11/2/99: “I Have What You Need”

I Have What You Need

by
Jezebel Slade

A missing scene from "Pirates of Silicon Valley"

Disclaimer: The following is a work of FANTASY based on actual people, as portrayed by Noah Wyle and Anthony Michael Hall (who are a lot hotter than their real-life counterparts, sorry) in the recent tv-movie (hey, you don’t think I would’ve thought up this scenario on my own, do you?). The author is most definitely NOT claiming that anything in this story ever really happened. The REAL Steve Jobs and Bill Gates would probably sooner eat ground glass than have sex with each other. I doubt Noah and Mike have ever even thought about it, either. Are we all clear on this?

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"Family." Steve’s word sizzles with a nanosecond-long flash of irony. In that instant, he tips his hand.

I raise the stakes. "Family’s important, don’t you think?"

He bluffs. "Yeah. Sure." His smile never reaches his eyes.

I call. "That sense of belonging… being cared about… we all need it."

He leans back, steepling his fingers together, and quirks his eyebrow at me. "Maybe."

I slide closer to him on the white leather couch, resting my arm along the back casually. "Everybody needs it. Even you."

He sweeps his hand in a broad circle, indicating the rest of the building. "I have it."

"They worship you. They fear you. They want to be you. But do they give you what you need?"

Steve folds his arms behind his head and regards me calmly. "Tell me, Bill. What do you think I need?" He thinks he’s got my number.

I reach out and brush my knuckles across his cheek. My hand settles on his neck, my thumb gently stroking his jaw. "How long has it been?" I ask, one decibel above a whisper.

He’s fighting with this sudden bout of nervousness, I can tell. "Since what?"

"Since anybody loved you?"

He just shakes his head, mouth twisting into a disbelieving grin. "You’re crazy."

"It’s what got me where I am today." I move closer still, until our knees brush. "Trust me," I whisper, leaning in and kissing him.

Selling a non-existant OS to the biggest information systems company in the world was just a warm-up for this. But Steve Jobs needs what I’m offering. I could hear it in his voice when he screamed at me, and I can taste it on him now. Betrayal is his bete noir. All he’s ever wanted is security, and it’s the one thing he’ll never have because he’s so damn paranoid. Tragic, isn’t it?

And maybe he does trust me, at least, enough to open his mouth and stick his tongue into mine. The next thing I know I’m lying back on the couch, and his hands are in my hair and pulling my glasses off and holding me still while he tries his best to suck my tonsils out. I’ve got him right where I want him.

I shift underneath him, wrapping my leg around his and running my hands up his back. He groans and moves against me. I can feel him hardening even as he pulls his mouth away with one last sucking bite on my lower lip. Even without my glasses I can see he’s staring at me again with those searching eyes. "What kind of game are you playing?"

I grin. "Just trying to get you to relax." I run my fingers down his spine. "Not that you need it, or anything.

"I didn’t know you cared."

"Of course I care." My other hand moves up to his hair, strokes lightly. "I want you to trust me," I whisper, reaching up to brush my lips against his. "Do you trust me?"

Oh, yeah. I’ve still got it. That certain je ne sais quoi or whatever. He wants to trust me. He needs me to give him what he’s been missing all his life. And he knows I can, because I understand. We’re visionaries, he and I. And it’s lonely at the top.

His mouth is on mine again, pushing me back down against the couch like he wants to eat me alive. He’s arching over me, leaning on one arm while his other hand finds its way to my belt buckle. He breaks away from the kiss and nips at my neck, hard enough to bruise. I’m going to have an interesting time explaining this to Paul tomorrow. At least Ann’s in Denver until next week. There are advantages to having a girlfriend who takes frequent extended business trips.

Steve’s tongue traces a hot wet line up to my ear. "How far are you going to take this?" he demands in a soft murmur.

"As far as I have to." My hands slide down to help him with my belt. His touch is making me hard. Or maybe it’s just adrenaline. He’s kissing me again and I’m kissing back almost as hungrily as he undoes my zipper. I don’t have to fake a moan when he slips his hand into my briefs.

"You know," he mentions as he smiles down at me, his brown eyes impossibly twinkling, "some Tantriks believe that a state of spiritual enlightenment can be reached through ritual sex." He does this gripping-stroking thing that makes me gasp. "That a really intense orgasm can give you a sense of oneness with the universe." He leans down to kiss me again. "That the best acid trip ever is a sugar-rush by comparison."

"Well," I grin, moving my hands up to rake my fingers over his denim-clad buttocks. "I wouldn’t want to stand between you and Nirvana."

"Somehow I don’t think this is what they had in mind." He nuzzles my neck, bites my earlobe. "Turn over." He moves to the edge of the couch, watching with bemusement as I follow his instruction, resting my head on my forearms and looking over my shoulder at him. "Wait a second." He presses a kiss to the corner of my jaw and gets up from the couch. I watch him go to his desk and rummage in one of the top drawers. When he comes back, he’s holding a bottle of hand lotion. "You sure about this? Because if you’re not, I need to know now."

I smile, close my eyes. "I’m sure." Oh, yeah. "Sure" is my middle name.

He hooks his hand on the waistband of my chinos and briefs, sliding them both down at once. My loafers are easy work and then I’m naked from the waist down, the leather of the couch cool against my bare skin. He runs his hand up my back and leans down to whisper, "Bill, are you a virgin?"

"Yes." Sort of.

