another one shot, several people know that i've been working on this for the past week or so already. well, now here it is people!!
and, as some others also might know...i've been drawing fanart. i have a new one up on Reggie, and one of Shen. they sort of suck, but they're up and waiting for you to view as you wish.
ok, i've gotten a bit more on track of what a one shot i write should be. (laughs) warnings: explicit material, mentions drug and alcohol abuse, abundant cursing, mentions mental illness, and other such social non-niceties.
this one shot is a bit long, i almost split it into two parts...but i think i'll leave it in it's entire form, for now. i also don't promise much in the end, but you'll see what i mean about that.
i think i should mention that most of the products i avidly mention in this shot are real, and deserve some backgroud knowledge of to fully comprehend what's what in this. (or not, you decide) there are also some strange type of descrips i used in this, some words that may sound strange in the context used, but they mean something to me the way i've written them.
Thursday, January 5, 2006. 1:53 pm.
I really hate cigarette smoke. I hate the way it smells when it clings to your clothes, and to your hair. I hate the way nicotine stains your fingers after your fifth cigarette for the day. Or maybe the way I smoke is messy. I'm messy in all other areas of my life, so why shouldn't I make a mess of things when getting my hit of nicotine for the moment? My fingers aren't yellow yet, but then again, I only had just the one stick left in the pack at noon, and I've withheld it from myself until now, ten-thirty at night, my window rolled down so that I won't become sick at smelling my own noxious waste. I don't know why I continue to smoke if I hate everything about it except the fact that it makes my shaky feelings go away when they crop up. I blame the environment I was raised in with why I even started doing this shit in the first place; growing up in a group home for troubled delinquents quickly gets you hooked to things that offer a quick fix to whatever shit's going on in your life.
I thank my lucky stars that I got out of there before I hit the harder stuff, before I got into more than bourbon and cheap whisky, depending on who'd lifted the bottle, and from where. Not too long ago, I heard that my best friend from those days overdosed on speed and ex, after he managed to knock back eight shots of home-country moonshine. And even though I haven't spoken to the guy for near about five or so years now, I still feel the punch of his death on me. Unconsciously, I noticed the cigarette in my fingers shake about as I brought it from the wheel to my mouth, my eyes flicking down to see that red amber light up in the end of the cancerous habit conveniently packaged within a stick.
And when my eyes flicked back to the paved highway on which I traveled by my lonesome…I saw the guy deliberately standing in my path. Say "shit hell fire" and that's about all the reaction time I had before I cringed, knowing that I was going to hit and kill the stupid motherfucker.
Hit him I did, my forehead smacking against the steering wheel even as I kept my eyes closed and my foot steadily pressing on the brakes. When it was over and I'd coasted to a standstill, I wheezed and gently peeled myself from the car, my legs shaky as I attempted to stand unaided.
And hell if I still had that cigarette in my fingers, giving myself quite a vicious burn when it burned down to my skin.
I dropped it with a vague curse, crushing the butt with the toe of my Sorel Conquest Safety Toe boots…and yes; I am very particular about my footwear. So sue me. I love these sweet babies…my father got me hooked on Sorel boots when I was just a slip of a kid, before cancer got him. Prostate, not lung. I don't wear sandals, and I don't wear tennis shoes. Just boots; preferably Sorel. But if I can't afford them, which is most the time really, I settle with rinky-ass work boots from Wal-Mart. You know the kind I mean.
And why am I reflecting upon my bootwear? Well, let me tell you. When I walked over to the body lying just off the gravelly side of the road, his face was lit by my taillights, and looked very dead.
"Shit, I killed him."
Saying this made me wish I had a cigarette, especially as I glanced around to see if I could get away with getting back into my battered up Bronco and making a clean run for it. Which is basically what I was doing before he entered my shitty ass life, anyway. Why do I always run? Oh yeah, because I hate detention centers, jails, or prisons of any kind. Although…vehicular manslaughter to a guy that was probably doped up on something isn't quite as bad as let's 'hypothetically' say…manslaughter one. Heh.
