. "It does the same with the good things."

He truly meant it. All that he could see was the woman who had let him in; until her he felt he'd been in the cold, even when other women looked at him; he'd never felt anything for them. But with her...there was much more than what he could see...

"You must know I love you, Anna."

She looked up at him again. He'd never called her that. No one had called her that in years. It didn't even sound like her name; it sounded too young.

"I...I believe I love you too, Broderick."

"I did from the moment I first saw you."

That also surprised her--he had? The whole time she was torturing herself wondering what to say to him, he'd been loving her?

"You--you did?"

He nodded. "When I first saw you look out your door. When you first said, 'Yes.' God help me but I was imagining you said it to me."

She flushed. He smiled and brushed back her hair.

"I don't know if this is what you want to hear but it's true. I've got an ache inside me, Anna...and you healed that last night. But every time I look at you or just think of you it comes back."

"Yes, me too!" She couldn't help saying it.

His smile was faint. "Even from the first minute I saw you...I wanted to be inside you."

She could feel her face burning.

"I'm not upsetting you, am I?"

She shook her head, mute.

"Just tell me if you want me to stop."

"No, I..." She took a breath. "I feel it again."

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "You do?"

A nod.

"I'm just talking to you, Anna!"

A shrug. "I can't help it...it's that strong."

He reached over and caressed her back, drew her down toward him. She couldn't make eye contact. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers. He hadn't wanted to say it, but...

"It's all right. I can feel it too."

Now she looked at him. Her eyes were bright with what she felt. She started to lie down and draw him over her.

"No--" He touched her arm and offered a reassuring smile at her confused look. "You've been down for too long." He lay down instead, and gestured for her.

She complied. Bodine had never done it that way; he'd always insisted on being on top. She felt somewhat awkward; the balance didn't seem right. But it was what he'd asked for.

"You're not too uncomfortable, are you?" He wanted to know; he'd thought that she might like it this way.

"No."

Already he could feel himself stirring. "Relax," he laughed when he saw the look on her face. "What do you want to do?"

She stared at him. What did he want? What she really wanted to do was whatever he wanted. She tried to think.

First of all, maybe she should kiss him.

He could tell she was stalling, trying to figure out what he wanted. He didn't care. It didn't matter as long as she tried it out.

She bent over him and kissed him. He accepted it, and caressed her back, so she decided it must be good. When she broke the kiss he took one of her breasts again and sucked it. Her heart beat faster; she unconsciously felt herself moving against him.

He felt her movement and it stimulated him. He could barely keep his mind on what was in front of him. As she backed up she felt his hotness against her. That must be what he wanted. She lowered herself so she was down between his legs but not yet upon him; with her hands she took him and caressed.

She heard his breath increase. He felt her hands, cool against his hotness; he closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side, attempting to control himself. Her voice suddenly broke through to him.

"Sit up!"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She sounded excited. "Sit up!"

He did so; their mouths met and he couldn't keep his hands off of her. The feel of her body, so strong and supple against him; he forgot himself for a moment and didn't realize that she was slowly manipulating him.

"Move your legs." She arranged him to sit Indian style on the bed. She paused to look at him. He was trying to keep his breath level, yet he was thrusting forward and outward, yearning for her. Her own desire increased.

She put her arms around his neck and came down onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist. This time he groaned; after controlling himself for her benefit last night he couldn't contain it. The feel of her tight smoothness, so taut against him; the feel as he went into her, deep inside; he felt a burning throb.

She started kissing him and undulating, not only up and down but in a circular motion. A soft hiss escaped his mouth; she gasped as she felt his throbbing, pulsing need. Even after last night neither was exhausted. He moved as well, his legs rubbing against her thighs; his hands grasped her buttocks. She groaned in rapture; she remembered that and loved it. Anything to make him go deeper--she felt he could never go deep enough--

He fondled her buttocks in his hands, panting as she kissed his neck. He squeezed them and felt her jerk; the movement caused him to clench his teeth and thrust upward involuntarily. She gasped at the move and began undulating faster.

