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A Two Guys and a Girl story, with somewhat more of the two guys and less of the girl.  Because, hey, let's face it; they lopped off the pizza place when people got sick of it and I think we all know what the next cut is going to be...

Pete/Berg, NC-17

Pete comes home early one afternoon and sees something he shouldn't.
 
 

See No Evil
By Melissa
 

PART ONE
The average male thinks about sex every eleven minutes while awake
               - Dr Patrick Greene
 

Pete stared dumbly at the two front row tickets in his hand.

" - and you know what Sharon's like when she's sick," Johnny said.  "Or angry, or upset, or confused, or - "

Pete tuned him out with ease.  One thing living with Berg had taught him was the skill of nodding and smiling in all the right places in a conversation, without actually having to listen to it in the first place.

God, free tickets - could life *get* any better?

"Why are you smiling?" Johnny demanded suddenly.  "Do you think that's *funny*?

Pete stared blankly.  "Uh, no, not at all.  In fact, I was just thinking, 'that's so not funny.'  Um, which is why I was smiling.  See - "

Johnny's frown didn't ease.

"Yeah, anyway, so - bye," Pete said quickly.  "Thanks for the tickets," he tossed over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs to his apartment.

God, the day had been *so* fantastic.  First, all the computers on the network at work had gone down, which wasn't so great in and of itself, but it meant that he got half the day off.  And anything that resulted in paid time off work - and didn't involve pain or illness in any way - was a good thing as far as he was concerned.

Then, of course, Johnny had given him two tickets to the game on Saturday.  Something about Sharon being sick, or something.  Whatever.

And he'd managed to avoid Irene for the better part of the week, excluding his little encounter with Pete, Pete and Pedro.  Still, a little Fabreeze and the place'd be as good as new.

Life couldn't be better.

He stuck his key in the lock and jiggled it twice to the left and once to the right.  Obligingly, the door swung open, and Pete tossed his keys onto the counter.

The TV was on, with the volume up pretty loud, but Berg was nowhere to be seen.

" - Some kind of strange alien, Scully; not the greys - "

Oh, The X-Files.  Pete leapt onto the couch eagerly.

" - And then several beautiful women appeared, and began to - to pleasure themselves, Scully - "

"Like this, Mulder?"

"Unnnngh."

Pete peered at the screen.  No way that was Scully.  Her tits were way too big.

"Oooooooooh, Mulder - "

Huh.  X-Files porn.  Leave it to Berg.

Pete glanced over at Berg's room, and saw the door was open.  With a shrug he pushed himself up off the couch and stuck his head inside.

Textbooks on the floor.  Notes on the bed.  Textbooks *and* notes on the chair, but interestingly none on the desk.  That was covered by a scale model of what looked like a small eastern country, complete with oversize border security guards.

Pete shook his head.

Okay.  So Berg wasn't home after all.  He shrugged the disappointment off.  Berg was probably at the hospital or the library, or maybe even just down the road getting milk or something.  He'd be back soon, and Pete would be able to share the news.

Heading back towards the couch - that X-Files (Sex Files?) porno was still on, and the Scully chick was actually kind of cute - Pete noticed that the bathroom door was half open.

No way Berg was in there, not unless he was getting some ibuprofen or brushing his teeth or something.  Berg was obsessive about not just closing but *locking* the door before using the toilet or shower.  So much so that Pete hadn't quite dared harass him about it.

But what if he's passed out on the floor? a little voice inside Pete's head whispered.  What if he's been working too hard and swallowed draincleaner instead of cough mixture?

Pete hesitated a moment, and pushed the door open.

Berg was standing over the toilet, eyes tightly shut, one hand braced against the wall, cock jutting out of the fly of his boxers, jerking off.

Slowly.

Pete froze.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, and then it was like all his senses remembered to check in at the same moment.

The room was suddenly too bright, the detail too clear.  The musky scent of male arousal filled the small room.  The door handle felt cold and smooth beneath his hand, and the door way was hard against his shoulder.  His mouth was dry.

Berg was making small inarticulate sounds of pleasure in the back of his throat and the sound went straight to Pete's cock.

