Fic DVD Commentary: To Have and to Hold Down - Part 2
Here is the Fic DVD Commentary for Part 2 of To Have And To Hold Down as requested by
pushkin666
Thanks to everyone who commented on the Part 1 Commentary, it was really interesting to talk about writing with you all.
If you missed the first part...
General thoughts on writing porn/erotica fanfic can be found here
And the DVD Commentary for Part 1 of To Have and to Hold Down is right below it.
On to the commentary... Warnings for BDSM, spanking, dodgy-con, and graphic sex. Both the fic and the commentary are rated NC-17.
Part 2 of THATHD was written during the spring of 2006, mostly by pen and paper as I laid on a blanket in the backyard, marinating in the sun. There were several months between writing the two parts of the fic, but in terms of story continuation Part 2 picks up immediately after the Part 1 ends; in Ray’s car after the encounter on the alley behind Railway Arms. The POV is still Chris’ because this is not a beginning; it’s an evolution; the inevitable next step that no one saw coming - least of all me.
The ride was spent in silence.
Ray parked the car in front of a nondescript block of flats of which one, Chris assumed, must be where he lived.
They sat in silence for a long time. Chris kept stealing glances at the other man but was too unnerved to say anything. He could still taste Ray in his mouth, his throat sore, scalp throbbing where Ray had gripped his hair. It was… not an entirely unpleasant feeling. And that’s what was freaking him out the most.
He could get out. Another quick look to his right confirmed that Ray was still deep in… whatever it was that had him squeezing the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, eyes fixed on the dark street behind the windscreen. He probably wouldn’t even notice if Chris just opened the door and walked away.
He should do it. It was the best, the smartest, the easiest… the hand that had crept onto the door handle suddenly froze.
Can you just imagine that car ride? The charged atmosphere, growing heavier and heavier, the tension mounting and the longer the silence gets, the harder it is to break. Now that the sex part is over (temporarily) Chris is confused again. Confusion is pretty much his default setting, and in Ray he sees a way out of that. Unfortunately, beyond the sex, Ray really doesn’t have any clue how to give Chris what he wants and what he needs. Yet.
I mentioned in the Part 1 Commentary that there was an issue of (no or dubious) consent I skirted around like a shy virgin. I have no problem with even the more hardcore kinks, provided that either implicit of explicit consent is given. Without it… things stop being erotic and become abusive (which can still make excellent fanfic, but to me that’s a rather different subject and not what I wanted to do here. Therefore to be able to continue the fic, I needed to address the issue of consent.
He didn’t want to leave.
He could though. Even in the alley, when Ray had pushed him down, he could have fought, he could have run, he could have shouted for help. He hadn’t.
Instead he had gone on his knees and opened his mouth and taken everything Ray had given. He had been shocked and scared and even hurting but at no point had he even tried to resist.
That meant something. He wanted to find out what. To do that he had to stick around.
“So, er…”
Ray turned towards him but didn’t say anything. “We going in or what?” Chris continued, aiming for nonchalance and failing miserably.
Oh Chris. He may not instigate things, but once he starts something he’s committed. And it doesn’t take much for Ray to snap out of his reverie.
Ray was out and on the other side of the car so fast Chris barely had time to blink before he was being pulled to his feet and rammed against the hood. Ray looked wild and dangerous and for a fleeting moment Chris thought they were not going to make it inside, that Ray was going to have him right here on the rain-soaked parking lot. The idea both scared and excited him and he thrashed around, finding no purchase on the wet metal.
It was close that the main event didn’t take place right there; Ray bending Chris over the hood of the car, the rain beating down on them, making everything slick and dark and-
Uh. What was I saying?
Oh yes. Consent. The next scene in the stairwell is all about consent. And about my love for the mundane everyday details and use of sensory descriptions. Even I recognise that those are fast becoming recurring features of my writing.
But no, Ray unclenched his fists with visible effort and strode towards the building without a backward glance. Chris followed wordlessly, still shaking and so turned on it was difficult to walk straight.
They climbed the stairs in silence, the floor filthy under their feet, air smelling like burnt dinners, old and rotting. Once they made it to the fifth landing, Ray offered the keys to him, waving a hand towards the door on the left. Slowly Chris reached over, fingers closing over cold metal, the serrated edge a solid pressure against his palm. It was a test. A test to see what he would do.