Anyway, back to why my bootwear is relevant. It's because he opened his eyes. And the first words out of his mouth were, "I want those."
"Dead men don't get my boots. Or should-be-dead men, for that matter. I fucking hit you, you flew through the air…presumably…and you should be dead." I stated, my voice flat but shaky from want of a fucking cigarette.
I need one. Now.
"I didn't fly so much as hurdle, actually." He remarked, before gingerly sitting upright and then continuing until he was standing on his feet. Which had Doc Marten boots. Sweet. He then proceeded to pat down his abdomen and then his ass…which seems a bit odd, actually. The patting, not his ass, that looks just fine….
"You didn't kill me." He finally stated, a definite petulant tone to it. "Was I supposed to?" I remarked, fingers running through my spastically messy crop of mahogany curls abounding across my flakily dandruffed scalp.
His eyes turned towards me, peering out of his somewhat tan face surrounded by fluffy orange hair. Seriously, it's fluffy. Like he rubbed it with a balloon and stuck his finger in a socket once or twice…yesterday. And now it's had the chance to regain some semblance of normalcy. How a guy with such carroty hair can be tanned is something that's beyond me.
"You were supposed to, yeah, not just knock me down for shits and giggles. I don't really like to bruise." He admitted, sighing and vigorously scrubbing his scalp with all ten fingers before stopping quite abruptly.
"You don't have the urge to strangle me or anything, do you?" he asked, and I shook my head, again wishing that my fingers were wrapped around…a cigarette.
"Why? You couldn't even kill me, as any decent asshole should." He groused, before turning his gaze out to the dark fields lining one side of the road, and the ramshackle orchard on the other. In the dark. Out in nowheresville.
"I suppose the least you could do is take me into town." He finally stated, his hands tucking into his jean pockets. Tight jeans. Not tight enough.
"How far?" I asked, jittery now, from my want of nicotine. That's why I was beginning to tingle down my spine, why my fingers won't keep still…they keep twitching, until I finally shoved them beneath my arm pits and attempted to ignore their spasms.
Fucking freaky fingers.
"Not very, I was on my way back. Stupid Jack left me out here when I told him he couldn't fuck me in the truck no more, not without lube even." He shrugged, before lighting up and grabbing a hold of my plaid flannel jacket…it's blue, and really warm. I'm always cold, yeah.
"Hey, I'm a fag! You want to kill me now?"
"Not really, I don't need your blood on me right now. Or a body to leave behind, for that matter." I replied, brushing his hand from my sleeve, thinking that he may just be insane. Or…no, just insane.
He gave off a disappointed sigh, then was again tugging my sleeve as he said, "Well come on, I don't want to stand out here no more."
Then, without no how-do-you-like-that, he'd trudged over to The Bronco and keeled his ass up into the passenger seat. Damn it, this could only happen to me, just when I don't need it. But I tugged upon a tangled up curl just below my left ear and walked over to my vehicle, getting back into the driver's seat.
My fingers shook, despite my harsh glare at them to cut that shit out, and I finally grudgingly asked, "You got a smoke on ya?"
And a pack of Virginia Slims was thrust under my nose…oh gross.
"They're not mine, but Jack's. He's really queer." He stated off-handedly, but I was already in the process of placing a stick in the corner of my mouth.
"Peachy. Got a light?" I would have used my lighter…which is what he plucked up from my dashboard, by the way…but I didn't trust my hands not to piss all over themselves at the thought of adorable sparks of 'non-addictive' nicotine.
"No; I don't." he stated absently, even as he sort of leaned over and flicked the flame on for me.
"De nada." I finally stated, once I'd inhaled deeply upon shitty-tasting noxious sludge, my words forming out smoke into the car atmosphere.
He sent me an off look, and asked, "You realize that 'de nada' means 'you're welcome,' yes?"
I nodded, rolling down my window more than it had been before as I blew smoke towards it. "I am aware, yes."