Sympathy, some small part of his mind whispered.  A sympathetic hard-on.

He couldn't look away.

Berg was working his cock roughly, his breathing fast and shallow.  The tip of his cock gleamed with precum.

Pete pressed himself against the edge of the door, still fixated on the sight in front of him.

Berg had an amazing body, though Pete would rather die the death of a thousand cuts than tell him he thought so.  Long and lean and supple and virtually hairless.  He'd often thought that it was a body that chicks would drool over.  And Berg had had his fair share of the ladies, all right.

A stifled moan brought Pete sharply back to the present.

Berg was moving faster and more erratically.  He was close.

Pete backed off, fast.

Which was what he should have done in the first place, if he was honest with himself.

There was no way he could let himself watch Berg come.  It was bad enough that he just stood there and watched his best friend jerking off instead of quietly leaving him to it, there was no way he could stay to see Berg come.

For one, he'd never be able to look him in the eye again.  Ever.

And also, chances were pretty good he'd be busted.  Berg was in the zone, pre-orgasm - the place where you didn't notice anything that wasn't in direct physical contact with you.  But post-orgasm - that's when you started remembering that there was a whole world outside of you and your cock.

Pete moved as quietly as he could to the counter where he'd thrown his keys and headed for the front door.  As he eased it closed, he heard Berg cry out softly, and the sound went straight to his groin, just as it had before.  Sympathy hard-on, he thought grimly.  Ignore it and it'll go away.

On screen, the Scully lookalike was moaning in ecstasy - far, far too much ecstasy - as the Mulder lookalike thrust into her.

Pete closed the door as softly as he could and headed back out.

He'd come back in a few hours, and pretend none of it ever happened.  Save face for both of them.  Berg sure as hell wouldn't want Pete to have seen him, and Pete sure as hell didn't want to admit that he'd seen, let alone stayed to watch the show.

It just - it wasn't stuff that friends did.

He'd just forget all about it, and when he got home, everything would be as it was.  And he'd never, ever, ever think about it ever again.
 
 
 
PART TWO:
Tell the truth and shame the devil.
               - Proverb of unknown origin
 
 
Sharon coughed miserably, and snuffled into the soggy handkerchief she'd brought upstairs with her.  "Tho, Pede, why're you tho lade back frob work?"

Pete tossed his keys on the counter while he took a moment to translate.  "Oh, you know.  Just decided to go for a wank."  He stopped.  "Um, a *walk*, a walk.  Y'know, down by the park, it's so nice this time of year - "

"It's pouring down," Berg pointed out, a raised eyebrow the only sign he'd noticed Pete's slip.

Pete glanced pointedly down at his clothes - soaking wet and dripping onto the carpet.  "No it's not.  And besides, I like the rain."

Lightening broke the sky outside the apartment window, followed seconds later by a loud crack of thunder.

"Oooookaaay," Berg said pointedly.  "Whatever you say, crazy man."

"Pede," Sharon began.

"Sharon," Berg said, brightly.  "Here's another hanky.  Blow your nose like a good girl, 'kay?"

Sharon glared at him, but took the handkerchief and blew her nose loudly.

"Wow," said Pete, eyes wide.  "It's just like Dumbo's come to life!"

Berg snickered quietly while Sharon transferred her glare to Pete.

"*Pete*," she said, carefully enunciating the word, "are we still doing dinner tonight?  'Cause Johnny - "

"Yes," Pete said.  "You better believe it.  I spent all yesterday preparing the secret Dunville salad dressing.  All I've got to do is get the salad ready and toss it - um, toss the salad, and beat the meat."

Berg tilted his head to one side and regarded Pete curiously.

"Tenderize," Pete said with a forced laugh.  "Tenderize the meat.  And then stick it on to cock - "

"Yeah, so Johnny and I can't make it tonight," Sharon interrupted, searching for a dry part of Berg's hanky.  "One of his sisters popped out yet *another* baby, and we're all supposed to be going down to the hospital to see her."

"Oh," Pete said, deflated.  "Well, when are you supposed to come?  Um, go?"  He took a breath.  "When are you supposed to get there?"