Ray took a step back, giving Chris plenty of room to unlock the door. Or to run away.
Unlike earlier in the alley, or even in the car, Ray was completely still, seemingly in control. His eyes were hooded, face shadowed by the dark. For long silent seconds they stared each other and then Chris turned around and inserted the key into the lock, pushing the door open and stepping inside.
Like the bit about rain-slicked car hood, this scene is all about indulgent authorial fantasy fulfilment. Men ramming men into a wall results in an almost Pavlovian GUH reaction in me. There was this one time at theatre practice when the director and the male lead got into a heated argument and- Er. Moving swiftly on.
The moment Chris was over the threshold Ray was on him, kicking the door closed and pressing him to the wall.
The impact forced the breath out of him in a hot rush of air and he gasped for more, Ray’s body blanketing him entirely. Ray had two stones on him, easily, and Chris knew that even if he tried he couldn’t dislodge the other man, the weight of him both safe and suffocating.
Just as it would have become too much, Ray eased back, allowing Chris to turn around in the circle of his arms. He couldn’t see anything but he could feel Ray’s breath ghosting over his face, hot and tart with the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke.
The following is the bit I’m most proud of in this fic. It felt like something that took the psychological aspect of the story to a whole new level of fucked-up. Judging by comments it worked for at least one reader, but I don’t know about the rest.
“You say his name and this stops. Is that clear? You know who I mean, don’t you Chris?”
Chris nodded frantically. Sam, Sam, Sam… the name pulsating through his mind but not escaping the barrier of his lips.
“Stop it! You’re thinking about him. You’re with me, you only think about me. Is that clear?”
“Y-yes.”
“Yes who?”
“Yes, Ray.” Not Sam.
I’m of course talking about using Sam’s name as a safe word. While this too was something that evolved from the writing process and not planned, it shaped the rest of the fic especially in terms of where Ray and Chris ended up mentally. For Ray the “You say his name and this stops” is a threat, an ultimatum even. He sees it as a way of forcing Chris to make a choice between him and Sam. However, for Chris, the idea of Sam now becomes even more of a safe harbour than before, and you can bet that’s not at all what Ray wanted to happen.
Writing this next bit took probably the longest, relatively speaking. I needed to get the men from the hallway further into the flat while at the same time giving the reader some idea of how Ray lived. It’s a transitory scene, moving people from point a to point b, and by god it was painful to write. It’s not organic, but carefully constructed and that shows.
Ray growled in answer and then Chris was being kissed, deep and ferocious, Ray’s tongue shoving its way in, down, all over Chris’ mouth, taking every last doubt and question with it.
Everything around them was dark, black shapes against a black background and a square of greyness to Chris’ left that must be a window. But Ray didn’t need sight to be able to manoeuvre in his own apartment. His movements were sure and steady as he guided Chris around obstacles, finally pushing him down on something soft and creaky. A sofa, Chris thought, rubbing a hand on scarred leather.
“Stay there. I got to put some lights on, wanna see you.” Chris felt blunt fingers skim the side of his face, trailing down to dip into the hollow of his throat. He swallowed, convulsively, and nodded, chin brushing Ray’s knuckles.
Two quick steps and a table lamp flared to light, bringing the living room into focus. Chris was indeed sitting on an old brown leather sofa, facing a large, new looking telly. Against the opposite wall there was a matching armchair and next to it a bookshelf with various knickknacks in it but not too many actual books. In the corner stood a battered dining table and a couple of mismatching chairs. The room was bare but oddly comfortable, lived-in.
Ray has the home field advantage here, in addition to everything else, and he uses it for all its worth. And Chris is nervous, that kind of jittery nervous that you can taste in your mouth, where you know something is going to happen and you desperately want it to, but at the same time it scares you deeply because you know that once it does everything is going to change.
Ray settled into the armchair, stretching out his legs. Chris’ gaze followed the long line of his body, finally coming to rest on Ray’s broad hands that were curled into loose fists and tapping a restless rhythm against the leather.
“Well now, what should we do now? Any ideas?” The question itself was so mild, so normal, as if Ray was expecting him to say ‘How about a beer?’ or ‘I think there’s a game on tonight’.
But there was nothing normal about tonight. And football and beer were the last things on his mind.