There was a moment's pause, before he asked, "Then why say it?"
"Because my 'r's' are suck ass." I replied, and he got a knowing look. "Ah."
I flicked my forefinger and thumb at him in the classic, 'you got it' motion, and abruptly restarted up my car. Truck. Vehicle thing. Damn it, it's The Bronco.
We were quiet for a long time, and then he suddenly stated, "I think that was Jack's way of dumping me."
"You think?" I remarked absently, but he heard the sarcasm that I was just too lazy to provide.
"Heh, that was a stupid remark, asshole. Oh hey, are you passing through, or are you going to stay over? Because if you're going to stay, I'd get a room at Dawson's. Less roaches and the rates are good. Me and Jack would sometimes go get a room, when we wanted to pretend to be secret lovers. Not that Adson didn't know we weren't just going to go fuck on the motel bed and leave to go fuck in our own bed at home too."
"So you live with this glutton for punishment?" I asked, and he paused before admitting, "Can't be too sure no more. Not after tonight. But yeah, I guess I technically do. Have for five years, anyway, since our sophomore year in high school. We were the first couple to get 'married' in our graduating class!"
Was that something to be as proud of as he seemed to be?
"Are you really insane, or is it all a pose?" I remarked, turning left onto a street he was pointing me down…oh, here's that motel he was talking about. Crummy, but not the worst dive I've ever frequented. As long as there's no starchy cum stains still on the ceiling or floors or walls or bed or…anywhere…it's fine by me.
"Jack says I do it for attention." He said quietly, and I glanced over to see a contemplative look upon his face.
"Act insane?" I asked, and he whispered, "Step out in front of cars. Or jump off of houses. Or play one-man chicken with a train, just to dodge it right at the last minute."
I didn't call him out on the fact that I saw the tear that slid down his cheek just before his smile flashed at me, "Hey, lemme stay the night with you! I'll pay half the fee. 'Cause I don't feel like going home to see if it's still home, ya dig?"
My eyes narrowed, and he quickly stated, "It's the least ya could do for not killing me."
Another tug to that tangled curl below my left ear, and then I was getting out of the parked car and allowing him to scamper along beside me as we entered the front office thing of the motel. And the man sitting at the counter took one look at my companion and got a suffering expression all over his reedy face.
"Parker, go away." He stated, and the guy leaned onto his counter and smiled benignly.
"I'm not with Jack, so no getting sore about cum stains. 'Sides this is…." He looked at me, and I supplied my name for the first time, "Jason Underwood."
Parker, as his name appeared to be, snapped his fingers at Adson, and stated, "Jason Underwood. And he hit me with his car earlier, so now we need a room with two beds. See, platonic." Go figure how that works.
Adson still looked 'sore about apparent cum stains', but supplied us with the key to a room. For the night. Maybe two, depending if we decide to stay on. But he clearly expected us to be gone in an hour, two tops.
If Parker noticed my apparent lack of any belongings when we entered the motel room, he chose not to mention it. Instead, he rushed over and somersaulted upon the farthest bed from the door, which catapulted him off the mattress and into the wall hard enough to make me wince. But when he giggled, got up, and did the exact same thing, I decided that he apparently didn't deserve my empathy.
After about five hard thuds, he finally seemed too senseless to be able to withstand the physical coordination required to act like a complete and fucking brainless retard. Thus, he staggered over to the bed I was sitting on, throwing himself down hard enough to make me list over on top of him. Well fine, I won't move, his back was more than comfortable for my elbow anyway. Well…I eventually shifted into a more comfortable position, so that it became more of a 'warmth snuggle' than anything, glad that he was still and quiet for once. Maybe he'd knocked himself out?
"Why won't you kill me?" he suddenly asked, more curious than accusing.
"Do you want me to stab you over and over?" I asked seriously, and there was a pause before he honestly replied, "Not really, blood makes me woozy."
