I Never... 2 (SB/JLM) NC-17
I Never... Never Expected To See You Again
Sean Bean/Jonny Lee Miller
Extremely rough, very violent, painful but definitely consensual sex.
We do not, in any way, shape or form, own these boys. Alas.
We've written several other versions of these boys together, and this AU has nothing to do with any of them. It's a major departure from RL in that neither of these boys are actors and their ages are not consistent with reality (Sean is early 30s, Jonny is early 20s).
A week goes by before Sean pulls into the gravel lot at the bar on the rough end of town. He's made it an entire week of crashing paint cans and boring, mindless work on spreadsheets. Part of him's kicking himself for giving in and going this early, and part of him knows he's got good reason for it. "Just go. I know you want to go. Just get the fuck out already."
He lights a cigarette on the doorstep to the bar and then heads inside, nodding to the bartender as he takes a table; he'll have someone send over a beer as soon as he can.
Jonny looks up as the door opens. Has been for days. Wondering if he'd come back, or it'd just been a one-off thing. He smiles and nods to Mike, the bartender, that he'll take care of the guy. He pulls a beer and heads over to the table Sean's picked, one pretty close to where they'd sat the first night.
"First one's on me tonight," he says, setting the glass down. "Still owe you for the ride."
"You don't owe me anything," Sean says, mouth on autopilot to cover for the fact that this, this
face, is what he's doing at the bar tonight. "Sit down?"
"Sure," Jonny says, trying to leave it flat, not show how excited he is that Sean walked into the bar or asked him to sit down. He pulls out a chair and settles into it, sprawling a good bit, working his neck around. The jeans are just as worn, the shirt long-sleeve this week, covering a multitude of barely fading bruises and one stitched shoulder. "How's things?"
Sean gives him a rueful look. "Wouldn't be here if they were going well," he admits softly. "It's been a rougher go these last few days, weeks, months. How about you?"
"Went through crap with the old man this week, but other than that it's okay." Jonny shrugs. "You needing to get it out again? Hurt someone?"
"You want it again?" Sean asks. His cock's already getting hard. How much could you take?
"Wouldn't say no to it." Jonny bites at his lip. "Never had it quite as good as you gave. Powerful combo you got."
"Never had anyone take it that way before," Sean says. "Sure as hell never had anyone ask for more. But not the wall this time."
"Not the wall. Sure." Jonny laughs. He's rather glad Sean doesn't want the wall again. He's not quite ready to explain to the doc-in-a-box twice in one week why his shoulder has a gash and he's bruised from head to waist. "Uh, we could, um, you could follow me to my place if you want."
Surprise flashes over Sean's face for half a second before he thinks it over. What more could you do to him than you've already done? What's he got left to be afraid of?
"Yeah," he says softly. In a bed for once. That's going to be a change of pace.
"Think I can give you what you're looking for if we don't have gravel to play with?" he asks, smiling just a little.
"I got a wall and a floor, even a bed if you want," Jonny says, running a hand through his uncombed hair, "and I think you'll give me whatever you got."
"Yeah." Sean's tongue comes out over his lips, and he nods. "Your place. Sounds good."
"Wanna finish your beer? I don't have it on tap at the apartment."
Sean laughs. "Yeah." He digs through pockets for a cigarette and lighter, and relaxes just a fraction as he lights up his cigarette. There's an impulse to move for small talk, to at least try to say something other than so why do you need it as hard as I need to give it?
or how badly banged around were you after the last time, and why do you want it all over again?
, but Sean's tongue feels awkward in his mouth, and he stays quiet.
"Should I avoid the small talk? Or do we not go beyond first names?" Jonny's fidgeting, neither beer nor cigarette to occupy his hands. He doesn't know what he'd say if they're supposed to talk about anything else. Explain why he's bartending instead of studying for exams, living in a studio apartment instead of his parents' house in Malibu. Or do they get into why he wants to be banged around till he can't walk.
"I don't know -- I've never talked to someone I met this way before," Sean admits, leaning forward on his elbows. "I don't know what the protocol is, what the rules are. Fuck, breaking enough rules just by being here, I probably shouldn't worry..." Another drag, just to give him something to do other than talk.
"Breaking rules by being here?" That makes Jonny nervous. "I'm not gonna get you in trouble, am I?" Fuck, don't need that. Still haven't gotten over the shit with Angie.