"Soon," Sharon said, peering at her watch.  "I should probably go and get changed now."

Pete watched Berg take in Sharon's ensemble - baggy orange leggings underneath baggy black shorts, teamed with a baggy and indecently striped sweater that was probably Johnny's.

Sharon gave Berg a pre-emptive glare.

Berg chose to remain silent.

Pete just nodded, glad Berg's attention was on Sharon and not him.  And the things that seemed to keep coming out of his mouth.

"So, maybe next week?  Pete?" Sharon said apologetically.

"Yeah, sure, Sharon," Pete said with a half shrug.  "Not a problem."

Sharon nodded, and headed for the door.  "Oh, yeah, and Berg - your fly's undone."

Pete and Berg both glanced down at Berg's groin.

"Ha!  Made you look!"

The door slammed shut.

"That was very mature," Berg commented.  "for little Miss Nasal and Whiny USA."

Pete nodded.  "Thinking the same thing."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Pete, is there something wrong?" Berg asked, both eyebrows raised.  "Is this about you walking in on Ashley in the shower?  Because - "

"Oh, God," Pete interrupted, covering his eyes.  "Just as I think I've managed to forget - "

Berg shrugged.  "Well, you know what they say about the many forms of the devil - "

Pete shuddered.  "Can we talk about something else?  The nutritional value of vomit?  Maggots?  Excrement?  Anything but that."

Berg grinned.  "Well - "

Desperate for something to distract Berg - God, when he got that mischievous look on his face, you always knew trouble wasn't far away - Pete chanced on a large packing box sitting in the corner.  "What's that?"

"I - what?"

"That.  In the corner.  The thing that wasn't in the corner before."

"Oh.  It's a package.  For you."

"Oh," Pete smiled.  He loved packages.  He wondered what -

"From Irene's monkey."

"What?"

"It's from Irene's monkey."  Berg relished every word.  "Irene's *monkey*."

"Irene has a monkey?" Pete asked, incredulous.

"Apparently," Berg said.  "Either that or she's added to her collection of imaginary friends."

Pete looked at the box dubiously.  "I'm not sure I want to open it."

"Well, if it's bananas send them back," Berg tossed over his shoulder as he headed into the kitchen.  "I'm allergic."

With a sigh, Pete approached the box.  There was no audible ticking, which was a good sign, but he wasn't counting on anything.

Reluctantly, he pulled open first one flap and then the other.

Foam chips.

Huh.

He gingerly scooped out the foam chips until his fingers made contact with something smooth and round.

With a frown, he pulled it out.

It was a small wooden statuette of a young man.

Behind him, he heard a low whistle.  "What a nice little doll," Berg said.  "And it's even anatomically correct."

"Yeah," Pete said, impressed.  "I wonder if it's because we let her stay for Chinese the other night."  He turned the statuette over.  "Look at the detail.  It looks like a hand job."

"A - what?" Berg asked, lips twitching.

Pete looked up at him, puzzled.  "A hand made job.  Y'know, craftsmanship."

"You said, a hand job."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Fine," Berg said, throwing his hands up in defeat.  "Just don't forget to spank the monkey."

Pete stared.

"I'm sorry.  I meant *wank* the monkey."  Berg paused, and clapped both hands to his face, eyes wide.  *Thank* the monkey."  He shook his head theatrically.  "What was I thinking?"

Pete narrowed his eyes.  He was really going to have to watch what he said.  And of course, the harder he tried not to say something, the more it tried to escape of its own volition.

"I suppose I should thank *Irene*," Pete said pointedly.  "For this obscene little thing."  He shrugged.  "Who knew?"

Berg affected a mock-innocent look.  "Oh, I wouldn't know, I'm *sure*."

Pete sighed.  He hated going anywhere near Irene's door.  Getting away usually took between an hour and the rest of the day.  "All right.  I'll beat off, then," he said, grabbing his soaked sweater off the arm of the couch.  Maybe if Irene saw how wet he was, she'd let him get back straight away.

"You'll -?"

"Be off," Pete said.  "Jeez, Berg, maybe you should get your ears tested."