I nodded and closed my eyes, feeling warm and comfortable for the first time in a long time. Nobody ever lets me lay on them like this, not since I was at that home for juveniles. Then, everyone had wanted the physical contact of others, just to keep them grounded. It was pretty common for two or three of us…if not more than that…to end up sleeping in a bundle of bodies, much like a pack of kittens or dogs. I miss that the most.
"Well, I never kill someone without there being blood shed. Usually a lot, as they tend to bleed to death." I remarked, and he processed this.
"That why you're here?" he finally asked, more shrewd than I had taken him to be.
"Yeah, even if this last one was an accident." I admitted, feeling sleepy.
He shifted, and I growled at him to lay still, which he obliged after moving once more, now lying on his back with my face on his so warm belly, his fingers running through my curly hair.
"Tell me?" he asked, and I sighed, my breath running along the fuzzy cotton of his soft shirt.
"Mm…he accosted me in the bar parking lot, for pool sharkin' him. So when he went and hit me, I knocked his feet out from under 'im. He fell and hit his head on the rear fender of some Oldsmobile, and there was blood ever'where. He was dead, and so I ran." The belly below my ear rumbled with hunger, and I smirked before letting the smile fade back into sleepy vagueness.
"You specifically said 'stab over and over'." He reminded me, and I nodded.
"Yeah…when I got hauled in for it last time, it'd been because this guy got into my face, so I reacted by stabbing him about fourteen times with a knife I 'ad on me at the time. Then I took his money, which added theft to it. I was seventeen, and ever'one knew of my record anyway."
"What record?" he asked, and I yawned.
"Rash tendencies. I lash out at people when they get at me…ever'one knew that. They say it's because of the lie I told ever'one about my Dad fucking me for years before he died. Stupid morons, he couldn't even keep it up enough for my mom to stick around, what makes them think he could fuck me? The guy never touched me at all. I just snap and kill people when they fuck with me, even though I don't like it."
I had become more awake as I talked, absently noting that his fingers never lost their even rhythm at hearing of me being sort of insane. Homicidally insane.
"Seventeen? How old are you now?" he asked instead, and I had to think a moment.
"Twenty-something…I think I'm twenty three, actually. Maybe. I don't know anymore, it doesn't really seem important."
There was another long pause, during which his stomach grumbled once more.
"You n'me make a pair. Me wanting to die but not really, and you killing people but never really wanting to." He finally stated, and I nodded.
"You want to die for the thrill of it." I mused, and his stomach jiggled as he excitedly laughed.
"That's it! Nobody else gets it! Jack says I want attention, but hell, I could get more by setting the church on fire and running through the streets naked and my cocky erection bouncing all over the place."
I had to laugh at the ensuing mental picture, agreeing with him. Maybe we are a good match, two crazies, a mentally unbalanced yin-yang.
We were quiet for a moment, but then he whined, "I'm hungry."
"I know, I can hear you gurgle." I remarked, but did sit up and swung my boots back over the side of the bed.
"Know of a place for food at this hour?" I asked, and he bounced up and off the bed.
"Hell yeah, The Iron Kettle will be open 'til one, and open again at five in the morning. Karen closes it for four hours because Rex has ta scrub out the fryers ever' night or gets pissy." How nice, I got a bunch of information I didn't ask for about people I don't want to know.
"Ya got any dough then, 'cause I don't have much to waste on a kid like you." I remarked, standing just in time for an ugly plastic ashtray to hit the back of my thigh hard enough to sting.
"I'm nineteen, only four years younger'n you." He pouted, but was then walking over to the cruddy television and switching it on and putting the volume at an abnormally loud level.
"I got cash. And this is so Adson won't think we've gone and stole his key. He did that once when me'n Jack fell asleep here. He came in and saw us in the buff, and about 'ad a freaking heart attack."
I could see that in my mind in all too clear clarity, making me mentally cringe. For some reason, I picture this Jack to be some kind of slender reed of a dude, with cut short dark hair. I mean, this guy apparently smokes Virginia Slims, and he hangs out with a psycho such as Parker. That or he's a gothic type, all in black and dyed black hair with peircings. Or...whatever; I'd talk shit out my ass if given free reign.