"I’ll be gentle."

"No, you won’t."

He laughs, burying his face against my shoulder. "I like you, Gates. You don’t mess around."

"I’m a straightforward kind of guy. So to speak." I should feel guilty. I really should.

He sits up, and I feel his hands hot on my thighs, spreading my legs. I take a deep breath, concentrating on the rich smell of the leather and willing the rest of my body to relax. Leather always smells so good. Even when it’s been treated and dyed all kinds of unnatural colors. I should get one of these for my office…

"Nervous?"

"Nah." Really, I’m not. R-E-L-A-X.

"Don’t start lyin’ to me now, Bill."

I look up, but he’s smiling. "Maybe a little."

"Last chance to change your mind."

"Back out just when things are getting interesting? No way." I lay my head back down again.

He traces an idle zigzag pattern from the hem of my shirt to the top of my thigh. "You really want this."

"Steve." I prop my head up, leaning on my elbow and turning to look back at him. He’s staring at me like he’s having a flashback. I reach out and grab his vest, pulling him down to lean over me. "I want you. We’re good together. Aren’t we?" I kiss him, nibbling at his lips.

"Yeah." He murmurs his assent against my mouth, opening his to let my tongue inside. Finally we separate, before the awkwardness of our position conspires with gravity to bring us crashing down in a heap. "How’d you get to be such a good kisser?" he asks, sitting back between my legs.

I grin, settling back down. "Contrary to popular belief, I’m not completely inept socially."

"Obviously." I don’t have to see him to know he’s smiling. I hear the rustle of cloth, then the slide of his zipper. R-E-L-A-X… He slicks himself with the hand lotion and leans down to nuzzle the back of my neck. "Relax," he whispers, echoing my own inner mantra.

I bite my lip to keep from screaming when he puts it in. It hurts like hell and I’m wondering if I’ve finally pushed my luck once too often, and then it’s like he hits something inside me and this jolt fires through my nervous system, and I do scream.

He holds still and asks, "Do you want me to stop?"

What? Oh, yeah. Come on, brain… make the language center work… "Oh, God. Do that again."

He’s laughing softly as he pulls back and thrusts again. His slow, even strokes are sending electric charges through my whole body, and I’m so hard I feel like I’m poking a hole through the couch. I rock my hips under him, trying to match his rhythm. I can feel him breathing deeper but I can’t hear anything over my own moans. All of the energy between us is concentrating in my groin, and then I’m exploding, coming harder than I ever have in my life.

I’m still recovering when he shoots inside me, with a yell like he’s focusing all the power in the universe into this moment. He collapses on top of me, and we lie there catching our breath and coming back to our senses. His hand finds mine, intertwining our fingers as he presses his face into my hair.

"Was that transcendental enough for you?" I ask, when I can talk without my voice shaking.

He squeezes my hand. "That was… that was great, Bill." He lifts his head to kiss my temple, then rests it on my shoulder. I stroke his fingers, bringing them to my mouth and sucking at the tips playfully. "Mmmm," he groans, "God, you’re insatiable."

I chuckle. "Yeah, I am." Not in quite the way he’s thinking, but I am.

We stay that way for a while, just breathing. I don’t know where he’s at, mentally, but I’m thinking that the leather is starting to feel really hot and sticky on my bare skin. "Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?" He sounds half-asleep. If the couch were more comfortable, I’d probably be passed out myself.

"Can I put my pants back on now?"

"Yeah," he laughs, dragging himself off me. I put my glasses back on and sit up, suddenly feeling really surreal about being bare-ass naked in another guy’s office. I hear him zipping up as I pull my pants on and take a quick swipe at the wet spot on the couch with my handkerchief. When I turn back, he’s sitting sprawled at the end of the couch, where he was when we started, except now he’s more rumpled. His hair is touseled, his shirt is untucked, and he’s a lot sweatier. He looks like I do on any given morning. Only… he’s got this look, like his guard is down and he’s totally lost.

It’s moments like this when I’m really glad I was born without scruples.

I sit back down beside him, reach out and smooth a stray lock of hair off his face, then lean in and kiss him. He sort of melts into my arms and lets me hold him, resting his head on my shoulder when the kiss ends. "Bill?" The word tickles where his lips brush my neck.

"Mmm-hmm?" His hair is soft against my cheek.

"Why…? Why this? Now?"

I kiss his forehead. "Because I can." I run my hand up his back to brush my fingers through his hair. "Because I wanted to." I cup his jaw and lift his head to look into those deep brown eyes. "Because you needed it."

"But what does it mean? What does any of it mean?" Jesus, he just fucked me within an inch of my life, and now he wants philosophical discourse?

I meet his gaze, going for the Academy Award for Sincerity. "It means we work. You and me." I do that kissing-nibbling thing that he liked so much last time. "Apple and Microsoft. Together." I murmur between bites on his lip. "We’re compatible." I nuzzle his neck. I’m severely tempted to give him a hickey, but people might talk if we both turned up looking like the morning after a night at the drive-in. "Very, very compatible," I murmur, sucking at his earlobe. "The first time I ever heard of you, I knew we were destined to do great things together." I work my way back down his jawline, and brush my lips over his. "All you have to do is trust me." I whisper against his mouth. "You do trust me, don’t you?"

"Yes," he breathes, returning my kiss eagerly.

Oh, yeah, I’m the king.

The end?

Tags: bill/steve, infamy