And then we have one of my pet kinks: voluntary kneeling, i.e. someone kneeling as a sign of submission/love/apology/whatever. This sort of silent communication through formalised gestures can be seriously hot. Don’t know if it works here, but I added it because it’s something I like in fics like this, and because, dammit, I wanted to!
Chris shivered and with a muted thump slid to his knees, keeping his eyes firmly on the threadbare carpet. Shame burnt through him, the flames of it licking skin. Ray’s low chuckle told him he was blushing hard. What would people think if they saw him like this? What would Sam think if he…
But Chris knew the answer to that, had know all along. He remembered, in the pub, Sam’s breath, hot against his face and full of words like want and jealous and just follow my lead. He’d laughed at it then, too pissed to put the words together and Sam had too, it had been all drunken gibberish, a great joke.
Except not so much now.
Yes, he knew what Sam would think, what he would do. Exactly what Ray was doing now, only more. The image of him, lithe and quiet, flashed through Chris’ mind - so different from Ray although not really, not in the way it counted.
Okay, remember what I said about how Sam turned out to play a much bigger part in this fic than I originally thought. For Chris his presence is intense enough to be felt physically. Add to that an element of humiliation, uncertainty and divided loyalties and it’s a very potent mixture of emotion our Chris is plunged into. As for Ray, wanting Chris is not the only reason behind his actions tonight. An equal part of it is the very masculine desire to win, to assert one’s ownership, to stick it up to the other guy and say “this is mine and you can’t have it”.
Ray has who he wants. And now he wants to play with him.
“I’m waiting.” Ray’s voice had taken on a familiar edge, anger simmering just below the surface.
Chris licked his lips nervously, heart hammering inside his ribcage, loud and erratic like church bells in a storm. This was… he didn’t… “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me what you want me to do. If you don’t ask for it, it won’t happen.”
Men are so pretty when they beg.
No, no, no. Something had to happen. He needed it to. “Please” he said “I want to… like earlier. Behind the pub. Please.”
“You liked that, huh? Tell me.”
“I want to…” He swallowed, the taste of come still lingering on his tongue. “…touch you. Suck you. Please, I want you in my mouth.”
“No.” Ray’s decision was final.
That wasn’t right.
“But, but… I thought… Wasn’t it okay? Was I not good enough? I’m sorry, Ray, please…”
“That’s not it, Chris. Not it at all. You were plenty good.” Ray rubbed his crotch almost absently, never taking his eyes of Chris. He was smiling but it wasn’t exactly a happy expression. “In fact, you were a bit too good to be a complete virgin… But that’s something we’ll have to discuss at another time.”
Chris fidgeted silently, knees digging into the floor, both pleased and apprehensive at the same time.
Uhm, wow. Implying that Chris actually had some experience of giving blowjobs? Not believable, and not really in character for Chris, not even this version of him. In retrospect I wish I had done this scene differently, probably something about how Chris had potential but more practice was required…
The next part is much better. And rougher. But Ray being the kind of guy who uses his fist a lot, it’s not too much of a leap for him to assert his control physically in a situation like this. Besides which, Ray doesn’t yet quite know how to do it otherwise, or believe that Chris would respond to anything else.
“The reason I don’t want you to blow me again is quite simply this.” He leaned closer, one hand reaching to grab Chris’ jaw, yanking his head up roughly. “I’m going to fuck you.” He brought their faces together, fingers squeezing like a vice. “I’m going to fuck you but good, Chris, until you beg and plead and fucking cry like the little girl you are. And then…”
Suddenly Ray got to his feet, jerking Chris up with him until the smaller man was dangling in an awkward position, not really kneeling, not quite standing. It hurt, the line of his neck stretched taut like a twine ready to snap and Chris knew - knew without a doubt - that at that moment Ray could do it. He could break him in half, all it would take was a right amount of pressure at the back of his neck.
“…then we will see whose name you scream.” Ray let go and shoved, hard, sending Chris stumbling backwards.
For a few seconds Chris laid on the floor, gasping for breath. Ray stood over him, lips curling like soured milk. “Back on your knees. Strip.”
Chris struggled upright and closed his eyes tightly, concentrating on Ray’s voice giving directions. Get rid of the sweater. He pulled it over his head. Unbutton your shirt. His fingers went to the collar, fumbling with the buttons. Slow down. He did - until the shaking of his hands became obvious and Ray laughed, low and satisfied. He struggled with the cuffs, almost managing to trap himself in the hurry to shed the garment, but finally the cloth yielded and pooled on the floor.
