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mickeymThe story is NC17, and contains fisting. Mainly Timbertrick(ish), but there's definitely a gsf thing going. Also, NOT euro-era, but I don't have that many group icons *g*
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synecdochic, because she's a good friend, a fantastic person, and I want to write her porn :) I hope this fits the thing we were talking about the other day. *hugs*
Many thanks tonorthernveil for early-stage hand-holding, and to pierson and nopseud for lending their eyes. *hugs* to all of you.
Hot Florida night.
It's dark outside, and humid; the air stickysweet with the scent of flowers and pine trees and salt from the ocean.
Inside isn't much lighter; the lights are dimmed, low for this night's activities. The air is humid here, too, and rich with sweat and sex, making his nose tickle.
So long, too long, since they did this, just the five of them. How anyone remembered whose turn it was, Chris doesn't know, but they all did. Justin's on the bed, arms secured with supple lengths of leather, his body gleaming in the dim light from sweat and spunk and lube.
Chris wants this, wants it so bad he can taste it. Wants it too much.
Wants all of them beneath him, to punish, to feel, to hurt, to love.
He needs to punish someone, all of them; they left him alone, left him inside his head. He's found a niche now, but it's not the same niche, and the unfamiliarity of it still makes him itch sometimes.
"He's ready for you," JC breathes into his ear, body draping loosely over Chris's. When he turns toward JC, he kisses him, mouth saltyhot against Chris's. "Loose and open. Look at how he's ready for it." He turns Chris's head back toward Justin, palm gentle but insistent against his face, and yeah. Justin's ready—wanting it, from the way his hips undulate, the way his chest hitches with each ragged breath.
"I want to hurt him," Chris murmurs, shivering when someone's lips brush against his back. Too low, so not JC; someone else. Lance? Must be, since Joey's sitting beside Justin, fingers stroking and teasing until Justin's body ripples with shudders. He hears the echo in his head, I want to hurt all of you.
"You can. He'll let you." Lance touches Chris, reaching around him to trail scorching fingers over his belly, consuming him one tiny touch at a time.
They all will. Just as he lets them hurt him. There's something about the dynamic, how when you love someone else so much, that love becomes pain. Needs pain. Pain that feels so good even as it cuts you bone deep. Chris thinks there's probably something really deep in there, but he's not about to focus too much on it right now. That's for later.
Chris takes a deep breath and steps forward, rests his hands on Justin's legs. His eyes are closed, pinched shut against the outside world. "Look at me, Justin."
Blue eyes, wide and dilated, a glassy, unfocused look to them as they open. Chris thinks Justin looks a little lost; he feels a little lost, himself.
Maybe they can find themselves in each other.
Lance abandons Chris for Joey, and Justin looks away to watch them kiss, the sounds slick and wet and hungry. Chris tightens his grip on Justin's legs until he focuses back on Chris. Justin's cock rises up from his body, hard and swollen, the tip gleaming wetly where he's leaked all evening. He hasn't come yet, thanks to the cockring JC fastened on him earlier. They've all fucked him, except Chris, but he hasn't come.
Chris gets that, tonight.
"Do you want it?" He says the words softly, leaning in to touch Justin, finger sliding over straining flesh, downward to press against slick, loosened muscle. Justin moans softly, pushing toward him and Chris withdraws his finger. "Tell me," he says roughly, the words sharp on his tongue. "Tell me if you want it, Justin."
"I want it." Justin's voice is raspy, a little hoarse, the sound buzzing straight through Chris into his bloodstream. "Want you. Fuck me."
Oh, yeah.
He pinches Justin's thigh, the soft inner skin that's marked with fingernail scratches and faint, smudgy bruises, then tugs on Justin's balls. "Ask me nice."
"Please, Chris. I—" Justin swallows, licks his lips – red and swollen from biting – and whispers, "I need it."
JC laughs low, the sound vibrating through Chris, adding more fizz into his blood, and Chris shakes his head. "You need it? You been fucked all night, baby." He pinches Justin's thigh again, harder, waiting for the red mark to show. Justin moans and shifts again, trying to get closer. "Tell me what you want, J. You want me to fuck you? With my cock? Or with something else?"
