Fic: LowLives part 13
LowLives
Word Count: 5750
THIS would be the Porn That Would Not End. it's. completely unnecessary, and probably terrible, and LONG (or at least it took forever to write). Oh, and also some kind of climactic ending, or something.
-
Blake's making coffee, by the time I wander out of his bedroom in the morning, wearing last night's clothes. He passes me a mug, into which I dump my regulated obscene amount of sugar, and chug it back, sweet and strong.
"So," he starts, sitting down at the table and folding his arms like he did in the interrogation room. "How are you going to go after Vincent?"
I sigh, scrubbing my hand over my face, and sit myself down opposite him, feeling for the chair.
"I don't even know, man. Last night was my best opportunity - for Vincent and a fuck load of other scumbags too - so now. I dunno. I don't think I can go back, find him again. Plus. I can't leave those people in the basement for the government to, I dunno, experiment on."
"Well, how about this. I'll help you find him. We can get him together - because I'm not letting that motherfucker back onto the streets. He's already ruined too many people's lives. The police have all the junkies, but I don't think they know what's happened to them - just think they're in shock, traumatised. We can break them out if we need to, but I'm sure we won't have to."
I can only nod, staring at him in amazement.
"You'd do that?"
He laughs, self-deprecating, and says quietly, "It's about time someone does it."
I dig around in my pockets, can't find my phone, and swear to myself.
"Shit, I left my cellphone - Arthur's probably freaking the fuck out."
"You need to get back soon?"
I shoot a pointed look in his direction. "I was supposed to be back last night."
He stands, takes my empty mug, and puts them into the sink with a clatter of porcelain. "Come on, then. I'll give you a ride."
I blink, when he gets out of the car too, outside my house. Jack and Nate should be in class at this point in the morning, so I'm not worried about having to introduce him, but I'm curious as to how Arthur will react.
"This is where you live?"
I laugh, groping about on top of the lintel for the keys. I can't see them - I really have to get out of this habit of taking out my contacts at every opportunity, it's not good for me - so it takes a bit of fumbling to fit them into the lock. "I'd go back to Arthur's apartment every night to make sure someone wasn't going to follow me - 's why I was there that first night, felt you following and I didn't want to lead you back here."
Pushing the door open, I call out to Arthur when I get inside.
He comes out of my room looking anxious, already talking, "Lucas! Where the hell were you - you said you'd be back, what happ - what is he doing here?"
It doesn't look like a conscious thought when he picks up the table lamp from beside the sofa, and hurls it at Blake, without moving a muscle.
Blake shouts, ducking down and covering his head as the lamp slams into the wall behind him.
I surge forward, grab Arthur around the shoulders, "Arthur, it's okay - it's okay, he's here to help, I promise, just calm down, yeah?"
"But he's fucking one of them, I fucking know him," he says, eyes wide and frantic. The books from the coffee table - newly purchased, and squeaky clean - lift up and shoot through the air, thumping against the wall and falling down onto Blake's hunched back.
"Arthur, no, he's not what you think - please, just listen to me, he's a good guy, I promise," I say, letting go of his body and grabbing his head, bringing his forehead in and bumping it against mine, shifting his entire focus to me and away from Blake, who has slid down to the floor, looking at the two of us with astonishment. Arthur's trembling in my grip, his eyes fixed on mine, pupils blown and irises glowing with that weird, hollow light. "It's all right," I whisper to him, managing a smile, "It's all okay."
He paces on the other side of the coffee table, won't go anywhere near Blake, until I'm fed up.
"Go ahead and sit, I'll be right back," I tell Blake, taking Arthur by the elbow and guiding him into my room, where I grope around for my glasses and shove them onto my face. I push him down to sit in my desk chair, and squat in front of him, supporting myself on my knees, looking up into his face. I tell him in low, steady words, everything that happened, how I found out about Blake being an undercover cop, and how he's agreed to help me get Vincent off the streets. "He's not a bad guy, Arthur," I say, and I see the doubt in his face recede, trusting my instincts better than he ever trusted his own.
"Okay. So. How are you doing?" I ask, now that that's cleared up.
He nods in jerky movement, and wipes his face on his shirtsleeve. "I'm - I've gotten better," he says, like he isn't quite convinced himself. "But. I -"
"Need another hit," I say. It's not a question.
I leave him in there as he comes down off the initial high, and sit next to Blake on the sofa.
He's got a startled look on his face that makes him look adorable.
"What?"
"You - you wear glasses."
I snort, and punch him in the shoulder. "Fuck off, man."
"All right, all right. We won't talk about how unfair those are. Is he okay?" he asks, reaching out and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
I can't help but bring my hands up to feel the mop that's taken over my head. "Oh, fuck my hair. He's gonna be fine. Takes a while, you know, to get off the po. I've been weaning him off it for the past couple weeks - he's almost there, but. It's hard."
Blake's eyes go sad and sympathetic, and he moves in to press his lips to my forehead, thumb stroking over my cheekbone. I lean into his touch before I can stop myself, see his smile and push him away, standing again.
"Want anything? Drink, eat, whatever?" I ask, moving to the kitchen area and making myself a bowl of cereal. He shakes his head, and sits back to let the sofa consume him. "Careful, it's been known to eat people," I tell him around a mouthful of Cap'n Crunch. It's too sugary for my tastes usually, but it's the only kind we got, because it's the only kind Arthur will eat.
Arthur comes out right then, skinny and young and fragile on the outside, but filled with more strength than even I would have credited to him, and I see Blake comparing the two of us from the way his gaze switches from me to my brother. I've got my mouth stuffed full of cereal, and can't comment on it, but I raise my eyebrow, and that seems to be enough to communicate sufficiently. He just smiles.
Arthur curls up on one of the arm chairs, and I sit on the corner of the coffee table between them.
And then we plan.
-
It's dark - the moon is new and empty, and the stars are clouded over, and the streetlights are dim and flickering far down on the road.
I adjust my weight, impatient, check the magazine in my gun again, index finger pressed lengthways against the trigger guard, and watch for the signal.
He's here, I hear in my head.
Behind me, Tim and Hee Soo perk up too, getting ready to move. I hear the crackle as Hee Soo's skin changes - he's gotten better since being out of the basement, knows how to control the carbon shift so it doesn't make him sick.
Go now, Ethan whispers to us, and we creep forwards, blocked from view by Will and Kathy working together to spread a thin film of perception shift over the lot of us.