"I mean, I can go back to the bar, leave you be."
"Please don't go." Sean could kick himself. "You're not getting me in trouble." This is why I never know whether to talk about anything other than how hard and is that enough...
"I can't -- I have to get out here or I crack. Can't take it out on the guy I live with, so I come here and try to work it out of my system--" and I go home and things are worse, and...
"--and it makes it all seem all right, for a while." Christ, he's never said that to anyone.
"Okay. Not going." Jonny sucks in a breath, takes in the words. "I understand. Needing to let it out. Nowhere else to do it. No one who'll take it." He smiles, half-cocked twitch of lips. "Or give it to you. Things that bad?"
"For a while now," Sean says, rubbing at his upper arms, suddenly feeling cold. "What about you?" he asks. "Is there someone at home waiting for you?" What am I walking into if I let you take me home?
Jonny laughs. "No." Not since she kicked me out for fucking her brother.
"Place is barely big enough for me. And I didn't exactly ace my last relationship, so flying solo at the moment."
"How are your wings?" Sean asks, bit of humor reaching his eyes. He points with his beer bottle at Jonny's shoulder, the one he had to press back into place after the last time. "Did you come out all right after the last time...?"
"It's okay." Jonny looks down, away from Sean's eyes. "Needed a couple stitches just to make sure it closed, but nothing broken."
The soft grunt Sean lets out is as involuntary as the way his cock hardens in his jeans. Stitches? And he's after you again. Christ.
He takes a long drink of his beer, trying to figure out if there's a good way to say any of the things he's thinking.
"Don't know about leaving you to need stitches this time," he says, finally, "but I want to hurt you again. Want it badly." The hand tangled up in his cigarette slides between his legs, ash cindering down onto his thigh as he squeezes his cock to relieve part of the ache he's feeling. Stitches.
"Want it, too, badly," Jonny echoes, "and if I need more stitches, that's," he pauses, blushes just a little, "it's alright. Doc-in-the-box guy's got a thing for me. Doesn't mind stitching me up." He watches Sean's movements, tracks his hand, finds himself wondering what it'd be like to have those ashes falling over his skin. Fuck, Miller, that's almost too intense.
He shifts. "You 'bout finished?" he asks, way too eagerly.
"I'm done," Sean confirms, uncurling himself from the chair. "Show me where we're going. No, wait--" He doesn't want to walk out of this bar without touching Jonny at least once. He gets a hand on the back of Jonny's neck, pulls him up and close. "Fucking want you," he murmurs.
"Fuck," Jonny spits out, Sean's move sudden and marginally unexpected. "You can have me. Right here if you want." He's breathing hard, neck clenched against Sean's fingers. "Although not sure Mike would appreciate a middle-of-the-bar fuck this early in the evening."
"Maybe not," Sean agrees, sliding forward anyway, pressing the backs of Jonny's thighs into their table. "I could have you that way. Hands braced on the bar. Legs spread wide. One foot between your legs and up on the rail, while I'm slamming into you and you're asking for more."
"Hell, yeah, you could have me that way." And we can do it, too, here or you come to the bar I work after hours.
Jonny's not squirming as much as just letting himself be moved, positioned, and he really wouldn't stop Sean from taking him right now, right here 'cause the visual he's painting as the young man harder than the table's edge he's backed into.
"But I want you stretched out on a bed," Sean whispers, squeezing the back of Jonny's neck, leaning forward just a little more to lick at his lips. And then bite them. Hard. Teeth sinking into lower lip and holding. "Want you somewhere you can scream all day and not draw a second's notice," he breathes, when he finally lets up.
Pain. There it is again. The bite. Centering him, shuddering through him. What this man can do to him. "All day," Jonny echoes. "Scream. Yeah. Neighborhood can handle it." He's a bit dazed as he steps back, Sean letting up. "Car's outside. You wanna follow? Or I can just leave it here." Sure, get to work somehow. Sometime tomorrow.
"Up to you," Sean says softly. The ironic thing about this place is that for all the rough traffic it sees, it's a safe place to leave car or bags or whatever you have in hand when you go out to get fucked. The only thing the clientele cares about is what's under a man's trousers, not what sort of car he drives or what he might have in overnight duffel bags. "Probably won't be able to keep my hands off you if you're in my car, though."