Berg stared at him incredulously.

Pete shrugged.

Finally, Berg rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, "Pete, is something wrong?  Something you want to talk about?"

"No," Pete said instantly.  "I should go now.  Bye."

Berg leaped between Pete and the door.  "Oh, no you don't."

Pete narrowed his eyes.  "Oh, yes I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Oh, no you don't."

"Oh, *yes* I do."

Berg pursed his lips.  "Oh, no you don't - to infinity!"

Pete gave him a tight grin.  "Oh, yes I do - to infinity times two!"

"You can't have infinity times two!" Berg protested.

Pete shrugged.  "Why not?"

"Because - because -  " Berg looked stumped.  "Because you just *can't*."

Pete raised an eyebrow.

"Look, Pete, something is *obviously* bothering you - "

"*Nothing* is bothering me," Pete denied instantly, wondering if he could tackle Berg, get through the door, and into Irene's before Berg could grab him.

"Pete - "

"Isawyoujerkingoff."

"What?"

Pete was mortified.  That was the *last* thing he'd meant to say.  'Don't be such a jerkoff,' was what he had been going to say.  Or maybe, 'Get out of my way, Berg, you're being an asshole.'

"You saw me - ?"  Berg looked stunned.  "What? When?"

"This afternoon," Pete admitted, refusing to meet Berg's eyes as he slumped on the couch.

"Oh," Berg said.  "*Oh.*"

"I got half the day off work, and Johnny gave me free tickets, and I came home, and you were in the bathroom and - " Pete broke off and made a small but unmistakable hand gesture.  "I thought I'd just back off and forget about it."

"Great job on that, by the way," Berg said, eyes fixedly on a point outside the apartment window.

"Thanks," Pete said wryly.

They were quiet for a moment.

"Everyone does it," Pete said finally.  "I mean, y'know - "

"95% of the population admit to masturbating, and 5% lie," Berg offered in a quiet monotone.

"I'm being totally stupid," Pete said.  "I mean, it's a perfectly natural, normal human function, and everyone does it, and just because I happened to see it being done, that doesn't change anything."

Berg nodded.  "Sure."  He shrugged.  "No big deal."

"Right, then," Pete said awkwardly.

"So, did you enjoy the show?"

"Oh, don't be such a wanker."
 
 
 
PART THREE:
Keep a thing for seven years and you'll find a use for it.
               Irish Proverb
 

" - So, I said to her, Ashley, remember: first you pillage, *then* you burn."

Pete managed a small laugh.  "Huh.  That's funny, Berg."

Berg frowned.  "Why, thank you.  We aim to please."

There was a silence, as both of them stared at the TV, which was currently showing a rerun of 'I Love Lucy.'

For the millionth time that week, Pete found his eyes drawn to Berg's hands.

They were nice hands.  Strong, and big, but not too big.

And they were currently making faintly suggestive movements around the neck of a beer bottle.

Mind you, everything Berg did with those hands seemed to be faintly suggestive.

Pete took a swig of his beer.

It had been three days since he'd walked in on Berg.  Three days, during which time he'd thought of nothing else.

He got up in the morning, and he thought about it.  He went to work, and he thought about it.  He came home, and he thought about it.  Worst of all, Berg's image would enter his head whenever he tried to touch himself.  And no way, no way in hell, was he going to jerk off thinking about Berg.

Hell, things were bad enough as it was.  They could barely have a conversation anymore.  There seemed to be more tense silences in their conversations than actual dialogue.

It was mostly his own fault, he knew.  Berg was a little embarrassed, but it was Pete's reaction, and his continued awkwardness, that was destroying their friendship.

He just couldn't let it go.

He wasn't even sure why it bothered him so much.  Why he couldn't look at Berg without seeing him naked and near orgasm, face flushed, head thrown back -

Pete took another gulp of beer, and hoped that Berg wouldn't notice the blush he could feel creeping onto his face.

It was pathetic.  It was *totally* pathetic.  Like he'd said to Berg before, it wasn't like he didn't *know*, intellectually, that Berg did - that.  Just like everyone else.  But knowing it was a completely different thing from actually seeing it in the flesh.  So to speak.