Vincent's new hideout is a heavily guarded house - fucking estate, outside the city, bought under a false name so well developed that Blake had to go through an unbelievable number of favours, both legal and not so much, in order to find it.
The front lawn is immaculately groomed, and the whole place looks like something out of a magazine.
Arthur comes up from the other side with Abi at his back - she's brilliant in a crisis, and I shoot her a wild grin, high on adrenaline and fucking glad it's not the po making me feel so elated. I clap Arthur on the shoulder as he fixes his attention on the tiny pins within the lock, sliding each gently up until they click, and then turning back the deadbolt. His fingers twitch with each movement, and his whole hand rotates at the deadbolt, like he's turning an old fashioned doorknob.
When the door is unlocked, I take point, push the door open silently, and step lightly inside, scanning the darkness of the interior room ever as I beckon the rest of them in behind me.
I don't have to do anything but watch.
Abi hisses at the first man we see, and his blood freezes in his veins until he's stiff and immobile, face contorted in shock as he dies slow and painful.
Hee Soo stands in front of us all, bullets deflecting off his skin, ricocheting at different angles to bury themselves in the walls harmlessly. His grin is terrifying and savage and inhuman.
Arthur won't kill, which I'm thankful for, but he'll pick someone up and toss them into a wall if he needs to, with a kind of glee, like a boy crashing matchbox cars together. They crumple to the ground and I wait for the others to pass to put a bullet in their heads.
The noise will attract attention to us, Kathy's ability doesn't extend quite as far as blocking out sound, but it still gives us the advantage over the men that try to come stop us. Tim's more focused, a better fighter without the po sliding through his system, and he takes out the rest of them with well aimed hits. Once when a man's got his gun up before the rest of us can react, aiming for me, Tim just snarls under his breath, grabs the man by his head and snaps his neck with a quick twist of his shoulders.
Arthur looks vaguely queasy, but he sticks closer to Tim and watches his back closer after that.
We find Vincent upstairs, surrounded by the dead bodies of his guards, Blake behind him with a gun to his head as Jeremy holds him still within an intangible prison.
Immediately the air in the room goes ten degrees colder, the hatred and disgust from everyone in there manifesting as our breath suddenly fogs in front of us and the smaller knickknacks around the room start to rattle on their own, vibrating off the surfaces of tables and the mantelpiece of the large fireplace in the corner.
I step up to Vincent where he's kneeling, gun aimed at the floor, and the mutants fanned out behind me in a semicircle.
"Hello, Vincent," I say, projecting an air of amiability into my voice.
He gapes at me, and I see his eyes flick back to Arthur, where he stands and shakes, fists clenched in anger.
"You don't know me," I tell him, starting to pace back and forth in front of him, "but I know you. I've seen your work, and I have to say - it leaves much to be desired." I can see that the way I'm constructing it, talking to him like this is a business review meeting, is freaking him the fuck out, even more so than the muzzle of a gun pressed into his skull.
"You've got no fucking clue what you're getting into, you - fuck!" Vincent growls. He doesn't know which one of us is the real Arthur. It makes me smile, which in turn makes his eyes widen in fear.
"I know exactly what I'm doing."
I step forwards, stretch my arm out, and I can feel when Jeremy changes his forcefield, twisting it to accommodate me while still keeping his grip in Vincent.
He tries to flinch back, duck away from my hand, but he can't get far enough and I grab his face with my bare skin, let the images come into my mind. My eyes slip closed, and I think I'm gonna be sick, watching his life, seeing what he's done - so many deaths, so much suffering all because of him, and he feels no remorse. That's the worst of it probably. He just doesn't care.
Vincent Carlisle is a rapist and a drug dealer, a pimp and a murderer.
I drop my hand, step back with my eyes still shut tight, and wobble, my legs wanting to buckle out from under me. Someone rushes up to meet me - Arthur, probably, by the strength of his grip around my ribs, pinning my arms to my sides - holds me close, and then there's the unsuppressed sound of a gunshot that makes me jump even as I'm expecting it.
I open my eyes to see Vincent's body tumble forwards, let free from the cage he made himself, and collapse on the floor in a spray of blood that pools beneath him.
There's silence.
Arthur's arms tighten around me once, squeezing me tight, and his forehead burrows into the space between my shoulder blades. His eyes dampen my shirt in little splotches. I lift my hands to hold his, grasp at his fingers, and then I tug him off me, turning around to pull him into a proper hug, crushing him into my chest and running my hand over his head, smoothing back his hair.
"There we are," I say, looking around at everyone. They're all watching me with concerned eyes and I want to tell them I'm fine, but my cheeks are wet and I taste salt on my lips. I wipe my face impatiently, feeling how hot my skin is, and I laugh at myself, trying to diffuse the worry aimed at me - it's not easy, seeing someone's life, knowing everything that's happened, let alone someone like Vincent, but fuck, the least I can do is not fucking cry about it.
Tim walks up, muscles rippling under his thin skin, and a tentative smile stretches across his face. He extends his hand, and I reach out to meet it, nodding to him in mutual thanks. I'm tired all of a sudden, so fucking tired, and it's only Arthur's arm still clutching at me that keeps me upright.
Blake must see it, because he steps up quickly, wraps me up in his arms, and lays a discrete kiss to the side of my neck.
"We did it," he whispers into my ear, "it's over."
And it is.
It's fucking over.
I don't even know what to do with myself now.
We file out of the dead house one by one, each of us in a sort of daze. Blake nudges me, points over to where Arthur and Abi are standing on the lawn, close enough to brush just the slightest bit, talking quietly together. I smile. Abi's freaking awesome - she'd be good for Arthur if Arthur ever gets his head out of his ass.
This might be exactly what he needs to do that.
The police van Blake commandeered for us - signed out, whatever - is parked just down the hill out of sight from the main house. There are no security cameras, inside, because Vincent worried about incriminating evidence, which just makes our job easier. We place a call to the police - shots fired, I think I heard screaming, someone needs to go see what's happened, Kathy says into the phone, sounding hysterical and grinning like a madwoman, oh my name, yeah sure, my name is click - and we fuck off, into the night.
We all get out at the police station, and breathe in deep, and then we split up, go our separate ways. Abi presses something into Arthur's hand as she walks away, and Kathy, Ethan, and Will sit together on a bench at the closest bus stop in silence.