"I want. Something else." He's hesitant voicing it, though his body isn't. Chris watches Justin twist and shiver as he pinches, tugs and presses, though he doesn't penetrate Justin again. Not yet. Make him burn, make him hurt, make the want become something big and sharp and bright inside him. "Your hand--fist," he adds softly, when Chris keeps right on watching, not saying anything. "Please."
"Got the perfect hands," JC whispers, rubbing against Chris. Beside Justin on the bed, Joey and Lance are watching, eyes hot as they move back and forth. Lance leans down and whispers something into Justin's ear and Chris watches him shiver violently.
"He asked nice," Joey laughs, the words soft and light. One big hand encircles Justin's bicep, stroking up and down over smooth, pale flesh. Too pale; Justin needs more time in the sun.
"Yeah, he did."
Chris is giddy inside, the burn of his want so whitehot it's painful. He teases Justin just a little more, rubbing his finger over the loose muscle before pressing inward, watching intently when Lance swallows Justin's groan of pleasure into a kiss.
One finger becomes two, dipping in, twisting, fucking in and out smoothly. Chris doesn't remember stepping forward, nor the loss of JC's heat against his back until it's there again, sweat beading up between them. He leans back and pulls out, smiling a little at Justin's whimper.
"Turn over," he mutters, looking toward Lance and Joey. "Help him?"
It's a couple of minutes at most but it seems like so much longer; time Chris passes by shifting impatiently, skin prickling with goosebumps when JC touches him. Electricity should be crackling over his skin right now, it feels so hot and tight. Too small to contain so much, he should split open.
Or maybe he'll split Justin open and immerse himself.
"Chill, cat. Almost ready." JC's breath against his neck makes Chris shudder and duck his head. "He's not goin' anywhere."
"I know," Chris murmurs. "Just fidgety."
"When aren't you?" Lance shoots the question over his shoulder, then slips off the bed and past Chris. "Hurt him good; he wants it."
There are different levels and planes of hurt; Chris isn't sure if he wants to cause physical or emotional, or both. Just something. Some kind of release of pressure. Show his love, feel Justin's – feel all of theirs – and move on. 'Til the next time.
"Not so long in between, next time," he says, biting his lip. "Too long, this time." Justin quivers when Chris touches him, spread open, his chest to the bed and arms secured, ass up in the air. "So fucking gorgeous. Look at you." His finger slides in so, so easily, with a second alongside it in a heartbeat. Cool, slick liquid drizzles down and pools over his fingers; Justin shivers when the chill touches him and sighs out when Chris spreads it in, around, slicking him up even more.
The sighs become softer, quieter, and Chris looks up to see Joey and Lance taking turns kissing Justin, licking into his mouth and biting at the red, swollen lips.
"Cocksucking mouth," Chris mutters, mostly to himself. He thinks of Justin's mouth on his dick, warm and wet, gliding strokes of his tongue and tight suction, and he fucks his fingers in and out faster, sliding a third one in on an in-stroke.
"His ass is made for it, too," JC says, raising his voice so Justin will hear. "He takes it the best of all of us."
Justin arches his back and pushes back at JC's words, his body opening up, swallowing a fourth finger. The groans are musical, soft and guttural, slipping and sliding in between the wet kisses. Chris wants to hear them louder, faster, wants to feel Justin trembling beneath him. Against him.
"Fucker," Chris whispers, twisting his fingers. Justin keens quietly, body tensing and relaxing as spasms race through him. Chris feels them, feels Justin tighten around him rhythmically, and fucks his fingers in and out faster. Harder. Rougher. "Love you," he grits out, twisting his fingers again.
Justin makes a noise, maybe words, maybe he's saying I love you, too. Chris doesn’t know, doesn't care. He's closed his eyes so he's just feeling: the warmth and tightness around him, the way Justin moves into each stroke, the tiny vibrations shivering through him as arousal climbs higher. He wishes he could climb inside and stay there.
JC's still leaning against Chris's back, breath warm on his neck where he's pressed close, watching. Chris tilts his head toward Justin. "Take the cockring off." The trembling increases when Chris raises his voice. "Don't you come yet, J. Not yet."