Next to him on the couch, Berg gave an audible sigh, and hit the mute button on the TV remote.  "Pete, you're making me crazy."

Pete looked at his friend warily.  "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play stupid with me, Pete," Berg said mildly.  "I'm better at it."

Pete nursed his beer uncomfortably.

"Pete," Berg said, with only faint reluctance in his tone, "I know it's still bothering you.  What you saw. I mean - "

"No," Pete denied frantically.  "No - I've completely forgotten I ever saw - what was it I saw?  See, I'm not bothered at all.  Not in any way, shape or form - "

"Pete - "

Pete stopped.  "Was I babbling?  Because I'm trying to stop that.  Maybe I should try Babbler's Anonymous - "

"Pete - "

"But honestly, I'm not at all uncomfortable with it, and I don't know - "

"Pete!"

Pete looked at Berg, stunned into a temporary silence.

"Have you thought about why it bothers you so much?"

Pete was silent.  "It - it doesn't - "

"Oh, puh-leeese.  If it bothered you any *more*, I'd probably be ID'ing your body right about now."

Pete looked away.  "All right, so it bothers me, okay?  I don't know why.  If I knew why, it'd probably *stop* bothering me."

Berg was quiet for a minute.  "I - I saw *you*, one time.  A couple of months ago."

"I - you - what?"

"I walked in on you, one morning.  You were asleep, but, um, it wasn't exactly hard to know what you'd been doing.  You were kind of covered in the evidence, for one thing."

Pete stared.

"And, you know, it bothered me, a bit."

"I - you - just a *bit*?" Pete asked, incredulously.

Berg shrugged.  "Maybe more than a bit.  I dunno - I guess you're just not supposed to think of your friends like that.  And you can't help it - I mean, you see that, and you can't help thinking thoughts that you know you probably shouldn't be thinking."

"Thoughts like - ?" Pete prompted softly.

"Just - thoughts," Berg said, evasively.  "But I took a nice deep breath and got over it."

"You weren't going to tell me?"

"You weren't going to tell me," Berg pointed out.

Pete nodded.  "Well, no.  But - "

"The point is, you just need to get it out of your head," Berg said reasonably.  "Stop obsessing over it and it just might go away."

"Well, I've *been* trying," Pete said, making an effort to keep the annoyance out of his tone.  "You think I *like* turning into psychotic obsessive boy?"

"It's a perfectly natural human function, you said so yourself, and I think you need to figure out exactly what's bothering you about - "

"You!" Pete exploded, pushing himself up from the couch and stalking over to the window, staring out at the traffic, but seeing nothing.  "It's *you* that's bothering me!  Every time I look at you - "  He took a deep breath and forced himself to stop.  "I'm sorry, I - "

"What about me?"  Berg's voice was suddenly silky, a dangerous undertone running through his words.  "When you look at me - what?"

"Nothing, just nothing - "

"Does it make you mad?  Make you want to put a fist through my face?"  Berg got up from the couch.

Pete stayed silent.

"Make you want to scream at me until it stops bothering you?"   He was right behind Pete now, so close Pete could feel Berg's breath on the back of his neck.  "Or does it make you hard?"

Pete shivered, but stubbornly refused to turn around.

"Well?  *Well*?"

"Yes, all right?  Yes!  Fucking *yes*!" Pete hissed, arms wrapped protectively across his chest.  God, Berg knew how to push all his buttons, always had.

Berg moved closer still to Pete, pressing his body against him.

Pete felt Berg's hardon pressed tightly against his ass, and felt his own cock spring to full attention.  "Christ - Berg - ?"

Without warning, Berg roughly pulled Pete around to face him.  "Did it make you want this - ?"  Berg ground their cocks together, and Pete moaned helplessly.

"God - "

Berg leaned forward and kissed Pete with surprising gentleness.  "- And this?"

Pete was breathing hard.  "Yes - "

Without breaking the kiss, Berg reached down between them and undid Pete's jeans, popping the buttons one by one, in a slow tease.

Pete opened his mouth to protest, but instead of words, an incoherent sound came out, desperate and needy.