"Then I'll drive your car, we'll leave mine here," Jonny says, grinning, at the prospect of being mauled on the way home.
"And you promise us both you won't let me run you off the road." Sean grins back. He digs keys out of his pocket and hands them over. "Out back. Blue Civic that's seen better days."
Jonny snags the keys and heads toward the door. The Civic's parked two cars away from Jonny's hard-top Mustang, and he makes a quick detour to snag his backpack out of the trunk before sliding into the driver's side of Sean's car. "Not sure about promising to not run off the road," he says, turning over the engine, "but I'll make sure we total the car so you can get a new one if you like."
"Why not? It'll keep me stuck here another five years while I'm trying to pay off this one." Sean adjusts the seat up a little, not being inclined to sprawl as much as his lover does. "Maybe I'll get something more fuel-efficient to make the lover happy."
"You want, we could drive to your place and run over the lover," Jonny quips, almost regretting saying it as the words come out. "Sorry," he pulls out of the bar parking lot, melds into traffic, light this time of night. "Shouldn't've said that. Lover and all, he is."
"Lover and all, he is," Sean murmurs, running his hand up Jonny's thigh. "Maybe it's better not to bring it up, yeah? Came into the bar in a bad mood and it's been getting better so far."
Jonny moves his thigh under Sean's fingers, spreading his legs wider, saying the silent thank God for automatic transmission
prayer, and keeps his eyes on the road. "Don't know. I kinda like your bad moods. They leave me covered in brick dust."
"I like whatever it is that makes you like my bad moods," Sean responds, fingers moving higher, pressing down hard over Jonny's cock and squeezing. "Bad moods of your own?"
His foot presses a bit harder on the gas, which is fine considering there's no one in front of them, and it takes a second for Jonny to adjust, pull back. "Yeah. Bad moods. Got a shitty life, trying to make it work."
"Sounds like all of us," Sean says, snapping off his seatbelt and leaning in. He bites hard at the side of Jonny's neck, squeezes his cock again. "Get me back to your place. Don't want to wait much longer."
"Fuckin' hell. You didn't say it was gonna be all-out assault," Jonny nearly shouts, hands clutching the wheel. He thinks. "Okay." Swerves into the turn lane and takes the left, cutting through a couple back streets. Much as he joked about totalling the car, he's really not
wanting to wreck. "Five minutes. Give me that, and I'll have you at the door."
Sean chuckles against Jonny's skin. "You've got five minutes. You want me to stop?" Hand moves up from cock to chest, thumb rubs over a nipple and Sean threatens a pinch, not quite doing it. "Want me to sit down and keep us out of trouble?"
"No, don't stop." Christ, don't stop.
Jonny makes another turn, thinking for a second it's the wrong one, Sean's hand distracting him beyond imagination. No, this is right. Yeah.
"Don't think you stopping's gonna keep us out of trouble anyhow."
The words flash and burn, and Sean bites harder, squeezing thumb and forefinger together and giving a rough pinch through Jonny's shirt. "Little late for that," he agrees, growling softly.
Bite centers, but the pinch throws him off, and Jonny's concentrating as much as he can on the road. There's a turn he has to make. One more. But his cock's aching and his legs can't spread any wider, not in the confines of the damned seat, and oh, fuck
, he manages to turn right again without killing them. He smiles. Then it's a quick left into the driveway and he's breathing out as he slides the Civic into the asphalt pad at the back of the house.
As soon as the engine's cut, Sean slides fingers into Jonny's hair and forces him to half-turn, moving him so Sean can get his lips on Jonny's and cut into that lower lip with his teeth. Fucking want you.
And he doesn't really give a damn whether they make it out of the car at this point; they're here, semi-secluded, and he's growling in the back of his throat.
Jonny fumbles, hand grasping for the seat controls, just to get it far enough back not to hit the horn. Fuck, don't need to wake 'em up. Not now. She'll shoot me.
He manages, the seat moving back, and hands find new adventures on Sean's chest, tugging at the shirt. "Want," he slurs into the kiss-bite. "Here? Out?"
"Anywhere. Over the fucking hood." Sean's half-pulled himself on top of Jonny, one hand still in his hair, the other working its way down his chest again, sliding between his legs. "Everything."