Anyway, we didn't really speak once back in The Bronco, and he just pointed out which streets to take to get to the Kettle place. And surprisingly, it was semi-busy for it being near midnight in a town as little as this. We got some passing stares when we walked through the restaurant to sit at a table near the front window, which made me feel more secure, knowing that I could escape semi-easily if I needed to.
A young woman came over and took our drink orders, before nervously stating, "Jack's been by lookin' for you, Parker. Lunette just called him and let him know you were here."
He sighed, running a hand over his right eye in a weary maneuver.
"Fine, whatever." He mumbled, and she ducked her head slightly and left us alone, skirting through the tables to the kitchen.
"Shoulda known they'd be playing babysitter on me. Ever'one thinks I'm just a child or something, or mentally retarded. 'Oh no, he's out on his own! What shall we do? Let's call his bloody fucking keeper!'"
His voice went high and bitter on that list bit, his hands coming up to shake about in a stupid way before he collapsed into angry silence.
"You are insane." I reminded him lightly, and he abruptly flashed a grateful smile at me, thanking me for an attempt at levity.
It was just after we got our food, me with a southwestern style omelet, and him with a chicken fried steak, that we were accosted by who I soon figured out to be Jack. He had long blonde hair tied back in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, and looked like he did manual labor for a living. Probably in a lumber yard or a machine shop of some kind. The guy was about as tall as me, which is about half a foot more than Parker, and was muscularly hefty. And really, really, really hot.
"Parks, I've been worried about you." He stated as soon as he got to our table, his voice thin and honest. And the kid looked guilty, leaning into the guy's hand when Jack caressed his fluffy hair.
But then he looked irate, pulling back with a scowl, "You dumped me."
Pain flickered over Jack's face, and he corrected, "I left you. You were being bitchy."
"I've always been this way, and I'm not gonna change just 'cause you're getting older or whatever; you're the same age as me anyhow. I don't care if you think you're above being young anymore." Parker stated seriously, and Jack bit his lip and looked down before giving one nod of acknowledgement.
"I love you." He finally stated, voice small and unsure.
"You don't. I'm not your idol anymore, and you don't love me anymore than I do you. Honestly, you haven't loved me since you realized that I'm more work than you thought I was. I'm irresponsible, pretty much crazy, and sorta bipolar. You don't need me around except for cuddling and sex and helping to pay bills."
"So…you're breaking up with me?" Jack asked, a light frown on his face when he looked up, which deepened when Parker shrugged and then nodded.
"Speakin' of which…'ere, these are yours." He mentioned, digging out that pack of Virginia Slims and passing them over to his…ex-lover, or whatever. Why a guy like that smokes shit like that I'll never know.
Jack was quiet a moment, before musingly asking, "What will I do with all my free time now that I'm not having to schlep yer hairy bum around town?"
"It's not hairy!" Parker shrieked, and Jack grinned, slipping the kid a wink even as he was leaning down for a short and sweet kiss. It was cute how both of them lingered for a moment, before they pulled away at the same time, benevolent smiles on their faces for the other.
"Bye Jack, it was good." Parker breathed, and the guy nodded in agreement before standing back upright and tipping a wave at the two of us.
"I'll tell yer mom that you aren't dead yet. Drop me a line sometime, 'kay?" he remarked and Parker nodded, jovially saluting. And with that, the guy was gone from the restaurant, stopping just outside to light up one of those cigarettes.
"Bizarre," was my only comment, and Parker nodded. The rest of the meal was sort of spent in silence, until I'd finished and he still had a third of his food left to eat. It's boring watching someone eat, ya know?
"Why your sophomore year?" I asked, and he coughed, as I had startled him into inhaling whatever he'd just stuck into his mouth.
"Eh…we thought it was a good idea at the time. And 'sides, his dad had kicked him out for the streaking bit that got us arrested that year. So I moved in, since my mom was kinda going insane putting up with me. And Jack took over that, because he thought I was the shittest thing ever. Maybe he's the insane one, no?"