"No." Long pause, then Justin whispers, "make it—make me. Do it."
"Oh, baby." Chris twists his fingers viciously and grins when Justin cries out, shoving backward almost frantically. "I'll make you. It'll feel so fucking good it'll hurt, like you're split down the middle."
The ragged whisper that floats back to him sounds like *yes*, but Chris wouldn't care if it was no. Not now. Not at this point.
"Do it," JC says lowly, back in his ear. "I'll fix it for you afterward."
Fix him, is what JC really means. Chris hurts the others, then JC hurts Chris. Makes it right again.
No reason to hold back now. Chris wants it, Justin wants it, they all need it. Joey and Lance have closed in around Justin again, supporting him, kissing him, stroking everywhere they can reach. JC's pressed close against Chris, but angled, so he can drizzle more lube down over Chris's fingers and Justin's ass.
Four fingers, twisting and turning while Justin moans and moves and whimpers so sweetly. They're both sweatslick and Justin's so open, begging with his body. With his ass. Chris folds his thumb under and pushes in, not gentle, not at all. Justin convulses around him, and Chris strokes his free hand up and down the smooth length of Justin's back, and over the curve of his ass. Petting him. Soothing him. Calm before the storm.
His hand is in, Justin's body open wide to take him, swallowing him in eagerly. It's a dance, then, painfully beautiful and erotic. Chris makes the fist and moves it, moves himself forward and back, slowly then faster, twisting and turning so his knuckles bump against the smooth, slick inner walls. Touching the inside of Justin, filling him up. Filling him. Justin pants and rocks back to meet each thrust, whimpers and grunts sliding from him, each one loud, music to do the dance to. Chris stares at the long red scratches on Justin's back, wonders if he put them there or if JC put them there. JC likes to scratch and bite while he fucks.
He's fucking Justin hard now, it has to hurt; he hopes it hurts. It hurts him, but it's cleansing, too. So good. Pure, clean, nothing but the barest of emotions. Love, hate, hurt, pleasure, pain, need.
"Touch him," Chris grunts, holding himself steady while Justin fucks himself back onto Chris's fist. He's not sure who he's talking to, any one of them. Just someone. "Dammit—touch him. Now. I want—he needs—"
"Got it," JC murmurs, moving around. He slides up beside Justin and takes him in hand, stroking slowly, then faster, then letting Justin do the work. Forward into JC's fist, backward onto Chris's.
"Come on, baby. Do it. You wanna. Give it to me." Chris slaps Justin's ass gently, then harder, listening to his cries and moans get louder. Harsher. More guttural. It builds in his belly slowly, a tight, twisty knot of need that feels huge; too huge to be contained. Justin whines suddenly, a hiss of breath between his teeth, and his body clamps down on Chris's wrist, holding him in place. The knot inside Chris explodes whitehot behind his eyes at the same time Justin comes, shaking in Lance's arms.
It's visceral, this feeling. The pleasure is bone-deep, pulsing through him in waves colored red, orange, yellow. Flames licking at him, really, and Chris closes his eyes and revels in it, lets it wash over him and through him and around him. Justin's still tight around him, shaking, and Chris feels every single vibration like they're one entity. Joined together, bleeding hurt and love back and forth through the connection.
When the vibrations quiet Chris pulls on his fist, shivering when Justin hisses. His hand doesn't want to come out, and Justin doesn't want to let go. It takes coaxing, and Chris closes his eyes over and over against the waves of pleasure that wash through him when Justin whimpers and shifts and shudders through another orgasm. He's free, the connection broken, until Chris slides overtop of Justin, pressing his body against the bed. JC curls up beside them, his lips wet and sticky where he licked Justin's come from his hand. Joey and Lance complete the pile after they've released Justin's arms.
It doesn't hurt as bad now, inside him. He doesn't feel the need to hurt anyone else; that's quiet, too. For how long, Chris isn't sure.
When it comes back, they'll be there—whichever one it is that hurts, or needs to hurt. He's sure about that much.