He ran his hands down underneath her and explored. The fact that he was already inside her didn't stop him. She felt his fingers and moaned as he pulled, separating her; his fingers worked to the root of where they met and felt her there. She tossed her head forward, raised herself as much as she could, and grasped him. Her own hands worked up and down; he shivered against her. A moment later he took her by the waist and let her mount him again.

She moved faster. His hands returned to her buttocks and he pushed her against him, gritting his teeth. He couldn't reach deep enough. Not yet. She wasn't ready. Yet he continued squeezing, and found that he was rocking his hips as well, in and out, thrusting into her as she moved.

His breath was hot and quick. She began to writhe upon him, throwing back her head; he leaned forward, still grasping her, and nuzzled her breasts. The motion sent him deeper; his fingers clutched and sank into her buttocks. She moaned and raked his back.

It wasn't enough. He had to get deeper, she had to feel him further inside. He grabbed her thighs and pulled her onto him, pulling himself into her; they both gasped. Her legs were writhing against his back. He sucked and bit lightly at her breasts, fighting to restrain himself. The throb was situated directly at his tip; he was more than ready for her. He almost wished that she would hurry up and come.

As if in response to this she dropped her head forward again, her hips arching spasmodically; she reached down behind him and grabbed his own buttocks, pulling him against her; straining; he groaned and ground his teeth again and concentrated on pulling her down. They both released slightly, gathering their strength--then he burst almost violently upward while she forced herself down. He impaled her; immediately he felt his seed pouring into her, and gasped while she cried out. His tightened muscles loosened; his chest heaving, he struggled to get her dismounted. The movement appeared to stimulate her but she was exhausted; she complied with his efforts and drew herself off. They both lay back, her head on his shoulder, panting.

A long while passed. Finally he kissed her cheek tenderly, rose, and began to get dressed.

She watched him for a while before getting up herself. He handed her her clothes with a smile; she had no need to fear him seeing her naked anymore. As she dressed she thought.

He was lacing his shoes when she put a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up and saw the serious look on her face.

"Before you get too involved with me," she said, as if what had just happened were merely an introduction, "I have to tell you the truth. I'm damaged goods. I could never give you children. Bodine made sure of that."

He felt a stinging. But it wasn't that she couldn't have children, even at her age; it was the thought of what Bodine had done to her. Damaged goods...

He shoved it all from his head. She could live with it; so could he. He smiled gently and showed her what he thought by tipping up her chin and kissing her.

She felt tears spring to her eyes. She was grateful that he'd turned away before they spilled down her face. "I'll go warm up the Blazer. Let me know when you're ready."

She wiped her eyes and went off to the bathroom to brush her hair.

No Better Time

"Maybe I should go."

"No." His voice was soft but firm. "I won't let you. I don't want you alone in that house. Not while they're threatening you."

She stared at him for a moment, then reached out and touched his face. Broderick caught her hand in his and leaned forward to kiss her. She accepted and drew him closer, her hands caressing his neck. His own hands touched her body; she brought her legs out from underneath her and sat on the bed, laying her head upon his shoulder. She closed her eyes as he kissed her neck.

"I can't think of a worse time," he murmured in her ear, "but I just want to make love to you now."

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was behind her so she saw him upside-down. "What's so bad about the time?"

"All of this. And Jordan's in the next room."

She smiled at him faintly. "I can be quiet."

He continued staring at her for a while. Then he cocked his head and nuzzled her neck, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of her. "I just don't think it would be right with him..."

She looped her hand behind his neck. "Do what you want, Broderick." She nestled against him. "I'm here to please you."

"God, Anna..."

"Pleasing you is what pleases me. It couldn't be simpler." It had been almost two years since they'd first been together, and she was used to his company. He had always put her wants first. She could feel his heart beating and took his hands, guiding them to her chest so he could feel her heartbeat. Unconsciously he pressed against her.

"I'd love for you to show me what you want."