"I think this whole town is insane." I muttered, and he cracked up, making the people around us sort of glare before realizing that Parker was the one laughing, at which point they sighed and shook their heads with exasperation.
Or maybe they're just very, very tolerant. Still, even though he should be annoying and making me want to pop a cap into his face…he's still sort of…well, adorable, in his own way. I guess he grows on ya. Or maybe I'm just lonely. That could be it. Actually, I'm probably more than just lonely, as I haven't had someone close to me in forever, since I left the home for the final time. When I'd been arrested.
"He wasn't always like that, ya know. He used to be real skinny, and had acne all over his face, and braces. Gawd, I miss the braces. He wore 'The Tic' t-shirts and green paisley bandanas. He was so damn hot. And me…I was short with long hair past my ass. I wore it in a braid, always. We were both losers, ya know. But he fell for me, because he thought I was the shit." Parker toyed with his water glass, letting beads of perspiration on the sides of the cold glass make obscured trails over the surface.
"He thought you were cool." I stated, and he nodded, eyes screwing up as he thought.
"I don't really know why, he just…idolized me because I stood up for myself against anyone who thought to make me feel small. I've never been a quiet person."
Lord, I need a cigarette to finish off my meal.
"I've always been quiet." I stated for no reason really, but was taken back by the severe scrutiny on his face as he stared.
"You seem quiet, but your actions are anything but; you move with energy." He told me, and I felt a faint blush come to my cheeks. Ok, that was just plain weird.
I still need a cigarette.
"Marshall's will have some, you addict."
I blinked. Did I just say that last one out loud? Apparently I did, because he's looking at me with an amused smirk and leaving a couple bills as a tip upon the table. Oh, so we're done. Following his lead, I went along as we paid and left, and thus followed his directions to the afore mentioned gas station. And inside, there was a smorgasbord of cigarettes. So I bought a fucking case of Marlboro's. I have a feeling I'll be needing the hits if Parker decides to stick around…or if I decide to stick to him…or the other way 'round.
He was standing docilely next to me as I forked out the dough for my cigarettes, but then randomly stated, "I give excellent head."
I heard the guy behind the counter choke, but it didn't stop me from replying, "As do I."
"Bet I'm better." Parker challenged, a strange light in his eyes when I flicked my gaze towards him.
"Bet ya needed the practice." I admonished, and he seemed offended before carving up an extremely wicked grin.
"Kill me if I ain't." he offered, and I smirked and challenged, "Fuck you if you are."
--- --- ---
The first thing I did was flick off that stupid television, dowsing the room with blessed silence. And yes, you could cut the sexual tension between us, but we still acted casual and nonchalant as we shuffled about in a comfortable manner. I even went into the bathroom and stripped down without bothering to close the thin board of a door behind me before stepping into a steaming hot shower, my first one in a few days. I think I scrubbed my body in places I'd forgotten about, the absent thought of sex in the back of my mind as I did so.
Parker didn't give me a chance to even shut the water off before he was trying to take over the shower stall when I finished, shoving my naked ass out and whipping the curtain into my face. What a bitch. I snagged the only towel from the bar above the stained off-white porcelain toilet, not caring that it smelled of bleach and would probably give me a rash as I stepped out into the chillier motel room. I only bothered to scrub up my head, causing my damp curls to go haywire before settling back into a tangled mess upon my scalp.
The sound of the stream of hot water trickling down was nearly drowned by the rusty creak of the faucet, not more than ten seconds before the curtain was practically ripped off the metal rings and off to the side. I smirked when I heard the odd flap/squeak of his bare feet skidding on wet tiles, consciously making a move to get out of way as a dripping Parker sprang from the bathroom and catapulted onto the made bed we'd lain upon before; the blankets were quickly soaked as he rooted his body against the mattress, deliberately being obnoxious.