~fin~
For
synecdochic, because she's a good friend, a fantastic person, and I want to write her porn :) I hope this fits the thing we were talking about the other day. *hugs*Many thanks to
northernveil for early-stage hand-holding, and to pierson and nopseud for lending their eyes. *hugs* to all of you.Hot Florida night.
It's dark outside, and humid; the air stickysweet with the scent of flowers and pine trees and salt from the ocean.
Inside isn't much lighter; the lights are dimmed, low for this night's activities. The air is humid here, too, and rich with sweat and sex, making his nose tickle.
So long, too long, since they did this, just the five of them. How anyone remembered whose turn it was, Chris doesn't know, but they all did. Justin's on the bed, arms secured with supple lengths of leather, his body gleaming in the dim light from sweat and spunk and lube.
Chris wants this, wants it so bad he can taste it. Wants it too much.
Wants all of them beneath him, to punish, to feel, to hurt, to love.
He needs to punish someone, all of them; they left him alone, left him inside his head. He's found a niche now, but it's not the same niche, and the unfamiliarity of it still makes him itch sometimes.
"He's ready for you," JC breathes into his ear, body draping loosely over Chris's. When he turns toward JC, he kisses him, mouth saltyhot against Chris's. "Loose and open. Look at how he's ready for it." He turns Chris's head back toward Justin, palm gentle but insistent against his face, and yeah. Justin's ready—wanting it, from the way his hips undulate, the way his chest hitches with each ragged breath.
"I want to hurt him," Chris murmurs, shivering when someone's lips brush against his back. Too low, so not JC; someone else. Lance? Must be, since Joey's sitting beside Justin, fingers stroking and teasing until Justin's body ripples with shudders. He hears the echo in his head, I want to hurt all of you.
"You can. He'll let you." Lance touches Chris, reaching around him to trail scorching fingers over his belly, consuming him one tiny touch at a time.
They all will. Just as he lets them hurt him. There's something about the dynamic, how when you love someone else so much, that love becomes pain. Needs pain. Pain that feels so good even as it cuts you bone deep. Chris thinks there's probably something really deep in there, but he's not about to focus too much on it right now. That's for later.
Chris takes a deep breath and steps forward, rests his hands on Justin's legs. His eyes are closed, pinched shut against the outside world. "Look at me, Justin."
Blue eyes, wide and dilated, a glassy, unfocused look to them as they open. Chris thinks Justin looks a little lost; he feels a little lost, himself.
Maybe they can find themselves in each other.
Lance abandons Chris for Joey, and Justin looks away to watch them kiss, the sounds slick and wet and hungry. Chris tightens his grip on Justin's legs until he focuses back on Chris. Justin's cock rises up from his body, hard and swollen, the tip gleaming wetly where he's leaked all evening. He hasn't come yet, thanks to the cockring JC fastened on him earlier. They've all fucked him, except Chris, but he hasn't come.
Chris gets that, tonight.
"Do you want it?" He says the words softly, leaning in to touch Justin, finger sliding over straining flesh, downward to press against slick, loosened muscle. Justin moans softly, pushing toward him and Chris withdraws his finger. "Tell me," he says roughly, the words sharp on his tongue. "Tell me if you want it, Justin."
"I want it." Justin's voice is raspy, a little hoarse, the sound buzzing straight through Chris into his bloodstream. "Want you. Fuck me."
Oh, yeah.
He pinches Justin's thigh, the soft inner skin that's marked with fingernail scratches and faint, smudgy bruises, then tugs on Justin's balls. "Ask me nice."
"Please, Chris. I—" Justin swallows, licks his lips – red and swollen from biting – and whispers, "I need it."
JC laughs low, the sound vibrating through Chris, adding more fizz into his blood, and Chris shakes his head. "You need it? You been fucked all night, baby." He pinches Justin's thigh again, harder, waiting for the red mark to show. Justin moans and shifts again, trying to get closer. "Tell me what you want, J. You want me to fuck you? With my cock? Or with something else?"