He dropped his head over her shoulder and stayed that way, eyes closed, for several minutes. Then he started to undo her dress, his hands moving swiftly yet gently. When he let go of her to undress himself she pulled her dress off the rest of the way, removing her undergarments as well. When she sat back down he joined her again, his hands caressing her breasts. He pressed himself against her back. She arched her neck to accept his kiss; his tongue explored her mouth while his hands explored her body. She reached behind him to caress his sides. His breathing was deep and heavy; when he broke the kiss he burrowed his face into her hair. She continued arching her neck for him. He shifted his position, kneeling so that his spread thighs pressed against hers on both sides. She felt his hardness against her back. He groaned softly into her ear, grasping her breasts. In response she lifted herself onto her knees; she could feel him moving again, so that he was positioned directly below her; he took her by the waist and gently eased her down onto him. She let out her breath and heard him suck his in; he was throbbing inside her, strong and hard. He shifted slightly, both to position himself and to accommodate her own position; then, again fondling her breasts, he began to move his hips slowly, pressing into her. His breath increased. She moved little, allowing him to assume control. She had said that she wanted to please him; from the feel of his fingers squeezing her breasts, and his thighs pressing against hers, she could tell that so far she wasn't letting him down.

He continued pressing into her, moving faster. His need was strong, almost desperate; she didn't know why it should be so when she would have gladly given herself to him at any time he wished. She had had to do so while she was in Scorpio, with Alec Bodine, and had somehow managed; with Broderick, however, she was more than willing. She wondered if he understood that or had simply insisted on always putting her own immediate needs before his. She arched her back with a slight gasp, forcing her voice down as he thrust deeply inside. He began rocking against her, the motion causing her to move as well. He was panting, his breath hot on her neck. She dimly remembered, through the fog growing in her head, how he always waited for her to climax before releasing himself; she reached up and touched his face as they moved, tracing her fingers down his neck.

"Don't wait for me," she whispered huskily. "I'll catch up."

His immediate response was to thrust faster. She gasped and arched again as she felt the full strength of his need. He'd always restrained himself before; she was surprised by how urgent he really was. He seemed to sense her reaction, and attempted to control himself again; she shook her head wildly, biting her lip to avoid screaming. She clutched at his neck and whimpered, moving with him.

He understood the motion and again let go. Both of them gasped. He brought his hands down to her hips and pressed against her pelvis as he rocked; she put her hands over his and continued arching in rhythm with his movements. He felt a surging inside, speeding through him and gathering strength, bringing itself down into him; with a half-suppressed cry he thrust upward, grasping her hips and straining into her; he felt an explosion as he released inside, gasping, his head falling back. She felt his hands hard on her pelvis, his final thrust; his hot fluid spurted into her, and she gasped also at the strength of it. After several moments his, and then her, muscles released; he dropped his head onto her shoulder again, panting heavily. She tilted her head so her cheek pressed against his chest, her own breath slowing. When he'd regained his he took her by the waist again, lifting her from him and setting her gently down after he'd moved away. He took her shoulders and kissed her deeply. She ran her hands through his hair. A moment later he broke the kiss and looked into her eyes. She was trapped in his; every time she looked in them she was. He gave a soft smile and brushed the side of her face with his fingertips.

"Even after all this time you never fail to surprise me," he said softly.

"I think it was you who did the surprising," she replied, just as quietly.

Broderick laughed and brushed back her hair, kissing her again.

* * * * *

In the next room Jordan sat on his bed, flipping idly through an old photo album, barely looking at the photographs of his father and mother in happier days. He'd known that there was something going on between them, or more specifically between his father and his work, and his mother and someone else. Broderick hadn't believed him when he'd insinuated as such. He'd ended up believing in the end though.

But then again, that had been years ago. He was grown up now, and he couldn't dwell on that. His mother--and his sister--were long gone now; all that he had left was Broderick. He couldn't be sure if that was a good thing or not, but his father had let him stay at the house; that must be some sign that he at least trusted him there. And there was that woman, that Miss Clare--he wasn't sure just what she was doing there, though he had a vague idea. He sighed as he closed the book and rubbed his eyes tiredly, then paused when he heard a faint noise in the next room. He glanced up, as if he could see inside; there was a long silence, then another soft sound; he heard the sound of the bed as someone moved. It was very quiet but he knew what it was. Instead of growing angry, as he had long ago, he smiled to himself; so he'd been right about the lady. He thought it was good that his father hadn't, after all, been alone all that time. With another sigh he stretched out, pulled up the blanket, switched off the lamp, and laid down his head, sinking into sleep.