Hood. Jonny thinks. It's still hot. Burns.
His smile widens. "Fuck, yeah," he says, one hand push-pulling at Sean and the other blindly grabbing the door handle, opening, nearly falling back with the tug of the door opening. "Over the hood. Do it."
Sean pulls away and shoves Jonny toward the door. "Go. Get your pants around your thighs. Spread yourself for me." He's moving for the trunk, yanking the keys out of the ignition so he can get it open.
The shove's enough to tumble Jonny out of the car and he fall-slides to the asphalt, scrambling to right himself. Everything's rushed. Hurried. Happening so fast. He pulls himself up to standing and unbuttons his jeans as he moves to the front of the car. Down over hips, tugging briefs with the denim, jerked to mid-thigh, enough to put his legs apart, stretch out over the hood. Fuck. Hot.
Jonny hisses out a breath, letting the heat soak through his shirt as he lays himself down. Hands go back and he's spreading himself, fingers clutching at the cleft, pulling the flesh apart, exposing puckered hole. He's standing back, cock hanging hard outside the denim, brushing against the car's grill as he spreads his legs wider, waiting.
Sean comes back, looking at what Jonny's giving him, cock so hard it's jerking in his jeans and hurting like hell, ready to take, fuck, open Jonny up and hurt him.
He's got a length of chain wrapped around his fist, and he catches the trailing end of it with his other hand, looping it around his fingers. "Want you holding still," he murmurs, resting one hand on the hood next to Jonny's shoulder as he presses against Jonny's thighs, against his arse, denim scratching and rubbing.
Jonny catches sight of the chain in his peripheral vision, taking Sean at his word, not moving, not even flinching. He's ready to be laid open, fucked hard, beaten to hell and back. "Yessir," he murmurs, face already feeling the engine's lingering burn.
And it's just that easy, letting go of every fucking inhibition he's ever had, wrapping that chain around Jonny's neck and holding -- loose for now, but holding both ends in one hand. The other hand's digging into a pocket for a condom, which he holds between his teeth before jerking open his fly and taking his cock out, sliding it along Jonny's cleft.
That's a new sensation. Metal on his throat. Loose, but heavy. Jonny shakes his head, slowly, fighting the body's instinct to move his hands, clutch at the links. And then, suddenly, the fear's gone. Five seconds is all it got. It's replaced by need, desire, the nudge of Sean's cock at his ass. He concentrates on that, rocking back in a nuance of shifting, just to say yeah, go ahead, do it
without the words.
Keeping the loose pressure on Jonny's throat while tearing into the condom's not easy, but Sean's got this far; he gets the condom slicked down his shaft and presses up against Jonny's arse all over again, arching his hips, wrapping his hand around his cock and pressing in
. It's just as rough and difficult as it was the first time, and the memory of that -- of tearing his way into Jonny's body --makes his eyes close, makes his hand tighten on the chain around Jonny's throat. "Fuck,
" he breathes. "Christ, you're so fucking tight."
Jonny could explain that he hasn't been fucked since Sean, not that it'd matter. Moot point. He's tight and it's hurting like a dream that Sean's cock is burrowing into him. Just the way he wants it to hurt. He moans, the chain tightening. Fuck, that's intense. Like it. Okay, maybe.
And he makes the breath count.
Half of Sean wants to hear Jonny screaming; the other half of him just wants to cut off his air, feel the struggle under his body, fuck him with everything he's got and not stop 'til he thinks he's near to passing out. "Mine," he breathes, and then again, louder, giving Jonny a breath, "mine
Gasping into the breath, Jonny finds it gone all too quickly, and then the struggle's back, hands clutching his body, holding himself. Yours? Yours.
And the scream's gurgling in his throat, confined by chain links, begging in whimpers and undulations to be released just as his body's begging, rocking back, yearning to be abused.
"Christ. Come on." Sean reaches under Jonny, gets his hand between Jonny's stomach and the car's hood and works his way down. He wraps a hand around Jonny's cock, hissing as the back of his hand heats against metal, and leans in further to bite at Jonny's shoulder. His grip on the chain tightens that much more. "Mine.