Blake drives Arthur and I back to my place, and I can see Nate looking through the window at the strange car parked outside the garage like he might come out with a hockey stick if he deems it too sketchy. I roll down my window and wave at him to dissuade him from that plan - it's happened before, and it never ends well.
Arthur gets out, closing the car door behind him with a quiet click that doesn't involve his hands. It's good to see him using it with control, small movements that require focus to not go overboard.
"He is something, isn't he?" Blake asks into the quiet.
I laugh. "That's one way to say it."
We sit in silence for a moment longer, and I honestly can't fucking decide if I want to get out too, or make Blake take me back to his place until he poses the question.
"Are you leaving?" he asks, but it doesn't sound like are you leaving, it sounds like are you going to you come back to me, "Or, would you like to - want to go to my place? I think I promised you something that we didn't get to last time," he adds, with a leer that I know covers up how he worries that I might say no.
Leaning over the hand break, I thread my fingers into his hair and tilt his face towards mine for a kiss.
"Let me grab some things, yeah? Then I'll be right back."
His smile softens into something I like more, and he bites my lip before letting me go. I dash in long enough to tell everyone that I'm not spending the night, throw some food at Arthur, because he will forget, and pack an extra pair of clothes in a satchel along with my glasses, before heading back out to the car.
The radio's on when I drop back in to the passenger side, some soft-rock song that Blake's nodding his head along to, eyes on me as I toss my bag into the back seat.
I lean back, spread my legs, running my hands up to rest high on my thighs. His eyes follow them, and he grins, open and easy at me, as he puts the car in gear and pulls out of the driveway.
I can't resist being an obnoxious tease, high on success and loving his eyes on me. I let myself sprawl down in the passenger seat, palming myself through my pants, not watching him but the pass of streetlights painting the seats with yellow light in stripes. I bite into my lip as I start to harden under my hand, stroking my fingers lightly over the length of my dick, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on me.
"Keep your eyes on the road, Blake - don't want to crash, do you?" I ask, and I don't even bother to try and keep the smirk off my face. I flex my hips into my hand, shoving it beneath my waistband and let out a deliberate moan just to fuck with him, and he huffs out a breath.
"Dick," he says, tightening his hands on the wheel until his knuckles go white. Then he says, "You know, I'm really trying to drive here, no, stop it," when I slide my unoccupied hand over the handbrake and onto his knee, just far enough that my fingernails can scratch up his inseam.
"Ever gotten roadhead?" I ask, nonchalantly.
He drops one hand to grab mine where it's sneaking up higher and higher on his leg, squeezing down on my fingers in warning. "Yes, I have. And it was very nice, but if you get your mouth anywhere near my dick, I will fucking crash this car - don't even try it."
I laugh out loud at that, and restrain myself to drawing circles on his inner thigh instead of leaning over, taking him out of his pants, and swallowing him down my throat like I want to. He probably would crash the car.
I hike my leg up against the car door though, giving myself more room and Blake a better view of my hand moving with unmistakable intent. I can feel my skin heat, my face is probably flushed red - I don't think I've ever been so interested in putting on a show for someone, the thrill of him watching me, not touching, not even trying, is ridiculously hot.
Blake drives the rest of the way one handed, his other busy gripping my wrist painfully tight, keeping it in place on his leg as his eyes alternate between the lines of the road and the lines of my body. I'm fully hard, achingly so, that by the time we actually get to his place I actually have to take a moment to myself in the car and calm down enough to walk. Blake grabs my bag as he walks around to my side of the car, and as soon as I'm out and the door is shut behind me, he slams me against the cold glass and gropes me rough through my pants, almost making me keen out in the middle of the parking lot, clinging to the sleeves of his jacket to stay upright.
"Come on," he growls into my ear, and then stalks off, leaving me to collect myself and follow after.
Blake doesn't pull me into the bedroom as soon as we get inside, and it surprises me. Instead, he settles down in one of the chairs in his front room, dropping my bag off to the side, and gestures for me to sit on the couch. I do, letting my knees fall apart, mimicking his pose, and watch him, wondering.
"Well?" he asks, when I just sit there. "You wanted to show me something, earlier - go ahead. Now's your chance." His eyes are dark, almost black with none of that gorgeous grey-green visible, and fixed on me with an intensity that makes me shiver.
My hand falls immediately, rubbing at the bulge in the front, my breathing picking up speed with each press of my hand. I stop for a moment, pull off my jacket and drag my shirt over my head, so that when I tug my pants open and lower the waistband of my boxers, my dick thumps wetly against my stomach. I stretch back, taking advantage of the extra room on the sofa, let my back bend, so every line is put on display.
I feel ridiculous, but Blake's watching my every movement, hand resting over his lap where I can see the swell of his cock distorting the front of his pants.
My hand shakes as I take hold of myself, unnerved by the strength of my own reaction. I have to close my eyes, can't look at him, not yet, and I try to imagine I'm alone, by myself like that's gonna help when all the hairs on my arms are standing up from the electricity in his gaze. My fingers tighten and I slip a little more out of my jeans so I can spread my legs farther open.
I'm supporting myself on my other arm, sinking down between the cushions of the sofa, fingers clenched around the upholstery in an effort to ground myself, but it's not enough, there's not enough give in it. I fall backwards into the back of the couch when I push up into my hand, and I have to move, because this isn't working.
I get up, see Blake's eyes go wide. He can't decide if he wants me to go over and ride him or get back to what I'm doing, so I make a sort of compromise all by myself, folding my legs under me so I'm kneeling on the cushions with my dick hanging red and obscene out of my pants, my other arm reaching up over my shoulder to hold on to the back of the couch. It makes my spine arch even more, and I can hear Blake groan, see his fingers tighten over his erection.
This position also gives me the leverage I didn't have earlier to thrust up into my fist, and I make it count, watching Blake from under my eyelashes, as I start to fuck my hand, rolling my hips like there's someone riding me. My jeans are loose enough that they're down by my knees without my ass in the way, and the bones of my pelvis are sharp and prominent and bitable.
I know this because as soon as my eyes flutter shut, head tilting back with a low groan, I hear him move, and then his hands are squeezing my ass, spreading me open, and his mouth sucks hot and wet at the top of my thigh, his tongue sliding slick on my skin, until he's got his teeth fastened over my hipbone.