Double Dream

Miss Clare had been having a dream since she'd first seen him, a dream unlike any others she remembered, which repeated itself nightly, sometimes more than once a night. In it she would be at home when the sound of glass shattering would cause her to jump up in fright, turning in the direction of the noise. And out of the shadows would come Alec Bodine, very much alive, grinning ferally with his teeth showing and lust in his eyes. He'd let out a guttural laugh as he approached; Miss Clare could do nothing but back away in terror.

"It's been a long time," he'd say, as if greeting an old friend. "A long time! I've missed you, Anna dear. We've missed you." And he would grab his crotch, laughing harshly.

She'd quail and keep backing away, but for some reason there were never any corners to hide in, no doors to flee from. Before she could turn to run, Bodine would reach out and grasp her arm, trying to pull her to him. She would scream and yank herself free; the top part of her dress would tear away also like paper, and her upper half would be bare, without even a bra. Bodine would laugh again and advance on her--

--When a gunshot would ring in the air, his face would go blank, and he'd drop to the floor, unmoving.

She gasped and turned around. Trooper Broderick stood behind her, gun still smoking and his eyes as cold as the steel. He stepped forward, aiming the gun at Bodine's still form and pumping three more shots into him; Miss Clare flinched at each. To her amazement, Bodine's body sank into the floor and vanished as if he'd never been there. She looked up.

Trooper Broderick turned to her. "Are you all right?" he asked, the steel gone from his eyes.

She was unable to speak, could only nod and whimper. He came up to her and before she could say anything else she collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest, her hands clutching his sides. He didn't move, just let her cry herself dry. When she finally stopped shaking and caught her breath and looked up at him, he was staring back down with sympathy and compassion in his eyes. She sniffed and wiped her own before remembering her half-naked state. With a gasp her hands flew up to cover her breasts.

"No." His hands reached out and stopped hers. She glanced up at him again, startled. Yet the kindness was still in his eyes, and when he spoke again his voice was soft, soothing.

"It's a waste."

What? What was a waste? Miss Clare blinked. Trooper Broderick smiled gently and lowered her hands. She found herself staring at him, asking silently what he meant.

As if on cue, he answered her. "It's a waste to hide them," he said, softly, and, moving her hands, put out his own to place against her breast. She flushed furiously, turning away.

"They're ugly," she murmured, burning with shame.

"No." His fingers played over the scars edging the top and curve of her breast. To her astonishment, light started seeping from his hands as they touched her; she could feel her skin burning, only without pain, or, rather, with pain as sweet as ecstasy; when Broderick took his hands away she gasped at the sight. Her breasts were as smooth and unblemished as they'd been before Scorpio. She reached up to touch one gingerly when his hand caught hers. She looked at him.

Broderick smiled once more. "You're beautiful again."

She didn't know what to say. At this point he would lean down and press his lips lightly to her breasts, first one, then the other, then his kiss would move to her neck, then her mouth, when she had no choice but to accept him, her head swirling, her arms reaching out to embrace him. The dream would end here, but on awakening it left her with an ache that reached to her very core; an ache that would only lessen as the hours wore on, to be replaced each time he came to her in her dreams.

Unknown to Miss Clare, she came also to Trooper Broderick in his dreams. In his he would go to her house to pick her up for one of the group's meetings, only to find the place in some disarray. He'd find her, too, looking slightly disheveled but otherwise unharmed, a combination of fright and relief in her eyes. Someone must have broken into her house, only to flee before any real damage could be done.

He'd put his gun away and approach her, asking, "Are you all right?"

Miss Clare would nod--then the look in her eyes would change, the lids lowering, her whole body posture changing, becoming more--seductive.

"Now that you're here," she'd say--purr was too strong a word--and approach him, her arms encircling his waist, she standing on her toes to kiss him.