"Yours," Jonny gasps, vision darkening, brain fogging. There's no focus, other than the pressure of metal, the bruising hug of flesh, the warmth from inside his body threatening to zero out the hood's heat. He wants to come, wants to beg to come, just wants, but there's no coherent thought pattern, nothing but the sensation of floating, of falling, of not caring how much he hurts in another 10 minutes.
Want. So much. Everything.
Sean wraps the chain around his hand one more time, pulls back hard on it. "So close," he whispers, "come with me, want to feel you come with me--" And he can't hold back; he needs
too much, can feel the need through his entire body as he comes, knowing damn well that this isn't going to be enough, nowhere near enough.
That does the trick. Words, cock wedged into him, chain jerking back. Jonny comes. Or he imagines he does. He's almost too far gone to know, vision blinding white on the blackness, and his cock's jerking, pulsing, white streams over Sean's fingers, the Civic's blue finish. Pain-laced blackness engulfing his senses. So fuckin' good.
Sean lets the chain go, listens to it rattle against the hood as he slides his fingers over Jonny's neck. He can almost feel the imprints he's made, almost see the bruises on his skin. He pulls out, grabs Jonny and shoves at him. "Turn over." Urgent, rough and half-desperate to see those bruises. "Over.
Over. Over? That's somewhere opposite from here.
Jonny moves more slowly than Sean's voice demands, but he can't think straight enough to figure out which way to move. But he does turn over, sprawling on the car's hood, arms splayed now, back taking up the remaining heat. The smile's faint, head tilted back, eyes fixed on Sean's face.
And God, that smile.
Sean stretches out over Jonny's body, pins his wrists to the hood as he leans in and licks his way across Jonny's throat.
Jonny's whole body reacts, one long, languid shiver. That
touch. Hypersensitizing him. Making him crave more.
"You're marked all over again," Sean murmurs. "Is it going to get you into trouble?"
Oxygen's coming back to his brain. Slowly. Seeping in. "No," he whispers, as much voice as he has, "high collars at the club. Nobody else cares."
Sean's lips slant over Jonny's all over again, biting, long slow bites between slower, rougher kisses. Don't want to go. Don't want to leave here.
"Upstairs," Jonny gets out, another few breaths taken in. "Wanna drink?"
"Yeah," Sean breathes. A drink, a bed, the rest of the night.
"Okay. A minute. I can move." Jonny's breathing is still raspy but coming back. "Need my backpack outta the car."
"You can move? I'm not doing it right this time," Sean jokes. He lifts himself off Jonny and steps back, cleaning himself up as best he can. Definitely not thinking further ahead than the next five minutes.
Jonny's nearly the next five minutes peeling himself from the hood, adjusting clothes. He knows the skin under his shirt is fire. He can feel it, soaking through the cotton. A little aloe, he thinks, yeah, that'll do the trick. He sucks in a deep breath and moves to car door, still open, reaching in and snagging his backpack from the floor. A quick dig inside the outer pocket and he has keys in hand and is heading for the stairs.
Sean follows after, watching the way Jonny's moving -- hurt enough to feel after, he realizes, and he's wondering all over again what it is that has this boy needing it as badly as he does. Maybe I'll ask. Maybe once we're inside he'll want to tell me.
Key's in, door's open and Jonny's stepping inside, clicking on the overhead light. It's an over-the-garage setup, a studio apartment if you believe the ads. Mostly it's cheap 'cause his sister owns it, lives in the big house out front, let him move in when Angie kicked him out and lets him live here just for utilities. And when you don't have cable TV, don't turn on the lights that often and use a mobile phone, utilities-living can be damned cheap.
"It's not much," he says, dropping his backpack. The layout's simple. One huge room, partitioned off by freestanding walls and screens and hanging stained glass, kitchen on this end, makeshift living room and bedroom on the far end, bathroom off to the right of it. The decor is Salvation Army chic, somewhere between retro and dorm room. "Just make yourself at home. I'll grab us a couple beers."
Sean glances around. It looks like the place he lived in before he moved cross-continent, the kind of place he might have looked for if he'd been moving to the States on his own terms instead of moving across the ocean for a lover. It's not bad. He takes his jacket off, first time he's done that all evening, and eases himself down on the bed, hoping the offer for all this was sincere. At least for a few minutes, at least long enough for a drink. "It's good," he calls out, "it's a good place."