"Oh, f-fuck, shit, Blake," I gasp out, hips bucking involuntarily. I jerk myself off harder, faster, and one of his hands drops to help me, massaging my balls and sac, pulling them down as they try to draw up. My grip on the couch isn't enough, I scramble for something better to hold on to, end up grabbing at my hair, tugging until it hurts, digging my fingernails into my scalp.
Blake doesn't warn me, grabs my waist and pulls my knees out from under me and my pants down my legs in one long movement that leaves me slumped back in the cushions, my feet up over my head. His hands slide up the insides of my thighs to the backs of my knees, spreading them wider, and licks a long stripe up the skin of my leg.
"Hold them there," he murmurs into my neck.
I grab my knees, and he sits back, a pleased smile on his face, and I shiver, can't help the way my hips buck and my dick twitches.
"Remember what I said?"
I nod, and bite my lip, try not to speak 'cause I know my voice will be breathy and broken.
"Good."
With that he leans in, slides his tongue over the head of my cock, takes it into his mouth and sucks, his cheeks hollowing as it slips over his swollen lips. He licks up the side, mouthing kisses into the length of it, and my head falls back against the cushions without my input when he latches on to the base of my dick and sucks a kiss into the underside, fingers holding my sac and squeezing with every dip of his head.
He bends his head to the side, ducks lower, and runs the flat of his tongue down my crack and it feels fucking weird, and so good, making my guts clench, twisting, and I squirm over the cushions - but I drop my knee and slap my hand down on his shoulder.
"Oh, God, Blake - no, no, stop, I need - I haven't fucking showered, oh, just -"
He ignores me, lets me dig my nails into his shoulder, twisting the fabric of his shirt until it almost rips. His eyes never leave mine as he licks lower and lower, and then his tongue is right there, fluttering over my hole and making me clench inside with every little touch.
Eventually he stops focusing his attention on the outer skin. I feel him stiffen his tongue into a point and the very tip slides into me, hot and wet and moving so different from fingers. He fucks me with his tongue in sharp, tiny jabs, each time forcing it in deeper, until I'm wet and sloppy and aching, and it feels like he's in so deep, licking at the walls of my insides. I move my hand from his shoulder to cup the back of his head, pulling his face into me as my legs tremble with the effort of holding them up.
It's like he wants to devour me, consume me completely.
And I just might let him.
It's not until he pulls back with a wet slurp that should really disgust me but doesn't, that I realise I've been talking the entire time, falling into him like I want nothing better in life.
"Oh, yes, Blake, please, fuck, God, aah - aah, oh fuck fuck fuck, God yes, Blake - Blake, please - please" is all that comes out of my mouth, not even making sense.
He laughs, chuckles to himself, and breathes against my thigh, "I knew you'd be lovely when you beg," before biting into the meat of my thigh, sucking a huge bruise into my skin.
Then he stands, strips his shirt off, tossing it over to land on the back of his chair, and leaves.
He fucking leaves, the fucking bastard.
"You said you wanted a shower," he throws over his shoulder, pants already down his hips as he disappears into the bathroom.
"Oh, now you want to shower? Fuck you, man!" I call, trying to get up. My legs don't want to support me even remotely, shaking and trembling every time I take a step, and I have to brace myself on the wall more than once.
Blake's got the shower running, hot and steaming up the room. It's big and square, walk-in shower, with shelves built into the walls for his shampoo. He's standing under the spray, letting water run down over his head and across his chest - the door is wide open, and he's got his hand on his dick, jerking himself slowly as he watches me. He opens his mouth, tongue peaking out to lick over his lips, and swallow the water cascading down his cheeks.
I stalk into the room, put my hands on his sides, skin slipping over skin, and push him back against the cold tile of the shower wall. I go to bite his at neck, return some of the bruises he's given me, and smell mint on his breath. I laugh, and take his mouth in a kiss instead, licking the taste of mouthwash from his tongue and teeth.
His skin is slick, shining, and my hands slide so easily up his chest and over his arms, raising them up and pinning them on either side of his head, lacing our fingers together as we kiss. His chest rubs wet against mine, and I push my hips into his, grinding slow and slippery together.
"Turn around," I mumble around his tongue, but don't actually let him do it, biting into his lip for another moment, before I step back and slide my hands over his back as he turns away to the wall.
I bend my head, lick the water from his shoulders, slip my hands around his waist and down his abdomen, the muscles of his stomach twitching as I press in close and wrap the fingers of one hand around his erection. The other hand use to open a handy bottle of lube, right there next to his shampoo, and I laugh into his ear as I coat my fingers.
He groans low and long and satisfied when I slide first one, then another finger inside him, twisting and pushing as the muscles loosen. His head drops down, and his muscles tense when he pushes back against me, spasming and clenching down around my hand.
"Oh, Christ, just fuck me," he says, craning his neck so he can glare at me over his shoulder.
I smile and kiss the corner of his mouth, and down his neck. "You sure? I could do this," I twist my fingers, stroking him deep inside and out until his whole body trembles, and his head falls back against my shoulder, "for hours."
"Nnngh," he says, and tries to bite me.
"Stay here," I tell him, and withdraw my fingers. I step out of the shower, dripping water everywhere, over the bathmat and the tiles, and over to his medicine cabinet. The air is cold out from under the water, and I've immediately got goosebumps It opens with a squeak, and I rifle through until I find a condom packet. I rip it open, roll it down over myself, resisting the urge to thrust into my hand, and jog back to the shower, feeling absolutely ridiculous, but Blake is watching my over his shoulder with a grin on his face.
I fuck into him with slow, gentle pushes, kissing the back of his neck as he adjusts to the burn and stretch.
"Mmm, yes, that's good - oh, oh."
He's hot and tight inside, and he feels good. When he's ready, he tightens around me, and pushes back, a shiver travelling down his spine as it forces me even deeper in.
He reaches back, holds my hip as I start to rock against him, fingers clenching in the skin of my thigh. His other he braces against the wall, leaning his head on his forearm as he pants and moans and meets my thrusts.
It takes a heart-stopping short time before my breath goes ragged and my hips stutter, heat twirling in my stomach, and I fuck him harder, deeper, and I can hear the slap of skin over the sound of running water, and Blake cries out and comes into my hand, his back arching in a long, gorgeous bend.
I can't breathe, the way he tightens around me like a vice, like he's trying to suck the life out of me, and I bite into the muscle of his neck and push myself all the way in, and hold him there, grinding in little, amazing movements. I come panting into his skin, my arms wrapped so firm around his waist, pressed all along his wet body, and I never want to fucking leave.