Her kiss was fierce--biting and sucking, almost ravenous--and her hands would run up and down his back, squeezing him behind, pulling his shirt out from his pants, slipping under his belt to cup and fondle him in front. His breath would hitch and increase as her fingers traced deft circles around his testicles, warmly massaging his member which stiffened--embarrassingly quickly--beneath her touch. An animal moan, feral and desperate, would break from her throat, and she'd draw him down upon her, upon her living room couch, and he would lose all control as he never would in real life, fumbling to unzip his pants which now bulged painfully, freeing himself and pulling up her dress and spreading her legs wide, one up on the back of the couch, one touching the floor, and splaying her opening with his fingers and thrusting inside, holding her thighs apart as he pumped into her. The old couch creaked with each thrust--a rapid rhythm--and a long groan escaped him. He'd shudder, his pent-up desire and pleasure escaping. Miss Clare would only writhe and moan and beg him to take her again, and he would--and again--and again--only to find that his passion, his sexual desire, knew no bounds, couldn't ever be satisfied--not in one night, not two, not ever. He'd approach climax--and still pound into her, groaning desperately, growing harder and hotter but never quite managing to come. And still she would arch and beg him to relieve her...

He would awaken, invariably, with a start, panting and exhausted, the sheets drenched with sweat. This occasion was no exception; he put a shaking hand to his head--it still pounded with the rhythm of the dream--and took a breath, attempting to calm himself. A look at the clock showed him that it was almost 5:30; close enough to wakeup time. He flung the soaked sheets aside and stood up, running a hand through his hair and then glancing down with a frown.

Even if his dream had never reached its culmination, real life had. Sweat wasn't the only thing his clothes were soaked with. He let out a shuddery sigh and stooped to remove his shorts, tossing them in the basket. He hadn't ejaculated in his sleep since he was a teenager; the fact that he had now bothered him. Or more likely, the dream itself bothered him; he hated how Miss Clare had appeared to him, so easy and seductive and whorish. From what little he knew of her so far he could tell that her appearance in his dream had no relation to reality. He disliked how his dream had cheapened her. And then he'd gone and--this. As if he liked it that way.

With another sigh he headed for the bathroom. A cold shower was what he needed most now.

Can't Sleep

The two dim shapes moved slowly in the dark. One knelt upon the floor, head and arms stretched out upon the bed and legs spread wide, breathing softly. The second knelt behind this figure, hands lightly running up and down its sides, hips rolling slowly. Its breathing came harder, but as slow and measured as its strokes. They swayed together in the dimness, oblivious to anything other than themselves.

Miss Clare...Anna...shivered beneath the pleasuring force of the motions within her. She hadn't had anal sex in many years, and never from her lover. She used to hate it, when Bodine had given it to her; it had always hurt badly back then. Tonight, here, things had been on her own terms.

She knew that Broderick had been busy at work, and more stressed than usual. He would return home tired and listless, and would occasionally even snap at things that didn't work properly. Yet he never raised his voice or his hand at her. She waited for him to, as she knew that explosive tempers were common in his side of the family. He was never anything but gentle with her, however. Before the latest case, they had been having sex an average of four to five times a week, sometimes more than once a night; he had an insatiable appetite, as did she--his strong lean body had awakened feelings in her that she'd never known she could have. Now, though, he didn't ask her for it, so she didn't comply. He'd seemed so tired and preoccupied that she knew why he didn't ask. It wasn't that he wasn't interested. It was that he felt she would not be comfortable with it. That was always the way he was.

She had never given him oral sex before, either. That had been interesting. She had been in the shower when he went to bed, and on coming out, still damp and dripping, he'd been lying on his side, eye shut and face almost scowling due to the day behind him. She could tell that he didn't wish to bother her, to release his pent-up frustrations on her. She understood. Yet she had frustrations of her own.