But he's tan all over, which I still think is weird; it's not that fake tan of someone who goes and deliberately bakes their skin off. You know, when he's naked, he's kinda pretty; not delicate, but pretty.
He finally stilled as he settled into place upon his damp backside, red hair now dark and plastered all over his face and skull. As I met his gaze, he quickly brought his hand up and swept it from his eyes, leaving his bangs haphazardly streaking across his forehead. How annoying to look at. His eyes widened slightly when I crossly approached the bed and ran my fingers against his hair, causing his bangs to slick backwards from his brow. Much easier on my eyes, I must say.
I then smartly tapped his bare hip and thigh, causing him to sit up and slide off to the other side to make room for me upon the bed; my challenge didn't go unmet when I knelt standing up on the mattress with my bony knees, looking down at him with a smoldering yet cold leer. I swear that he let out a soft and innocent-type of gasp, but was then scrambling up to meet me face on; so much energy in his wiggle, energy snapping through him as his hand shot out and took a deep grip within my soaked and frozen curls. His knuckles fisted against my scalp as he jerkily directed my head where he wished it to be, before cutting off my oxygen supply with a fiery kiss.
And hell if I didn't groan deep in the back of my throat and steady our wobbly stance with an arm across his back, letting him force his tongue as far into my orifice as he deemed necessary. Maybe we're a latent form of cannibalistic missionaries, determined to show the depths of our worship and faith by attempting to devour each other? Or just really horny and desperate to get laid. That could be it too, although it seems so much more plausible with that first option. Reason has commenced to disintegrate more than should be…reasonably…possible.
Though I had tried to steady our connection, one arm just won't cut the mustard when you have two sexually spastic guys trying to go at it without thinking things through quite hard enough. Thus, I tilted back and to the side, a sharp noise of discontent growling from his mouth when we ripped apart.
There was pain when he literally dead-weighted upon me, knees and elbows and who knows what all-else causing dull aches to ensue at various points of my now-battered body. But he wiggled about so much that I forgot everything in attempts to keep up, to gain some control of the slippery eel on top of me…but for all my trouble, I found myself half on my front side as we lay slantways upon the mattress, my head pressed against the far left corner at the foot of the bed. How this happened, I don't know.
Nor do I know why the feel of mildly crooked teeth gnawing against the fleshy meat of my shoulder muscles is such a fucking turn on, making me issue out a guttural moan and jut my erection against the harsh blanket below my hips. He's not biting hard enough to break the skin, but by no means is he being gentle to me.
"You never mentioned being a biter." I spoke, my voice muffled and my nose pressed flat against the bed.
"Mm," was his only reply, probably because his mouth was busy tracing his teeth down my left flank, a faint trail of spit remaining behind and becoming icy. I don't think I've had such a fired lover before; most of them are only interested in two main points of the male anatomy; a leaking boner, and clean asshole. I've got the first to the point of making a puddle beneath me, and I wasted no time in pushing my hips up and off the bed, clearly offering up that afore mentioned recently-cleaned portion of my sizzled anatomy.
And teeth found their way to sink hard into one cheek; I think he may even have broken through that time, but I don't care other than the fact that he's not fucking me yet. I hissed when his erection pressed against my ass in an unsatisfactory manner, as he was simply leaning over me to tangle his fingers in my hair again, making me choke on a breath when my head was yanked up and his mouth pressed near my ear.
"Slick the head a bit and dry dog it." I growled through clenched teeth, my eyes boring a hole straight ahead, into the lame-o wallpaper that was probably about forty years old.
He paused, his breath hitching for a little under twenty full seconds before it rushed out in a mildly unpleasant smelling cloud. But his grip eased up on my hair, his fingers laxing as he pulled back and…fiddled about back there. I forced myself into an extreme state of relaxation when I felt him probing with experienced fingers, forced myself to curb that instinctual reaction I have against letting something try to go up there.
All in all, the pain I felt when he finally decided to put it in already wasn't as bad as it could have been, tempered by the irritation I felt as his fingers pulled from my hair altogether. I'm not really into the whole rough sub type of stuff, but…ok, it was so fucking sexy to have him jerking it like that.