-
previous / next
Word Count: 5750
THIS would be the Porn That Would Not End. it's. completely unnecessary, and probably terrible, and LONG (or at least it took forever to write). Oh, and also some kind of climactic ending, or something.
-
Blake's making coffee, by the time I wander out of his bedroom in the morning, wearing last night's clothes. He passes me a mug, into which I dump my regulated obscene amount of sugar, and chug it back, sweet and strong.
"So," he starts, sitting down at the table and folding his arms like he did in the interrogation room. "How are you going to go after Vincent?"
I sigh, scrubbing my hand over my face, and sit myself down opposite him, feeling for the chair.
"I don't even know, man. Last night was my best opportunity - for Vincent and a fuck load of other scumbags too - so now. I dunno. I don't think I can go back, find him again. Plus. I can't leave those people in the basement for the government to, I dunno, experiment on."
"Well, how about this. I'll help you find him. We can get him together - because I'm not letting that motherfucker back onto the streets. He's already ruined too many people's lives. The police have all the junkies, but I don't think they know what's happened to them - just think they're in shock, traumatised. We can break them out if we need to, but I'm sure we won't have to."
I can only nod, staring at him in amazement.
"You'd do that?"
He laughs, self-deprecating, and says quietly, "It's about time someone does it."
I dig around in my pockets, can't find my phone, and swear to myself.
"Shit, I left my cellphone - Arthur's probably freaking the fuck out."
"You need to get back soon?"
I shoot a pointed look in his direction. "I was supposed to be back last night."
He stands, takes my empty mug, and puts them into the sink with a clatter of porcelain. "Come on, then. I'll give you a ride."
I blink, when he gets out of the car too, outside my house. Jack and Nate should be in class at this point in the morning, so I'm not worried about having to introduce him, but I'm curious as to how Arthur will react.
"This is where you live?"
I laugh, groping about on top of the lintel for the keys. I can't see them - I really have to get out of this habit of taking out my contacts at every opportunity, it's not good for me - so it takes a bit of fumbling to fit them into the lock. "I'd go back to Arthur's apartment every night to make sure someone wasn't going to follow me - 's why I was there that first night, felt you following and I didn't want to lead you back here."
Pushing the door open, I call out to Arthur when I get inside.
He comes out of my room looking anxious, already talking, "Lucas! Where the hell were you - you said you'd be back, what happ - what is he doing here?"
It doesn't look like a conscious thought when he picks up the table lamp from beside the sofa, and hurls it at Blake, without moving a muscle.
Blake shouts, ducking down and covering his head as the lamp slams into the wall behind him.
I surge forward, grab Arthur around the shoulders, "Arthur, it's okay - it's okay, he's here to help, I promise, just calm down, yeah?"
"But he's fucking one of them, I fucking know him," he says, eyes wide and frantic. The books from the coffee table - newly purchased, and squeaky clean - lift up and shoot through the air, thumping against the wall and falling down onto Blake's hunched back.
"Arthur, no, he's not what you think - please, just listen to me, he's a good guy, I promise," I say, letting go of his body and grabbing his head, bringing his forehead in and bumping it against mine, shifting his entire focus to me and away from Blake, who has slid down to the floor, looking at the two of us with astonishment. Arthur's trembling in my grip, his eyes fixed on mine, pupils blown and irises glowing with that weird, hollow light. "It's all right," I whisper to him, managing a smile, "It's all okay."
He paces on the other side of the coffee table, won't go anywhere near Blake, until I'm fed up.
"Go ahead and sit, I'll be right back," I tell Blake, taking Arthur by the elbow and guiding him into my room, where I grope around for my glasses and shove them onto my face. I push him down to sit in my desk chair, and squat in front of him, supporting myself on my knees, looking up into his face. I tell him in low, steady words, everything that happened, how I found out about Blake being an undercover cop, and how he's agreed to help me get Vincent off the streets. "He's not a bad guy, Arthur," I say, and I see the doubt in his face recede, trusting my instincts better than he ever trusted his own.
"Okay. So. How are you doing?" I ask, now that that's cleared up.
He nods in jerky movement, and wipes his face on his shirtsleeve. "I'm - I've gotten better," he says, like he isn't quite convinced himself. "But. I -"
"Need another hit," I say. It's not a question.
I leave him in there as he comes down off the initial high, and sit next to Blake on the sofa.
He's got a startled look on his face that makes him look adorable.
"What?"
"You - you wear glasses."
I snort, and punch him in the shoulder. "Fuck off, man."
"All right, all right. We won't talk about how unfair those are. Is he okay?" he asks, reaching out and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
I can't help but bring my hands up to feel the mop that's taken over my head. "Oh, fuck my hair. He's gonna be fine. Takes a while, you know, to get off the po. I've been weaning him off it for the past couple weeks - he's almost there, but. It's hard."
Blake's eyes go sad and sympathetic, and he moves in to press his lips to my forehead, thumb stroking over my cheekbone. I lean into his touch before I can stop myself, see his smile and push him away, standing again.
"Want anything? Drink, eat, whatever?" I ask, moving to the kitchen area and making myself a bowl of cereal. He shakes his head, and sits back to let the sofa consume him. "Careful, it's been known to eat people," I tell him around a mouthful of Cap'n Crunch. It's too sugary for my tastes usually, but it's the only kind we got, because it's the only kind Arthur will eat.
Arthur comes out right then, skinny and young and fragile on the outside, but filled with more strength than even I would have credited to him, and I see Blake comparing the two of us from the way his gaze switches from me to my brother. I've got my mouth stuffed full of cereal, and can't comment on it, but I raise my eyebrow, and that seems to be enough to communicate sufficiently. He just smiles.
Arthur curls up on one of the arm chairs, and I sit on the corner of the coffee table between them.
And then we plan.
-
It's dark - the moon is new and empty, and the stars are clouded over, and the streetlights are dim and flickering far down on the road.
I adjust my weight, impatient, check the magazine in my gun again, index finger pressed lengthways against the trigger guard, and watch for the signal.
He's here, I hear in my head.
Behind me, Tim and Hee Soo perk up too, getting ready to move. I hear the crackle as Hee Soo's skin changes - he's gotten better since being out of the basement, knows how to control the carbon shift so it doesn't make him sick.
Go now, Ethan whispers to us, and we creep forwards, blocked from view by Will and Kathy working together to spread a thin film of perception shift over the lot of us.