She had crawled across the bed to him, stroking his arm and kissing his ear, loving his light responding touch to her own arm. She'd pulled herself over him and moved down under the covers, stroking his warm penis, enjoying the slight shudder in his breath. That was when she had curled up beside him and teasingly drawn her tongue from the root of his shaft to the tip, immediately earning an erection. She'd gently nibbled at the throbbing head, licking away the pre-ejaculate as if it were a treat for her parched lips. Once she'd taken him in her mouth, the first few inches, he had taken hold of her and sat up, on his knees, cradling her head to his crotch and tipping his own head back with a low moan. She'd shivered at the sound. His member swirling in her mouth hadn't disgusted her, it had excited her to no end. She loved the look on his face as he pushed his hips at her mouth in ecstasy. When he had groaned and flooded inside her, he had laid her down upon her back, straddling her, and mouthed her himself. His tongue sent paroxysms through her body; she had learned her technique from Bodine, but she had no idea where he'd learned his from. Wherever it had been, it had been most effective, and within minutes drawn out to a half hour by his expert tongue, cream had flooded from her body, leaving her shaking and shaken.

She'd told him, right then and there, that she now desired to experience all of him, as long as she could, every way that they could. The request had surprised him, but she hadn't left him much room to argue. What she had wanted to do next startled him even more--"Are you sure?" he had insisted on asking, repeatedly. It was only when her own frustration had been made evident that he finally complied. She had lain still while he left, and when he returned; she lay still further, shutting her eyes with a soft sigh, to feel him part her buttocks and gently caress lotion onto her, his slick fingers working their way inside, testing. She was not new to this, but she had never enjoyed it. She suspected that it would be different with him.

He had refused to make her lie down upon her belly for him, and so they had knelt next to the bed. He had rubbed her some more, and she heard him work the lotion onto himself. Her breath sped up. He had parted the fleshy mass again, and she gasped and arched to feel his own heat slowly, carefully begin to enter her, hard and throbbing, as his head touched against her neck and his hands squeezed her breasts.

"Anna..." he'd whispered, voice thick with desire.

She'd whimpered softly, tilting her head, accepting his kiss and his entry; once pushing himself full, he'd retreated, only to push again, rocking slowly, establishing a rhythm. One of his hands slipped down and between her legs, rubbing her clitoris, prodding inside her as he pushed, earning a long low moan from her throat.

As they began to move she whispered to him, saying words that set him on fire inside, encouraging him on. He finally spoke to her in return, and his words made her want to burst into flame, they heated her so much.

"I had dreams about you, Anna...vivid dreams..." His tongue ran along her ear, earning a shiver. "I always woke up wet...if you could see what you did to me..."

"Broderick..."

Hands trailing over her breasts, mouth to her neck, her ear. She whimpered again and rested her head against him.

* * * * *

Ren padded silently down the hall with a purpose. Even if he couldn't understand it completely, he knew what he was looking for.

He had a dim memory of his mother, at home at night, one of the few times a man had been in the house with them. That hadn't happened often, and when it did, it never lasted very long. He never grew to call any of them Daddy. They'd never acted like daddies were supposed to act.

He remembered leaving his room one night and peering out into the den, where Mommy and one of the men had been when she'd sent him to bed, to see that they were still there, but not watching TV as they had been before. His mommy had been underneath the man, and her dress was up. The man's pants were down and he lay on top of her, moving back and forth jerkily. His mommy had let out a strange sound, and it had frightened him at first, until he'd heard her speak to the man as if she knew him--"Jason, please, slow down--" The man had murmured something but Ren couldn't understand it. He'd moved faster. A moment later he groaned loudly as if hurt and sat up, leaving his mommy lying back and breathing hard. He'd reached down for her face when she'd opened her eyes and then seen Ren, standing back by the hall. Her eyes had grown big and she'd reached to push down her dress, calling out his name. "Ren!"

He'd started to back away, knowing that he shouldn't have been watching. The man turned around and saw him too, and he looked mad. He'd gotten to his feet with a yell, clenching his fist; Ren had backed away further when his mommy reached out to stop the man, only to have him hit her and yell again. This had made her yell back, and she'd stood up, telling him to go away and not come back. They had yelled at each other a bit more while Ren ran to his room, covering his ears; the next day the man had been gone, and even while she'd asked him if he were all right, his mommy had never talked about him again. He thought that was the last time a man had been in the house.