“I want you to touch yourself.”
So okay, Ray likes to watch. Or is it us that like that? For a female writer/reader m/m sex is almost inherently voyeuristic; it doesn’t come with an inbuilt reference point in quite the same way as het or f/f sex do. I think that sense of difference, of otherness, is a large part of the appeal of m/m slash.
An involuntary moan escaped his mouth. Yes, thank God, finally. Chris knew this part and his hands crept to the bulge in front of his trousers, still damp from rain and their earlier activities.
Suddenly fingers clamped down painfully on his wrist, stopping its progress with a vicious grip. Chris’ eyes snapped open. Ray was kneeling in front of him, his expression hard.
“Not yet. Don’t go below the belt until I tell you to.”
To me Chris is totally the type who would do some… experimenting by himself.
He’d only touched himself like this when he was alone. Men weren’t supposed to care about stuff like this - slow caresses and lingering touches were for girls. Guys went straight for the main event.
Except… Chris usually didn’t. He liked to take his time and he wasn’t going to pretend not to know what Ray wanted.
He palmed his own ribs, rubbing a lazy hand across his belly. It felt good. Warm. He sighed, eyes fluttering to slits. Ray’s breathing was coming fast and heavy, the tension rippling between them, the current pulling him in deep.
His fingers moved up to his nipples and he flushed violently, both from the physical sensation and the look in Ray’s eyes, all black and glinting sharply in the scarce light of the room.
Chris needed more. He pinched harder, twisting his nipples until the ache became unbearable and he groaned, voice raspy and desperate, arching right into Ray, their chests bumping together.
That was very visual for me, the two of them kneeling on the floor, bodies not quite touching.
He was dimly aware of a sound - a low moan, himself, keening - before being ruthlessly pulled up by his hair. Ray’s tongue was down his throat and he didn’t even remember being kissed but that didn’t matter, nothing mattered except the wet, dirty plunge of it. Chris sucked, sloppy and greedy and fuck yeah getting it now for real. Ray’s hands were digging into the vulnerable skin of his back and Chris imagined bruises that would bloom there tomorrow, black and purple flowers of lust.
Someone complimented me on that simile and while it’s nice, at the time of the writing I only remember thinking “afjadhjkadfhdjfs marking” Heh.
The next couple of paragraphs are a bit clumsy as I’m moving people around again.
Ray groped for his fly, the clink of buckle and buttons the only warning he got before trousers and underwear were pushed out of the way and blunt fingers were skimming, scratching, grabbing his sweat-slick hips. Chris tried to thrust up, frantic for release, but the other man wasn’t having any of it.
Instead, Ray jerked his mouth away, simultaneously wrenching Chris’ belt free and bending him over the table in one smooth move.
He was completely helpless, pants bunched around knees and effectively immobilising his legs. Ray held him down, one hand at the back of his neck, the other looping the thin leather belt around his wrists until they were tied together, resting snug just above the swell of his bare buttocks.
Nothing like a bit of bondage to make things interesting. The bit about Chris’ knees being trapped by his bunched pants worked well I thought.
The arousal running through him was dark around the edges, tinged with fear and all the more intense for it. Chris gasped for breath and struggled in vain against the restraints, the wood of the tabletop unyielding under his cheek. Playtime was over.
Someone commented on that last sentence, saying it sticks out badly from the general flow, and I think I have to concede that point. At the time of writing it was something that was running in my mind quite independently of the fic and I really wanted to use it. In retrospect I can see how it might not fit the story so well.
The next part I like for a couple of reasons. One is that in addition to little light bondage I managed to work some spanking into the fic. The second is the whole Sam aspect of it. I told you Sam’s role turned out to be much more important than originally planned. He’s the crucial third player in the scene, and his mere existence is enough to affect the dynamic between Ray and Chris (just like it affects everything and everyone in the show). Ray brings Sam into a scene that could, and perhaps should, only be between him and Chris; not realising that in doing that he only reinforces Sam’s significance to what’s happening. It’s almost operant conditioning; in Chris’ mind Sam begins to equal (jealousy induced) sexual attention from Ray, and that way lays sexual gratification. It hardly means that Chris is going to start avoiding Sam
A tiny part of him still wondered why he wasn’t fighting, how this had happened, why he would let Ray… and Sam, God yes, he would let Sam as well… Chris felt blood rush to his groin, leaving him light-headed and writhing, his cock trapped painfully against the table edge.