"I want. Something else." He's hesitant voicing it, though his body isn't. Chris watches Justin twist and shiver as he pinches, tugs and presses, though he doesn't penetrate Justin again. Not yet. Make him burn, make him hurt, make the want become something big and sharp and bright inside him. "Your hand--fist," he adds softly, when Chris keeps right on watching, not saying anything. "Please."
"Got the perfect hands," JC whispers, rubbing against Chris. Beside Justin on the bed, Joey and Lance are watching, eyes hot as they move back and forth. Lance leans down and whispers something into Justin's ear and Chris watches him shiver violently.
"He asked nice," Joey laughs, the words soft and light. One big hand encircles Justin's bicep, stroking up and down over smooth, pale flesh. Too pale; Justin needs more time in the sun.
"Yeah, he did."
Chris is giddy inside, the burn of his want so whitehot it's painful. He teases Justin just a little more, rubbing his finger over the loose muscle before pressing inward, watching intently when Lance swallows Justin's groan of pleasure into a kiss.
One finger becomes two, dipping in, twisting, fucking in and out smoothly. Chris doesn't remember stepping forward, nor the loss of JC's heat against his back until it's there again, sweat beading up between them. He leans back and pulls out, smiling a little at Justin's whimper.
"Turn over," he mutters, looking toward Lance and Joey. "Help him?"
It's a couple of minutes at most but it seems like so much longer; time Chris passes by shifting impatiently, skin prickling with goosebumps when JC touches him. Electricity should be crackling over his skin right now, it feels so hot and tight. Too small to contain so much, he should split open.
Or maybe he'll split Justin open and immerse himself.
"Chill, cat. Almost ready." JC's breath against his neck makes Chris shudder and duck his head. "He's not goin' anywhere."
"I know," Chris murmurs. "Just fidgety."
"When aren't you?" Lance shoots the question over his shoulder, then slips off the bed and past Chris. "Hurt him good; he wants it."
There are different levels and planes of hurt; Chris isn't sure if he wants to cause physical or emotional, or both. Just something. Some kind of release of pressure. Show his love, feel Justin's – feel all of theirs – and move on. 'Til the next time.
"Not so long in between, next time," he says, biting his lip. "Too long, this time." Justin quivers when Chris touches him, spread open, his chest to the bed and arms secured, ass up in the air. "So fucking gorgeous. Look at you." His finger slides in so, so easily, with a second alongside it in a heartbeat. Cool, slick liquid drizzles down and pools over his fingers; Justin shivers when the chill touches him and sighs out when Chris spreads it in, around, slicking him up even more.
The sighs become softer, quieter, and Chris looks up to see Joey and Lance taking turns kissing Justin, licking into his mouth and biting at the red, swollen lips.
"Cocksucking mouth," Chris mutters, mostly to himself. He thinks of Justin's mouth on his dick, warm and wet, gliding strokes of his tongue and tight suction, and he fucks his fingers in and out faster, sliding a third one in on an in-stroke.
"His ass is made for it, too," JC says, raising his voice so Justin will hear. "He takes it the best of all of us."
Justin arches his back and pushes back at JC's words, his body opening up, swallowing a fourth finger. The groans are musical, soft and guttural, slipping and sliding in between the wet kisses. Chris wants to hear them louder, faster, wants to feel Justin trembling beneath him. Against him.
"Fucker," Chris whispers, twisting his fingers. Justin keens quietly, body tensing and relaxing as spasms race through him. Chris feels them, feels Justin tighten around him rhythmically, and fucks his fingers in and out faster. Harder. Rougher. "Love you," he grits out, twisting his fingers again.
Justin makes a noise, maybe words, maybe he's saying I love you, too. Chris doesn’t know, doesn't care. He's closed his eyes so he's just feeling: the warmth and tightness around him, the way Justin moves into each stroke, the tiny vibrations shivering through him as arousal climbs higher. He wishes he could climb inside and stay there.
JC's still leaning against Chris's back, breath warm on his neck where he's pressed close, watching. Chris tilts his head toward Justin. "Take the cockring off." The trembling increases when Chris raises his voice. "Don't you come yet, J. Not yet."
"No." Long pause, then Justin whispers, "make it—make me. Do it."