I forgot about it really, when I began to squirm under his antagonizinly slow approach to this supposedly hot fuck session. All that for this, a slow push? When I attempted to force him to move faster, his fingers became steel on my hips, almost pushing me away, and I was compelled to quit, a soft sob of frustration escaping me.
"Shut up, you'll tear." He panted, and I realized that it was practically killing him to move that slowly, as well.
"I'll be fine, just go for it." I murmured, and felt him jerk a bit at the apparent deliciousness of the thought. Giddy pleasure iced through my veins when he roughly pushed me about, setting up the angle of descent better, just before he really began to thrust in earnest. I think I moaned, but it may have drowned within his harsh cursing as I felt myself gripped with that same fiery energy we'd started this out with.
I probably was tearing just a little by now, but I've never been one to care about the pain of achieving pleasure, not when it gyrates my senses the way sex can. I didn't hesitate to sob when his teeth again found my flesh, his arm snaking around my chest, and securing me into a tight embrace.
Gawd, why have I recently denied this experience from myself, back when I'd been trying to make a normal go at things, for once. Living alone, working my ass off for the bills and leisure of honestly eating. But I don't think I can be satisfied doing the honest way of things, as it wasn't too long before I was cruising pool halls for people to shark, when I was hopping cars for a joyride or two. But I still refused to let myself do this, refused to lose myself to the undeniable pleasure and thrill of fornication. Because I always knew that once was never enough for me, I had to have the whole enchilada, or something close to it.
If Parker decides to stick around this town, I probably will too, now that I've tasted the proverbial honey he's undeniably offering. There won't be too long afore someone catches up with me though, and it'll be off to the pokehouse for sure. But I think I can suffer it for this, for this loss of control he's giving me. For the intense orgasm he rode out in me, before I could achieve the same, but I don't really mind too much. I do find it disgusting the way his dick slides much easier when he pulls out, not that the thought stays very long, as he coerced me into flipping onto my back so he can descend down and take care of me. And Jesus blue porker, he gives amazing head. Or maybe I'm biased?
--- --- ---
It was only after I'd sat up with my knees pressed to my chest, smoking as I attempted to keep my body warmth as much in my body as possible, that I heard him finally mention something about the use of condoms. A little too late.
"I'm not dying from a disease." I mumbled around my cigarette, and he gave me a look that stated that he hadn't really thought I was anyway.
He was curled up like a cat upon the foot of the bed, ignoring the damp puddle I'd made earlier even as he consciously made an effort to avoid laying on it. He'd made that mistake at first, and nearly jumped up off the mattress with a shriek about how cold it was. I was beginning to feel sleepily sated, not to mention that I've not had any decent sleep for about three or four days.
"I want graham crackers." He groused, which is strange because I was thinking along the same lines.
"Go get some in the morning." I reflected, and he replied with, "It already is morning. About three, almost."
I nodded in an absent maneuver, as I gently unkinked my sore body and went into the bathroom for a secondary shower, to wash away the grime of hard sex.
When I returned, I padded over to the unoccupied, and thusly clean bed, and peeled back the covers, wisely checking their contents before slipping my again-damp body between them. I was nearly settled in when the lights clicked off with a soft noise, and then a body was sliding in next to mine.
My nose caught the faint odor of sex and sweat wafting from him, but I wasn't nearly as peeved as I sounded when I gave out a harsh, "Do you want to try to die now?"
His reply was muffled against his pillow, even as he maneuvered backwards in a loose spoon against my front. "Not particularly. Maybe tomorrow."
And hell, that was good enough for me.
A/N: ok, as i said, there's not definate promise as to the way things work out for these two. (shrugs) but i sort of like it that way, anyway.
hope you drop line or two (or more, if you so choose?) to let me know how this one fared for ya. and looky, i'm back in with chars.having sex in a one shot!!! (points to smutty trash scene not too far up there)