Vincent's new hideout is a heavily guarded house - fucking estate, outside the city, bought under a false name so well developed that Blake had to go through an unbelievable number of favours, both legal and not so much, in order to find it.
The front lawn is immaculately groomed, and the whole place looks like something out of a magazine.
Arthur comes up from the other side with Abi at his back - she's brilliant in a crisis, and I shoot her a wild grin, high on adrenaline and fucking glad it's not the po making me feel so elated. I clap Arthur on the shoulder as he fixes his attention on the tiny pins within the lock, sliding each gently up until they click, and then turning back the deadbolt. His fingers twitch with each movement, and his whole hand rotates at the deadbolt, like he's turning an old fashioned doorknob.
When the door is unlocked, I take point, push the door open silently, and step lightly inside, scanning the darkness of the interior room ever as I beckon the rest of them in behind me.
I don't have to do anything but watch.
Abi hisses at the first man we see, and his blood freezes in his veins until he's stiff and immobile, face contorted in shock as he dies slow and painful.
Hee Soo stands in front of us all, bullets deflecting off his skin, ricocheting at different angles to bury themselves in the walls harmlessly. His grin is terrifying and savage and inhuman.
Arthur won't kill, which I'm thankful for, but he'll pick someone up and toss them into a wall if he needs to, with a kind of glee, like a boy crashing matchbox cars together. They crumple to the ground and I wait for the others to pass to put a bullet in their heads.
The noise will attract attention to us, Kathy's ability doesn't extend quite as far as blocking out sound, but it still gives us the advantage over the men that try to come stop us. Tim's more focused, a better fighter without the po sliding through his system, and he takes out the rest of them with well aimed hits. Once when a man's got his gun up before the rest of us can react, aiming for me, Tim just snarls under his breath, grabs the man by his head and snaps his neck with a quick twist of his shoulders.
Arthur looks vaguely queasy, but he sticks closer to Tim and watches his back closer after that.
We find Vincent upstairs, surrounded by the dead bodies of his guards, Blake behind him with a gun to his head as Jeremy holds him still within an intangible prison.
Immediately the air in the room goes ten degrees colder, the hatred and disgust from everyone in there manifesting as our breath suddenly fogs in front of us and the smaller knickknacks around the room start to rattle on their own, vibrating off the surfaces of tables and the mantelpiece of the large fireplace in the corner.
I step up to Vincent where he's kneeling, gun aimed at the floor, and the mutants fanned out behind me in a semicircle.
"Hello, Vincent," I say, projecting an air of amiability into my voice.
He gapes at me, and I see his eyes flick back to Arthur, where he stands and shakes, fists clenched in anger.
"You don't know me," I tell him, starting to pace back and forth in front of him, "but I know you. I've seen your work, and I have to say - it leaves much to be desired." I can see that the way I'm constructing it, talking to him like this is a business review meeting, is freaking him the fuck out, even more so than the muzzle of a gun pressed into his skull.
"You've got no fucking clue what you're getting into, you - fuck!" Vincent growls. He doesn't know which one of us is the real Arthur. It makes me smile, which in turn makes his eyes widen in fear.
"I know exactly what I'm doing."
I step forwards, stretch my arm out, and I can feel when Jeremy changes his forcefield, twisting it to accommodate me while still keeping his grip in Vincent.
He tries to flinch back, duck away from my hand, but he can't get far enough and I grab his face with my bare skin, let the images come into my mind. My eyes slip closed, and I think I'm gonna be sick, watching his life, seeing what he's done - so many deaths, so much suffering all because of him, and he feels no remorse. That's the worst of it probably. He just doesn't care.
Vincent Carlisle is a rapist and a drug dealer, a pimp and a murderer.
I drop my hand, step back with my eyes still shut tight, and wobble, my legs wanting to buckle out from under me. Someone rushes up to meet me - Arthur, probably, by the strength of his grip around my ribs, pinning my arms to my sides - holds me close, and then there's the unsuppressed sound of a gunshot that makes me jump even as I'm expecting it.
I open my eyes to see Vincent's body tumble forwards, let free from the cage he made himself, and collapse on the floor in a spray of blood that pools beneath him.
There's silence.
Arthur's arms tighten around me once, squeezing me tight, and his forehead burrows into the space between my shoulder blades. His eyes dampen my shirt in little splotches. I lift my hands to hold his, grasp at his fingers, and then I tug him off me, turning around to pull him into a proper hug, crushing him into my chest and running my hand over his head, smoothing back his hair.
"There we are," I say, looking around at everyone. They're all watching me with concerned eyes and I want to tell them I'm fine, but my cheeks are wet and I taste salt on my lips. I wipe my face impatiently, feeling how hot my skin is, and I laugh at myself, trying to diffuse the worry aimed at me - it's not easy, seeing someone's life, knowing everything that's happened, let alone someone like Vincent, but fuck, the least I can do is not fucking cry about it.
Tim walks up, muscles rippling under his thin skin, and a tentative smile stretches across his face. He extends his hand, and I reach out to meet it, nodding to him in mutual thanks. I'm tired all of a sudden, so fucking tired, and it's only Arthur's arm still clutching at me that keeps me upright.
Blake must see it, because he steps up quickly, wraps me up in his arms, and lays a discrete kiss to the side of my neck.
"We did it," he whispers into my ear, "it's over."
And it is.
It's fucking over.
I don't even know what to do with myself now.
We file out of the dead house one by one, each of us in a sort of daze. Blake nudges me, points over to where Arthur and Abi are standing on the lawn, close enough to brush just the slightest bit, talking quietly together. I smile. Abi's freaking awesome - she'd be good for Arthur if Arthur ever gets his head out of his ass.
This might be exactly what he needs to do that.
The police van Blake commandeered for us - signed out, whatever - is parked just down the hill out of sight from the main house. There are no security cameras, inside, because Vincent worried about incriminating evidence, which just makes our job easier. We place a call to the police - shots fired, I think I heard screaming, someone needs to go see what's happened, Kathy says into the phone, sounding hysterical and grinning like a madwoman, oh my name, yeah sure, my name is click - and we fuck off, into the night.
We all get out at the police station, and breathe in deep, and then we split up, go our separate ways. Abi presses something into Arthur's hand as she walks away, and Kathy, Ethan, and Will sit together on a bench at the closest bus stop in silence.