Now Mommy herself was gone, and the other two--the policeman and the dark-haired lady--had taken him in. He sensed that they weren't "married," as he knew that mommies and daddies were supposed to be; but apparently the policeman was a relative of his, and so had adopted him to live with them. They'd been nice enough so far. He had ice cream after dinner whenever he wanted it, a nice yard to play in, and the woman would play games with him when the policeman was gone. The policeman had a son of his own too, who would play with Ren sometimes, and take him places, like the park or beach, since the woman didn't like leaving the house. It was a strange family, but a good one.

He'd heard the noises at night though, like the ones he'd heard his mommy make before. When he'd been staying up late in Jordan's room once and had asked about them, the older boy had turned a little red and said, "I'll tell you about it someday. Maybe when you're older." Then he'd suggested that they play a game, and had put on some music, so Ren couldn't hear the noises anymore.

He knew what was happening though, even if he wasn't sure what it was. The noises started again tonight. He wanted to see if this man was the same as or any different from the one who had been with his mommy.

He crept up to their door. The hallway was dark, but there was a dim light on within, when they should have been sleeping. He heard a soft moving noise, and then he heard them talking. Their voices were low and sounded strange, like they were out of breath.

"...Broderick..."

"...Anna..." The man gave a low hard sound. "Oh, God, Anna..."

"...I...love to feel you...oh..."

"...Anna...mmnnhh...ooohhhhh, God..."

"...Yes...yes...oohhhh..."

He heard the man's breathing, low and hard. He let out a short groan, and another, and another.

"Ohh...ohhh...ohhh...Anna...oh God, yes...yes...oohhh..."

The woman sounded like she was starting to cry. "...B...Broderick...please..."

The breathing came harder. "...Mmh...oh God, Anna...oh, God...oh, yes...yeah...mmhh...oohhhh...ooohhh!"

"...Broderick!..."

She cried out, loud. Ren stood on tiptoe. He could see in the keyhole this way.

First he saw the woman's head, and her face. Tears streamed from her eyes, which were shut tight. Her hair was loose from the bun that she usually wore around the house, and it trailed over her bare shoulders. Ren moved to the side. Now he saw the man, behind her; his head was back and his eyes were shut too, and he gritted his teeth, skin sweating. Both of them were moving slowly, but he couldn't see the rest of them.

He pulled away from the keyhole and took hold of the handle. He twisted it very, very slowly, making not a sound. The door opened slightly, just enough for him to peek inside and see for himself what they were doing.

...And it did look to be the same thing that he'd seen Mommy doing, so long ago, only these two did it different. The man didn't lie on top of the woman, but he did lean against her. They were leaning against the bed instead of lying on it. And he was behind her instead of in front of her. Ren supposed that they could do it either way, from in front or behind, since they still moved in the same way, only slower; the man rubbed against the woman, who rubbed against him, and his hands were up upon her chest, squeezing. There was some softness there, soft and round; his fingers sank into this over and over as he moved, almost pushing. That's what he was doing, Ren realized, pushing. Like he was moving, pushing something under her, or even in her. She was crying, but from the way they talked he thought that they liked it.

The woman rested her head back upon the man's shoulder, still moving with him, and her own hands trailed up his body. They both wore no clothes; the man's behind moved as he did, clenching and then unclenching, and he groaned with each push. They were moving faster than when he'd first seen them. Her hands rested upon his behind and she seemed to squeeze with his pushes, to make him move more. They were on their knees.

"Oh God, Broderick," the woman moaned.

"Anna." His voice had a hard sound to it, as if he were doing something difficult. Ren couldn't see their faces. The man tipped his head down to her neck and seemed to kiss her. She moaned again and arched. He tipped back his head and groaned loudly.

"Oh my God, Anna..."

"Broderick--"

"Oh yes--" He continued pushing, deeper now, his hands on her behind, lifting her with each push. She kept moaning and he kept talking to her.

"Oh, God, yes, Anna..." He kissed her again. "...I love you...oh my God..." He whispered. "You feel so good, Anna...I love you...oh God...I love being in you..."

"I'm wet," the woman moaned. "You make me so wet...fill me...oh God, please...I love you...Broderick..."

He grasped her harder and groaned. "...Oh God...oh God..."

"Oh Broderick..."

"Anna..." He tipped back his head again. He started pushing faster. "Oh yes...yes...unh...Anna...oh yes..."