"Thanks," Jonny calls back, having retrieved two beers from the fridge. He walks from kitchen area to living room, but doesn't find Sean and keeps moving past the screen and large armoire partitioning off the bedroom. He's all smiles when he sees Sean stretched out on the bed. "It's nice," he says, handing over one of the beers. "Better than where I got kicked out of actually, and long as I keep a low profile, I get to stay just for the cost of utilities."
Sean whistles. "Good deal," he says. His curiosity's piqued, and he's been keeping his mouth shut all evening; it can't hurt to ask. The worst he'll get is a none of your business
. "Kicked out of where?"
"Huh?" Jonny shrugs, sits down on the bed's edge. He knows what the question was. Hell, he's fucked you twice. Ought to get some private info.
"Most recently out of my girlfriend's place. She got all in a wad 'cause I was fucking her brother. Before that, daddy was kind enough to boot me out of Malibu for thinking about fucking the pool boy."
Sean can't decide whether to grin, laugh, or shake his head; he does some of all three while popping the top off the beer, pausing just long enough to take a sip. "Any of that have anything to do with why you need it the way we've been doing it?" he asks. "Or are you just wired that way?"
"Just wired that way." Jonny sips at his beer. "Dad says my wiring's fucked up. Definitely not into the alternative lifestyle. Been kinked since I was 15. Don't think I'm growing out of it, no matter how much he thinks his tough love's gonna straighten out the heir."
"Yeah," Sean says softly, reaching out to run a hand up Jonny's arm. "I was supposed to settle down, too. Outgrow some things." He shrugs. "Looks like it isn't happening."
"Well, I've got a few years. Not officially disowned yet. Not till I'm 25." Jonny almost jumps at the soft touch, and then he's looking at Sean through veiled eyes, dark eyes. "Don't want to outgrow it. I like
what you do to me. I've had lots of guys hurt me. Not one had me wanting to come back crawling like I've been all week."
Sean lets his fingers move across Jonny's chest, and they twist into his shirt, tugging him closer. "Wanted you again," he breathes. "Not just anyone else. You. I like what you give me. It was worth the fight when I got home last time. Got me through the week."
"You got into a fight because of me? And you still want me?"
"All the things I had stored up," Sean says, leaning up, pressing his lips against Jonny's neck, "all the hurt and the frustration, all the things I didn't know how to handle. They were gone with you." He licks over the bruises on Jonny's neck again, shivering hard. "I'd sleep in the fucking car every night for a month for that."
"Don't have to sleep in the car tonight," Jonny offers quickly, without thinking. And then he's wondering if he shouldn't've, if it's too much, but he lets it stand, doesn't back off.
Sean closes his eyes. Can it get much worse, he thinks, going home in the morning instead of going home now?
His teeth sink into the side of Jonny's neck, half-gentle, half-threat. "You'd let me stay?"
I'd beg you not to go
, Jonny thinks, the bite distracting him, making him almost hard again when it shouldn't be able to. "To keep you from sleeping in the car, yeah. You can stay."
Sean puts his bottle down on the floor; tugs Jonny's out of his hand and does the same for it. He gets an arm around Jonny and pulls him back flat on the bed, rolling over on him. "I'd like that," he whispers.
"There's a price," Jonny says, almost hesitantly, shifting against the bed under Sean's weight. "Hurt me more. Take out the rest of whatever anger you've got built up this week before you fall asleep."
Sean's blood ices over at the words there's a price
, and then cinders with the words hurt me more
. He buries his face in Jonny's shoulder for a moment, struggling to keep himself together. He's lived with prices on things for the last year and a half, but they've never felt like this.
His breath is warm and soft as he turns his head, nods against Jonny's skin. "All right," he whispers. And his cock's agreeing with him on it; he's starting to get hard again. He reaches down for Jonny's hands and pins them up above his head. "You want it, it's all yours," he says, easing himself up so he can look into Jonny's eyes.
"Thank you," he says, almost too softly, his cock pressing up against the loosened constraint of half-buttoned jeans. He tugs his wrists, smiles when he realizes just how hard a grip Sean has on them. Not going anywhere, Miller. Not till he lets you.
Once, for maybe a week, he'd wished he wasn't wired this way, that the pain didn't get him hard, the bruising get him off. Then he realized it didn't matter, let it all go and relaxed into who he is, what
he is. Queer boy who looks good black and blue. "Unleash it, Sean."
