Opposing Elements
It wasn't really about the sex.
Actually, it was about the power of trying to play two unstoppable forces against one another. He'd always suspected that Fi didn't really hate Sam, that it was all just sexual tension subliminated into anger. They were all drunk the day Michael was taken off in handcuffs, and Nate decided to distract them by putting his theory to use.
He was surprised by how passionate Sam was. Under all of that easy drunken charm lay a man who was driven in bed and knew more than one thing about how to treat a hot pussy - not to mention a throbbing cock. He'd seen more than his share of action but he'd never seen a guy try to deep throat him while he fingered a girl.
Fi was about as frightening as he'd imagined she might be - all nails and teeth and flexibility. Some of the odder positions she'd suggested had been rejected by Sam as too difficult, but Nate had played the wiling guinea pig. His back had ached days afterward, but it was worth it. They made pretzel-tangles of flesh and bone and hair and sweat and lube in Fiona's bed, hanging over her priceless duvet, laughing and clawing and crying out and thrusting and riding.
He still can't believe he let Sam fuck him, but hell - they were drunk and willing and half-crazed with passion, and Nate had always wanted to know why Michael bragged of Sam's prowess.
Fiona watched them, laughing, rubbing her clit, enjoying the madness of the scene, allowing the feral power of it to erase the grief and the fear. If Michael lived, he would never forgive Nate for fucking his girl - but then again, Fi wouldn't tell.
He was certain of it.
Afterward, he appreciated the sight of them lying tangled together under the sheets. They would all try to forget it. They would always remember it.
And Nate, who harbored an affection for setting things on fire and laughing as they burned, would hold on to the conflagration, living with the fact that no matter what he tried, no matter his fancy tricks, these two would always be Michael's.