"Broderick..."

"...Mmh...oh yes...mm...oh God...oh God...oh my God--"

"--Broderick--please--please--"

"Oh, God, Anna!" His voice rose so that he almost yelled. He groaned loudly with each push, which were now hard and fast. "Yes! Yes! Oh God! Yes! Yes!"

"Broderick!"

"Anna. Yes. Yes! Yes! Oh my God--oh my God--yes. Yes. Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Ohh yes! Yes! Yes! Oh God, Anna! Yes! YES! OH YES--!"

He grasped her and pushed up hard, lifting her with a loud long grunt. The woman yelled and shook and her fingers clawed him. They both dropped their heads back and trembled against each other for a moment before he slowly lowered her and sank back down, she sinking against him, both of them breathing softly but hard. Their skin was wet. They knelt and panted for a few moments before the woman tipped her head back onto his shoulder to smile up at him, only she saw Ren standing at the door instead. Her eyes grew big and she gasped, pulling forward and grabbing the sheet. The man gasped as well at her movement and when he saw where she was staring at he turned to look also. His eyes grew as well as if surprised. "Ren--!"

Ren recognized the look on their faces from the time when it had happened with Mommy and the strange man. Fear entered his chest--he didn't want her to get hit, and he didn't want to get yelled at--and he backed away, further into the hallway. He saw the man get up, and something dangled limp and dripping between his legs. The woman pulled the sheet down around herself and he disappeared into the hallway, going around the corner and huddling against the wall, hoping that they wouldn't find him even though he wasn't hiding.

He heard the door open wider and saw light flood into the hallway. A tall shadow emerged and came around the corner. He huddled in tighter on himself. It was the policeman, only he wore shorts now, and he still looked surprised. He saw Ren and glanced down at him, coming closer. Ren hid his head and sniffled.

"Ren?"

The voice didn't sound angry, and it didn't yell. In fact it was quiet, as if he didn't wish to wake anyone else up. Ren peered over his arm, still sniffling. The man leaned down to him, touching his head and looking in his eyes.

"Why aren't you in bed?"

"...Can't...can't sleep."

"Did something scare you?"

Ren nodded. The man reached out for him and he cringed back.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right...here...let's get you back to bed. All right?"

Ren nodded, sniffing harder. He still expected to get yelled at. He knew that it wasn't right to watch whatever they'd been doing in their room, else the strange man wouldn't have hit his mommy and yelled at him long ago. The policeman, though, was nice to him, even though he'd done something wrong. He picked Ren up in his arms and carried him back down the hall to his own room, opening the door and carrying him in and setting him down on his bed. He even pulled the covers up over him, made sure that he was covered up completely, and when Ren said, "I'm sorry," again, just smiled at him slightly and ruffled his hair.

"It's all right. Go to sleep now. Okay?"

Ren nodded and gave him a tiny smile. The man smiled back and kissed his forehead, then got up and left the room. He left on the small lamp in the corner so Ren wouldn't have any bad dreams. And when he left he even left the door open just slightly, in case he needed anything later on.

Ren gave a small sigh and shut his eyes, trying to do as he was told.

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This item is not looking for critique. It was written solely for entertainment's sake. Although a scene from a possibly longer story, it is complete in itself and unless otherwise stated there is not going to be any more of it written. Additional unrelated SCENES may be written, but single scenes themselves are complete as they are. So please do not expect more. If you are interested in reading the series which INSPIRED the scene, just look elsewhere in my portfolio and you should find something. (Use the "story codes" given in the scene headers. For example, "MI" = "Manitou Island" series.)

I am not looking for critique on grammar, spelling, style, sentence structure, flow, or the mechanics of writing. What I AM interested in is commentary on such things as characterization, plot, symbolism, theme, etc.--the deeper aspects of the story. I like to know if a scene is believable, if the characters are interesting, what you thought of how they interacted, if the writing evoked any emotions, things such as that.

Feel free to criticize, but just keep in mind that I'm working on more important projects and shared this just for fun and/or to illustrate character interactions, so I don't plan to revise it any time soon. Comments on the characters, theme, etc. are more than welcome.