Blake drives Arthur and I back to my place, and I can see Nate looking through the window at the strange car parked outside the garage like he might come out with a hockey stick if he deems it too sketchy. I roll down my window and wave at him to dissuade him from that plan - it's happened before, and it never ends well.
Arthur gets out, closing the car door behind him with a quiet click that doesn't involve his hands. It's good to see him using it with control, small movements that require focus to not go overboard.
"He is something, isn't he?" Blake asks into the quiet.
I laugh. "That's one way to say it."
We sit in silence for a moment longer, and I honestly can't fucking decide if I want to get out too, or make Blake take me back to his place until he poses the question.
"Are you leaving?" he asks, but it doesn't sound like are you leaving, it sounds like are you going to you come back to me, "Or, would you like to - want to go to my place? I think I promised you something that we didn't get to last time," he adds, with a leer that I know covers up how he worries that I might say no.
Leaning over the hand break, I thread my fingers into his hair and tilt his face towards mine for a kiss.
"Let me grab some things, yeah? Then I'll be right back."
His smile softens into something I like more, and he bites my lip before letting me go. I dash in long enough to tell everyone that I'm not spending the night, throw some food at Arthur, because he will forget, and pack an extra pair of clothes in a satchel along with my glasses, before heading back out to the car.
The radio's on when I drop back in to the passenger side, some soft-rock song that Blake's nodding his head along to, eyes on me as I toss my bag into the back seat.
I lean back, spread my legs, running my hands up to rest high on my thighs. His eyes follow them, and he grins, open and easy at me, as he puts the car in gear and pulls out of the driveway.
I can't resist being an obnoxious tease, high on success and loving his eyes on me. I let myself sprawl down in the passenger seat, palming myself through my pants, not watching him but the pass of streetlights painting the seats with yellow light in stripes. I bite into my lip as I start to harden under my hand, stroking my fingers lightly over the length of my dick, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on me.
"Keep your eyes on the road, Blake - don't want to crash, do you?" I ask, and I don't even bother to try and keep the smirk off my face. I flex my hips into my hand, shoving it beneath my waistband and let out a deliberate moan just to fuck with him, and he huffs out a breath.
"Dick," he says, tightening his hands on the wheel until his knuckles go white. Then he says, "You know, I'm really trying to drive here, no, stop it," when I slide my unoccupied hand over the handbrake and onto his knee, just far enough that my fingernails can scratch up his inseam.
"Ever gotten roadhead?" I ask, nonchalantly.
He drops one hand to grab mine where it's sneaking up higher and higher on his leg, squeezing down on my fingers in warning. "Yes, I have. And it was very nice, but if you get your mouth anywhere near my dick, I will fucking crash this car - don't even try it."
I laugh out loud at that, and restrain myself to drawing circles on his inner thigh instead of leaning over, taking him out of his pants, and swallowing him down my throat like I want to. He probably would crash the car.
I hike my leg up against the car door though, giving myself more room and Blake a better view of my hand moving with unmistakable intent. I can feel my skin heat, my face is probably flushed red - I don't think I've ever been so interested in putting on a show for someone, the thrill of him watching me, not touching, not even trying, is ridiculously hot.
Blake drives the rest of the way one handed, his other busy gripping my wrist painfully tight, keeping it in place on his leg as his eyes alternate between the lines of the road and the lines of my body. I'm fully hard, achingly so, that by the time we actually get to his place I actually have to take a moment to myself in the car and calm down enough to walk. Blake grabs my bag as he walks around to my side of the car, and as soon as I'm out and the door is shut behind me, he slams me against the cold glass and gropes me rough through my pants, almost making me keen out in the middle of the parking lot, clinging to the sleeves of his jacket to stay upright.
"Come on," he growls into my ear, and then stalks off, leaving me to collect myself and follow after.
Blake doesn't pull me into the bedroom as soon as we get inside, and it surprises me. Instead, he settles down in one of the chairs in his front room, dropping my bag off to the side, and gestures for me to sit on the couch. I do, letting my knees fall apart, mimicking his pose, and watch him, wondering.
"Well?" he asks, when I just sit there. "You wanted to show me something, earlier - go ahead. Now's your chance." His eyes are dark, almost black with none of that gorgeous grey-green visible, and fixed on me with an intensity that makes me shiver.
My hand falls immediately, rubbing at the bulge in the front, my breathing picking up speed with each press of my hand. I stop for a moment, pull off my jacket and drag my shirt over my head, so that when I tug my pants open and lower the waistband of my boxers, my dick thumps wetly against my stomach. I stretch back, taking advantage of the extra room on the sofa, let my back bend, so every line is put on display.
I feel ridiculous, but Blake's watching my every movement, hand resting over his lap where I can see the swell of his cock distorting the front of his pants.
My hand shakes as I take hold of myself, unnerved by the strength of my own reaction. I have to close my eyes, can't look at him, not yet, and I try to imagine I'm alone, by myself like that's gonna help when all the hairs on my arms are standing up from the electricity in his gaze. My fingers tighten and I slip a little more out of my jeans so I can spread my legs farther open.
I'm supporting myself on my other arm, sinking down between the cushions of the sofa, fingers clenched around the upholstery in an effort to ground myself, but it's not enough, there's not enough give in it. I fall backwards into the back of the couch when I push up into my hand, and I have to move, because this isn't working.
I get up, see Blake's eyes go wide. He can't decide if he wants me to go over and ride him or get back to what I'm doing, so I make a sort of compromise all by myself, folding my legs under me so I'm kneeling on the cushions with my dick hanging red and obscene out of my pants, my other arm reaching up over my shoulder to hold on to the back of the couch. It makes my spine arch even more, and I can hear Blake groan, see his fingers tighten over his erection.
This position also gives me the leverage I didn't have earlier to thrust up into my fist, and I make it count, watching Blake from under my eyelashes, as I start to fuck my hand, rolling my hips like there's someone riding me. My jeans are loose enough that they're down by my knees without my ass in the way, and the bones of my pelvis are sharp and prominent and bitable.
I know this because as soon as my eyes flutter shut, head tilting back with a low groan, I hear him move, and then his hands are squeezing my ass, spreading me open, and his mouth sucks hot and wet at the top of my thigh, his tongue sliding slick on my skin, until he's got his teeth fastened over my hipbone.
"Oh, f-fuck, shit, Blake," I gasp out, hips bucking involuntarily. I jerk myself off harder, faster, and one of his hands drops to help me, massaging my balls and sac, pulling them down as they try to draw up. My grip on the couch isn't enough, I scramble for something better to hold on to, end up grabbing at my hair, tugging until it hurts, digging my fingernails into my scalp.