Berg laughed softly. "Patience - "

As Berg slipped his hand inside Pete's boxers, Pete gave an involuntary thrust.  His heart rate was through the roof, and he'd almost forgotten how to breathe, he was so close.  Mustering what little self-control he had left, he forced himself to hold still, to try and regain a little equilibrium.

His hands, without the benefit of conscious thought, moved to the fly of Berg's pants, unbuttoning the top button and unzipping the fly with ease.

It wasn't until he had Berg's cock in his hands, hard and glistening and exactly the way he remembered it, that he realised he had no idea what he was doing, no clue about the mechanics of -

Don't think it, he thought to himself, don't call it *gay sex* -

Whoops, too late.

He tensed up, and Berg froze.  "Pete?  You okay?"

It wasn't the words themselves, it was the sexy, desperate, I'm-barely-in-control tone they were uttered in.  Berg could probably asked him if he liked drinking gasoline; uttered that tone, who could resist?

Pete tentatively stroked Berg's cock, and felt a thrill of satisfaction at the little sound Berg made in response.  "You - you like that?"

Instead of replying, Berg tightened his grip on Pete's cock, and began a slow, teasing motion.

Pete found himself suddenly incapable of speech.

With a presence of mind that Pete vaguely envied, Berg maneuvered him over to the couch, and pushed him down before climbing on top of him to kiss him again and again, sometimes gentle, almost chaste kisses, sometimes stroking Pete's lower lip softly with the tip of his tongue, sometimes deep, needy kisses.

Pete clung to Berg for dear life as Berg brought their cocks into contact with each other.  A whimper escaped his throat as Berg started a slow, deep rhythm.

It felt so strange to be held, instead of holding, to be the one inside strong arms, and not having to be careful of small, fragile bones.  And the rasp of Berg's not-quite-five-o'clock shadow against his cheek and neck -

Berg moved faster, and Pete thrust helplessly against him, unable to do anything but react to the millions of sensations rocking his body.

The intense pressure in his cock, the delicious friction as Berg thrust against him and he thrust back, the strength in Berg's arms holding him pinned to the sofa - not that he was trying to get away - and the way that suddenly, everything was too hot, everything was burning -

Pete felt his orgasm start, a full body *thrum* of tension and impending release.  He tried to warn Berg, to say something, but was overtaken by the tide of sensation.  Helpless to do anything but give in to it, he came in long, shuddering thrusts.

Teetering on the edge of awareness, he felt Berg come on him, their semen mixing on his stomach.

Berg collapsed on top of him, and they lay panting for a few minutes.

The silence stretched out comfortably, and Pete wondered vaguely why he wasn't uncomfortable, or awkward, or trying to get away.

The same reason Berg wasn't, he decided.  They'd been friends for far too long.

Feeling better, he felt himself drifting off.  A thought popped into his head, and he tried to choke back the laughter that bubbled up, but ended up making a noise that was halfway between a giggle and a snort.

"Pete?" Berg asked, faint suspicion in his tone.

"Oh, nothing," Pete said, still smiling.  "It's just - I was thinking about something Irene said to me the other day."

"Which was - ?"

" 'The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.'  It just seemed appropriate."

Berg pondered this a moment.  "I'm the cheese?"

Pete shrugged.  "Seemed appropriate."

"What, I'm yellow and I smell?"

Pete shrugged again.  "Well, on laundry day - "

"Can't I be the early bird instead, only instead of getting the worm, I get lots and lots of sex and - "

Pete tuned his friend out effortlessly.  Seemed this weird new thing was going to strengthen their friendship, and not destroy it, as he'd half feared.

Still, it was weird.  And if they were more than friends now, they were certainly less than lovers.  Pete shook his head, hoping to clear it slightly.  Fuck buddies?  Probably a good a term as any, he supposed.

" - Because eagles are majestic, and I see myself as majestic - "

A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Berg, on Thursday - "

Berg stopped, mid monologue.  "Yeah?"

"You made dinner."

"Yeah?"

"You did wash your hands first, right?"
 
 
 
 

THE END

 
 
 

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