"Oh, baby." Chris twists his fingers viciously and grins when Justin cries out, shoving backward almost frantically. "I'll make you. It'll feel so fucking good it'll hurt, like you're split down the middle."
The ragged whisper that floats back to him sounds like *yes*, but Chris wouldn't care if it was no. Not now. Not at this point.
"Do it," JC says lowly, back in his ear. "I'll fix it for you afterward."
Fix him, is what JC really means. Chris hurts the others, then JC hurts Chris. Makes it right again.
No reason to hold back now. Chris wants it, Justin wants it, they all need it. Joey and Lance have closed in around Justin again, supporting him, kissing him, stroking everywhere they can reach. JC's pressed close against Chris, but angled, so he can drizzle more lube down over Chris's fingers and Justin's ass.
Four fingers, twisting and turning while Justin moans and moves and whimpers so sweetly. They're both sweatslick and Justin's so open, begging with his body. With his ass. Chris folds his thumb under and pushes in, not gentle, not at all. Justin convulses around him, and Chris strokes his free hand up and down the smooth length of Justin's back, and over the curve of his ass. Petting him. Soothing him. Calm before the storm.
His hand is in, Justin's body open wide to take him, swallowing him in eagerly. It's a dance, then, painfully beautiful and erotic. Chris makes the fist and moves it, moves himself forward and back, slowly then faster, twisting and turning so his knuckles bump against the smooth, slick inner walls. Touching the inside of Justin, filling him up. Filling him. Justin pants and rocks back to meet each thrust, whimpers and grunts sliding from him, each one loud, music to do the dance to. Chris stares at the long red scratches on Justin's back, wonders if he put them there or if JC put them there. JC likes to scratch and bite while he fucks.
He's fucking Justin hard now, it has to hurt; he hopes it hurts. It hurts him, but it's cleansing, too. So good. Pure, clean, nothing but the barest of emotions. Love, hate, hurt, pleasure, pain, need.
"Touch him," Chris grunts, holding himself steady while Justin fucks himself back onto Chris's fist. He's not sure who he's talking to, any one of them. Just someone. "Dammit—touch him. Now. I want—he needs—"
"Got it," JC murmurs, moving around. He slides up beside Justin and takes him in hand, stroking slowly, then faster, then letting Justin do the work. Forward into JC's fist, backward onto Chris's.
"Come on, baby. Do it. You wanna. Give it to me." Chris slaps Justin's ass gently, then harder, listening to his cries and moans get louder. Harsher. More guttural. It builds in his belly slowly, a tight, twisty knot of need that feels huge; too huge to be contained. Justin whines suddenly, a hiss of breath between his teeth, and his body clamps down on Chris's wrist, holding him in place. The knot inside Chris explodes whitehot behind his eyes at the same time Justin comes, shaking in Lance's arms.
It's visceral, this feeling. The pleasure is bone-deep, pulsing through him in waves colored red, orange, yellow. Flames licking at him, really, and Chris closes his eyes and revels in it, lets it wash over him and through him and around him. Justin's still tight around him, shaking, and Chris feels every single vibration like they're one entity. Joined together, bleeding hurt and love back and forth through the connection.
When the vibrations quiet Chris pulls on his fist, shivering when Justin hisses. His hand doesn't want to come out, and Justin doesn't want to let go. It takes coaxing, and Chris closes his eyes over and over against the waves of pleasure that wash through him when Justin whimpers and shifts and shudders through another orgasm. He's free, the connection broken, until Chris slides overtop of Justin, pressing his body against the bed. JC curls up beside them, his lips wet and sticky where he licked Justin's come from his hand. Joey and Lance complete the pile after they've released Justin's arms.
It doesn't hurt as bad now, inside him. He doesn't feel the need to hurt anyone else; that's quiet, too. For how long, Chris isn't sure.
When it comes back, they'll be there—whichever one it is that hurts, or needs to hurt. He's sure about that much.
~fin~
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no subject
Date: 2004-12-31 02:53 am (UTC)Thanks for the feedback, though. It was confusing to write, really, because Chris...is really kind of fucked up, in that story. And it shows. I'm glad it all came through like I wanted it to, though. Thanks :)