Blake doesn't warn me, grabs my waist and pulls my knees out from under me and my pants down my legs in one long movement that leaves me slumped back in the cushions, my feet up over my head. His hands slide up the insides of my thighs to the backs of my knees, spreading them wider, and licks a long stripe up the skin of my leg.
"Hold them there," he murmurs into my neck.
I grab my knees, and he sits back, a pleased smile on his face, and I shiver, can't help the way my hips buck and my dick twitches.
"Remember what I said?"
I nod, and bite my lip, try not to speak 'cause I know my voice will be breathy and broken.
"Good."
With that he leans in, slides his tongue over the head of my cock, takes it into his mouth and sucks, his cheeks hollowing as it slips over his swollen lips. He licks up the side, mouthing kisses into the length of it, and my head falls back against the cushions without my input when he latches on to the base of my dick and sucks a kiss into the underside, fingers holding my sac and squeezing with every dip of his head.
He bends his head to the side, ducks lower, and runs the flat of his tongue down my crack and it feels fucking weird, and so good, making my guts clench, twisting, and I squirm over the cushions - but I drop my knee and slap my hand down on his shoulder.
"Oh, God, Blake - no, no, stop, I need - I haven't fucking showered, oh, just -"
He ignores me, lets me dig my nails into his shoulder, twisting the fabric of his shirt until it almost rips. His eyes never leave mine as he licks lower and lower, and then his tongue is right there, fluttering over my hole and making me clench inside with every little touch.
Eventually he stops focusing his attention on the outer skin. I feel him stiffen his tongue into a point and the very tip slides into me, hot and wet and moving so different from fingers. He fucks me with his tongue in sharp, tiny jabs, each time forcing it in deeper, until I'm wet and sloppy and aching, and it feels like he's in so deep, licking at the walls of my insides. I move my hand from his shoulder to cup the back of his head, pulling his face into me as my legs tremble with the effort of holding them up.
It's like he wants to devour me, consume me completely.
And I just might let him.
It's not until he pulls back with a wet slurp that should really disgust me but doesn't, that I realise I've been talking the entire time, falling into him like I want nothing better in life.
"Oh, yes, Blake, please, fuck, God, aah - aah, oh fuck fuck fuck, God yes, Blake - Blake, please - please" is all that comes out of my mouth, not even making sense.
He laughs, chuckles to himself, and breathes against my thigh, "I knew you'd be lovely when you beg," before biting into the meat of my thigh, sucking a huge bruise into my skin.
Then he stands, strips his shirt off, tossing it over to land on the back of his chair, and leaves.
He fucking leaves, the fucking bastard.
"You said you wanted a shower," he throws over his shoulder, pants already down his hips as he disappears into the bathroom.
"Oh, now you want to shower? Fuck you, man!" I call, trying to get up. My legs don't want to support me even remotely, shaking and trembling every time I take a step, and I have to brace myself on the wall more than once.
Blake's got the shower running, hot and steaming up the room. It's big and square, walk-in shower, with shelves built into the walls for his shampoo. He's standing under the spray, letting water run down over his head and across his chest - the door is wide open, and he's got his hand on his dick, jerking himself slowly as he watches me. He opens his mouth, tongue peaking out to lick over his lips, and swallow the water cascading down his cheeks.
I stalk into the room, put my hands on his sides, skin slipping over skin, and push him back against the cold tile of the shower wall. I go to bite his at neck, return some of the bruises he's given me, and smell mint on his breath. I laugh, and take his mouth in a kiss instead, licking the taste of mouthwash from his tongue and teeth.
His skin is slick, shining, and my hands slide so easily up his chest and over his arms, raising them up and pinning them on either side of his head, lacing our fingers together as we kiss. His chest rubs wet against mine, and I push my hips into his, grinding slow and slippery together.
"Turn around," I mumble around his tongue, but don't actually let him do it, biting into his lip for another moment, before I step back and slide my hands over his back as he turns away to the wall.
I bend my head, lick the water from his shoulders, slip my hands around his waist and down his abdomen, the muscles of his stomach twitching as I press in close and wrap the fingers of one hand around his erection. The other hand use to open a handy bottle of lube, right there next to his shampoo, and I laugh into his ear as I coat my fingers.
He groans low and long and satisfied when I slide first one, then another finger inside him, twisting and pushing as the muscles loosen. His head drops down, and his muscles tense when he pushes back against me, spasming and clenching down around my hand.
"Oh, Christ, just fuck me," he says, craning his neck so he can glare at me over his shoulder.
I smile and kiss the corner of his mouth, and down his neck. "You sure? I could do this," I twist my fingers, stroking him deep inside and out until his whole body trembles, and his head falls back against my shoulder, "for hours."
"Nnngh," he says, and tries to bite me.
"Stay here," I tell him, and withdraw my fingers. I step out of the shower, dripping water everywhere, over the bathmat and the tiles, and over to his medicine cabinet. The air is cold out from under the water, and I've immediately got goosebumps It opens with a squeak, and I rifle through until I find a condom packet. I rip it open, roll it down over myself, resisting the urge to thrust into my hand, and jog back to the shower, feeling absolutely ridiculous, but Blake is watching my over his shoulder with a grin on his face.
I fuck into him with slow, gentle pushes, kissing the back of his neck as he adjusts to the burn and stretch.
"Mmm, yes, that's good - oh, oh."
He's hot and tight inside, and he feels good. When he's ready, he tightens around me, and pushes back, a shiver travelling down his spine as it forces me even deeper in.
He reaches back, holds my hip as I start to rock against him, fingers clenching in the skin of my thigh. His other he braces against the wall, leaning his head on his forearm as he pants and moans and meets my thrusts.
It takes a heart-stopping short time before my breath goes ragged and my hips stutter, heat twirling in my stomach, and I fuck him harder, deeper, and I can hear the slap of skin over the sound of running water, and Blake cries out and comes into my hand, his back arching in a long, gorgeous bend.
I can't breathe, the way he tightens around me like a vice, like he's trying to suck the life out of me, and I bite into the muscle of his neck and push myself all the way in, and hold him there, grinding in little, amazing movements. I come panting into his skin, my arms wrapped so firm around his waist, pressed all along his wet body, and I never want to fucking leave.
-
previous / next