And Sean does: thigh levered down to the point of pain against Jonny's cock, fingers digging into wrists and bruising, lips brushing over chain-link marks on Jonny's neck as Sean licks at the marks he left before. His own cock's pressing against his jeans, aching to be buried in Jonny all over again. It's like slipping between the hours, into a place where time doesn't matter and he can give this
to someone, this way, ignore the fact that violence and sex aren't supposed to go together -- not if you're healthy, sane and stable. It's so easy. So easy. "Christ, want you so much," Sean breathes, biting into the side of Jonny's neck.
Jonny arches up, wanting more contact, more pressure, more pain. Just more of Sean. He's caught in a vortex, spiraling down like never before. He jerks his wrists, causing Sean to counter, pin him more forcibly, and then he tilts back his head, letting Sean's lips, teeth graze over the chain's indentures. He wonders how permanent they'll be. Not that the Mythos crowd will care. Weird goth bunch anyway. "Take me, then," he urges. "C'mon, wanna be naked. Wanna feel you against me, skin to skin. Now."
"Fuck, yes," Sean pants, pushing up, stripping out of his shirt in one fast movement. He stands up to kick out of his shoes, to shove his jeans down to the floor and step out of them. He wonders if Jonny's going to notice the long, jagged scar on his inner thigh or the tattoo on his left arm, and if he'll care enough to wonder about either.
Hands released, Jonny skims out of his shirt as he sits up, wincing when the cotton rubs over a red patch of skin on his stomach. The he tugs off the jeans, tossing them over the bed's end along with the sneakers he's toeing out of as he strips, going up on his knees at the last. He rubs his hand over Sean's left arm, tracing the tattoo. "Nice. What's it mean?"
"Oh..." Sean grins down at him, liking the feel of Jonny's hand on his skin. "It's for the football club I used to follow. Haven't seen a match since I moved here. Don't have a television at home."
"Football?" Jonny thinks a minute. "What we call soccer. Right?" He palms the words, pulls his hand down Sean's arm to his wrist, then fingers, lacing them and pulling Sean's hand up to his chest. "I've got a couple, on my back, nothing too important."
Sean squeezes Jonny's fingers tight, rubbing his thumb over Jonny's chest. "Show me," he breathes. He's glancing at Jonny's chest, the marks left by last time, the place where stitches held together broken skin after Sean fucked Jonny into the wall. It's fascinating thinking about where he might be marked other than what Sean's given him, and Sean's willing to wait on the sex to get to know Jonny's body that much better.
He turns slowly, letting Sean's hand trace over his shoulder until his fingers are on Jonny's back. "The cuffs were for my 21st birthday. Angie's brother did 'em," he says about the unlocked handcuffs on his right shoulder. "The rat on the left was the first one I got, trade-out for sex."
Pressing Jonny forward a little, until there's room for both of them on the bed, Sean curls himself around Jonny's body, licking over the cuffs first, tracing the curve of them. He's not sure he trusts himself to speak; he lets his teeth scrape over the cuffs as his hands move up Jonny's sides to his arms.
Jonny moans at the scraping. No one's ever -- not like that -- and it's, oh fuck, so good. "More. Mark me." He splays himself, stretching under Sean's body, arms outstretched and legs opening. "Want you inside me again. Hard, like before. Hurting."
If there was any part of Sean that wondered if what he and Jonny have been doing is all right -- if what he's been doing to
Jonny is all right -- it disappears like so much smoke under words like those. "How hard?" he breathes, moving his hips, getting the head of his cock snugged up against Jonny's opening. "This hard?"
"Yeah," he says, quietly. "That hard." He swallows, knowing what he's offering. "There's condoms in a mesh basket under the bed's edge," almost under his voice, "if you want."
Sean freezes with one hand moving up to pin Jonny's upper arm to the bed and the other still between them, wrapped around his cock. Fuck. Not thinking.
"Do you want me to stop?" he whispers.
"Don't have to. I'm clean, if you're concerned 'bout that," Jonny says, trying not to push back too much. Fuck, I want it. Just like this.
"Depends on how safe you wanna play. Drawing blood as it is."
