fill: dragged from the shore [1/2]
anonymous
August 30 2011, 05:54:09 UTC
Hands grab his arms and slam him against the wall. Charley’s not even paying attention for a second, so focused as he is on finding Amy, but the hands are like steel and the person isn’t moving. He finally looks up and that’s when his stomach drops.
Jerry’s nostrils flare as he leans in and inhales deeply. “Hi, guy,” he says conversationally.
“Let go of me. Let go of me and let go of Amy-” Charley’s voice is frantic and angry, but it cuts to nothing when Jerry slides his hands down, encircles Charley’s wrists in one his hand, and stretches Charley high.
Smiling pleasantly, Jerry shifts, so it’s one big hand holding Charley’s wrists and one strong thigh in between Charley’s legs. Charley curses and struggles, but Jerry holds onto Charley so tightly that he can feel the bones of his wrists grinding together.
The smile turns into something predatory as Jerry brings up his free hand and bites his own finger. Blood, dark and thick, wells up and Jerry spreads it over his own mouth. “Now, come on, guy. You really should cooperate.”
And that’s when Jerry leans in and presses his mouth to Charley’s. Charley goes still for about half of a second out of pure shock and then he bites down hard and jerks his head away. He tastes the blood, copper and salt, but he’s more distracted by the way Jerry throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, you probably didn’t want to do that.”
Reality slides to the left and everything goes hazy and smudged like a bad photo. There’s a pressure between his thighs, rubbing and rubbing, and he concentrates on that, concentrates on the heat slowly filling him up. Charley should feel anger and fear, he knows that much, but somehow…somehow it’s all muted.
He arches his hips and feels the low tug of arousal. He feels like he should curse-yes, that’s the right response-but instead he moans.
“I like this version of you better,” Jerry says and his voice is the only clear noise in the thumping beat of the club. Charley meets the dark, amused eyes and tries to remember how to breathe; the thigh presses up, he grinds down, and all the breath leaves him in a rush.
fill: dragged from the shore [2/2]
anonymous
August 30 2011, 05:54:56 UTC
Jerry leans close and Charley strains forward-inexplicably, why, why is he doing this-for a kiss. A smirk turning his lips up, Jerry brushes his mouth over Charley’s lightly. When Charley leans forward again, Jerry deftly avoids him to duck his head and nose at Charley’s neck. He hears Jerry’s mutter of, “You are going to taste delicious,” and then sharp points are sliding into his neck.
It should hurt-shouldn’t it? No, instead it’s warmth, wonderful warmth, with just the slightest tug of pain-which, surprisingly, makes it even better. And when Jerry sucks, oh, when he sucks, Charley feels the pull of heat from his neck to his cock as if there’s a string connecting the two. He wants-he wants more.
Shakily, he lifts one leg, curls it around Jerry’s hip, and arches up into Jerry’s body. He can’t help his whimper. He needs more. He tries to fight Jerry’s grip, pulling as hard as he can, but that only makes Jerry raise his head, the heat from his bite-points throbbing in time with his pulse.
“Please,” he pants. (This is wrong, somehow, someway, this is wrong, but he pushes the feeling aside.) “Please.”
Jerry lifts his eyebrows. His smirk is slow and hot and it sends pleasure spiraling in Charley’s stomach. “Oh, you’re going to be fun, aren’t you?” he asks quietly and lets go of Charley’s hands.
Free at last, Charley curls his arms around Jerry’s broad back, leans his head back, and pulls Jerry close. Teeth sink into his neck and heat is curling through him once more. He’s watching the shadowed ceiling and riding wave after wave of pleasure until he’s digging his fingers in Jerry’s back and his toes are curling in his shoes.
When Jerry pulls back, mouth smeared with red, Charley leans forward and kisses it away. He feels slow and heavy, satiated, as he leans back against the wall. He also feels like he’s forgetting something, but that doesn’t matter; being here is so much better.
Jerry smiles and it is a dark thing. “I’m keeping you,” he says decidedly and easily hefts Charley to throw him over his shoulder. Even as the world bounces and shifts, Charley focuses on the feel of Jerry’s back under his hands, Jerry’s shoulder below his stomach, Jerry’s hands on the back of his thighs.
Jerry’s nostrils flare as he leans in and inhales deeply. “Hi, guy,” he says conversationally.
“Let go of me. Let go of me and let go of Amy-” Charley’s voice is frantic and angry, but it cuts to nothing when Jerry slides his hands down, encircles Charley’s wrists in one his hand, and stretches Charley high.
Smiling pleasantly, Jerry shifts, so it’s one big hand holding Charley’s wrists and one strong thigh in between Charley’s legs. Charley curses and struggles, but Jerry holds onto Charley so tightly that he can feel the bones of his wrists grinding together.
The smile turns into something predatory as Jerry brings up his free hand and bites his own finger. Blood, dark and thick, wells up and Jerry spreads it over his own mouth. “Now, come on, guy. You really should cooperate.”
And that’s when Jerry leans in and presses his mouth to Charley’s. Charley goes still for about half of a second out of pure shock and then he bites down hard and jerks his head away. He tastes the blood, copper and salt, but he’s more distracted by the way Jerry throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, you probably didn’t want to do that.”
Reality slides to the left and everything goes hazy and smudged like a bad photo. There’s a pressure between his thighs, rubbing and rubbing, and he concentrates on that, concentrates on the heat slowly filling him up. Charley should feel anger and fear, he knows that much, but somehow…somehow it’s all muted.
He arches his hips and feels the low tug of arousal. He feels like he should curse-yes, that’s the right response-but instead he moans.
“I like this version of you better,” Jerry says and his voice is the only clear noise in the thumping beat of the club. Charley meets the dark, amused eyes and tries to remember how to breathe; the thigh presses up, he grinds down, and all the breath leaves him in a rush.
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It should hurt-shouldn’t it? No, instead it’s warmth, wonderful warmth, with just the slightest tug of pain-which, surprisingly, makes it even better. And when Jerry sucks, oh, when he sucks, Charley feels the pull of heat from his neck to his cock as if there’s a string connecting the two. He wants-he wants more.
Shakily, he lifts one leg, curls it around Jerry’s hip, and arches up into Jerry’s body. He can’t help his whimper. He needs more. He tries to fight Jerry’s grip, pulling as hard as he can, but that only makes Jerry raise his head, the heat from his bite-points throbbing in time with his pulse.
“Please,” he pants. (This is wrong, somehow, someway, this is wrong, but he pushes the feeling aside.) “Please.”
Jerry lifts his eyebrows. His smirk is slow and hot and it sends pleasure spiraling in Charley’s stomach. “Oh, you’re going to be fun, aren’t you?” he asks quietly and lets go of Charley’s hands.
Free at last, Charley curls his arms around Jerry’s broad back, leans his head back, and pulls Jerry close. Teeth sink into his neck and heat is curling through him once more. He’s watching the shadowed ceiling and riding wave after wave of pleasure until he’s digging his fingers in Jerry’s back and his toes are curling in his shoes.
When Jerry pulls back, mouth smeared with red, Charley leans forward and kisses it away. He feels slow and heavy, satiated, as he leans back against the wall. He also feels like he’s forgetting something, but that doesn’t matter; being here is so much better.
Jerry smiles and it is a dark thing. “I’m keeping you,” he says decidedly and easily hefts Charley to throw him over his shoulder. Even as the world bounces and shifts, Charley focuses on the feel of Jerry’s back under his hands, Jerry’s shoulder below his stomach, Jerry’s hands on the back of his thighs.
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