"Don't really want to stop now," Sean says, tightening his grip on Jonny's arm and shoving in to just past the head of his cock. "Christ
, you're so fucking hot..."
"Then goddamnit, don't," Jonny spits out, pushing back. It's not safe. It's not sane. And it sure as hell ain't stable. But, fuck it, it's pretty damned consensual. "Want. It. Now."
"All yours," Sean growls, teeth clenched together as he forces his way in. Jonny's still stretched a little from before, there's maybe a hint of lube, but not enough, nowhere near
enough. And all Sean wants is to be buried deep inside Jonny's skin. The rest of the world can go to hell.
It's not a dry fuck, nowhere near it, but it hurts like one, Sean's cock pushing, inching in, demanding Jonny's body open. He does, or tries, shoving his legs farther apart, shoving hips up, angling down against his shoulders, any little shift that can help. "Fuck, that's, hurts, good."
"Come on. Let me in. Need. Need it. Fuck.
" Sean's sweating lightly by the time his cock is buried balls-deep in Jonny's arse, and he closes his eyes, shaking, taking a moment to recover.
Jonny's panting for breath, refocusing, centering, finding the place where he can channel the pressure-pain of Sean's cock so deep, so thick and hard and filling him. "Got it. Oh, yeah. Fuck me, Sean. C'mon."
Sean's name sounds better on Jonny's lips than it has any right to. And he braces himself on the bed, uses his knee to press Jonny's legs apart even further, one rough thrust following another until Sean's head is arching back and he's crying out with every thrust. It's so good it hurts
, and he doesn't want it to stop.
Push. More. Back. Jonny's moving as much as he can, working Sean deeper, harder on every thrust. His breath is ragged, sometimes not coming at all, and he's not holding back the screams, just praying that in the dead of the night in LA, it all sounds normal to the neighbors.
Sean wraps an arm around Jonny's chest, fingers splayed out over the center of it, drawing him back against his body. He can feel Jonny's heartbeat under his palm, fast as hell and in time with his own, and oh, God, the room could fucking catch fire and he wouldn't stop.
Heartbeat's fast, and the room's spinning. Jonny's not touching ground at all, spiraling in the sensations. Sean's hands on him, cock in him, nothing between them. His body aches, every muscle and joint crying out for a moment's respite, and his cock's hard again. Shouldn't be. Don't want it to be. Hurts too much to think about coming.
Another thrust, and another, working to get the angle just right, wanting more screams out of the man he's come home with, Sean digs his fingernails into Jonny's chest and drags them down, white lines tearing a path down Jonny's stomach as Sean bites into his shoulder. Mine. Fucking mine.
White lines turn pink, then red, and Jonny doesn't have to look down to know he's bleeding. The trickle's obvious, oozing down his chest. He screams, the pain perfect when it's overlaid with Sean's teeth. And there's more blood. From his shoulder. Skin broken, rivulets down his back. Doesn't care. Can't care. Jonny's getting what he wants, what he craves. "So close," he sputters. "Please. Can I come?" The words startle. He's never really asked
permission before, not in the exact words, not with anyone else.
Sean smears his hand through the -- sweat? blood? -- on Jonny's chest and stomach, then wraps his hand around Jonny's cock. He's imagining bright red streaks up the length of it as he strokes, and he moans, licks up the blood he's drawn from Jonny's shoulder. "Come for me," he growls, picking up the pace that much more, wanting to make the shudders of Jonny's orgasm send him over.
The orgasm's harder this time, too soon after the last, and more intense, pained pulses out over Sean's hand, slicking fingers with white streaks. His whole body shakes, convulses with the shivering of a sudden chill racing over him. "Fuck, hurts, love it," he screams, slamming his head back on Sean's shoulder. "Damnfuckingdamn."
--" Sean screams, fingers coated with Jonny's come and sliding down his cock, his own cock pulsing in response, body shuddering, feeling as if his whole body's coming, fire working its way down from the base of his neck all the way to his heels.
Stuck to Jonny with their sweat, taste of Jonny's blood still in his mouth, his come marking Jonny from the inside as thoroughly as Jonny's come's marking his hand -- it's dizzying, and terrifying, and addictive as all hell. Oh, fuck...
Sean breathes out slowly, starting to come down. "Worth everything," he moans, wrapping an arm around Jonny's waist and holding him tight. "Anything.