“Jesus.” Ray said. “Stay still!” And Chris tried, he really did, but the loud smack of Ray’s palm against his arse made his whole upper torso lift clean off the table.
He didn’t have time to react before Ray brought his hand down again and again, hitting his stinging flesh with vigour, each impact slamming him forward.
Ray was punishing him. It was because of Sam, Ray kept telling him, because of how Chris behaved around the DI, making a fool of himself. And of Ray.
Chris couldn’t think past the pain, he was drowning, sinking under the red haze of shame and arousal. He deserved this, needed to be shown what he could and could not do. And Ray was right, he had been stupid, fawning around Sam like a puppy, waiting for something that he already had and just didn’t realise.
After a while the slaps eased into lingering caresses. Ray ran a proprietary hand down his spine and over his ass and all the way to his thighs, quivering and barely able to support his weight anymore. He was rubbing in the heat, fingers separating his cheeks and disappearing between. Chris begged, the litany of pleas muffled and broken.
And then they had the butt-sex. The end.
Uhm. *facepalm* My first instinct was to gloss over the next few paragraphs, and move straight to the aftermath, because seriously, do you really want a step-by-step commentary on the this?
pushkin666 I’m looking at you.
*fidgets*
Okay then kids (and I say that sarcastically because if you’re under 18 you shouldn’t be here in the first place. Yes, that’s right, I know who you are. The moral police gave me a list), commentary it is.
As hot as m/m sex is, it just doesn’t work so well without little assistance. Every time I read a fic that includes anal penetration without use of some sort of lubrication, my main reaction is a painful cringe. Spit and/or semen helps (and yes, before someone points is out, I’m well aware that Much and Robin went at it with just that in if you are the rhyme and I the refrain) but something extra is better.
And what do you know, Ray has some Vaseline (or KY, did they have that in the 70s? I’m pretty sure they did.) in his bedside drawer. Yes, it’s perhaps a bit artificial, but by god I wasn’t going to put Chris through a dry fuck on top of everything else.
“Fuck! Hold on, I need to…” Five quick steps and Chris heard a door being wrenched almost off its hinges, a drawer scraping open, and then Ray was back, his hands once again roaming over him, everywhere at once.
Chris squirmed as much as he could, belt tightening around his wrists, the bite of it oddly welcome.
“Shit, Chris, you should see yourself. All trussed up, your pink ass in the air, spread out just for me.”
There was a sound of a jar lid being opened and then cold, slick fingers were probing at his opening, breaching him two at the time, all force and no finesse.
Fuck, that hurt. Chris panted through the pain, eyes wide and tearing up. Sure, he’d known this was coming, had believed Ray’s promise, but he hadn’t known, not in any real sense of the word. Sam, Sam, Sam his mind chanted and he was going to say it out loud soon, he was, any minute now…
Especially, since he’s apparently a virgin. Despite his implied cock-sucking hobby. It’s a good thing Ray seems to know where the prostrate gland is, and what it’s for.
*shakes head*
Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking either. I guess plausibility became the casualty of hot sex. Oh well, sometimes we have to make these sacrifices in the name of porn. At least no one offered to fix the copy machine.
Then Ray’s fingers curled and rubbed and Chris was on fucking fire.
Every coherent thought melted away in the sudden heat that coiled tight inside him before spreading in waves throughout his whole body. He broke out in sweat, belly sliding along the table as he blindly pushed back, desperate for more.
I have much fondness for the image of Chris’ naked, sweat-slick tummy sliding against the wooden table. Just thought I’d point that out.
“God, I knew it. You’re such a slut.” Ray pulled his fingers out with a final nasty little twist and Chris sobbed from the loss and emptiness, his breaths raw and frantic. Had he done something wrong?
But then he felt a blunt pressure at his opening as Ray pushed in all the way with one smooth thrust and Chris shuddered all over; the pain before nothing compared to this. Ray’s cock was a steady relentless burn in his ass, cleaving him in half. He was crying openly now, just like Ray’d promised he would, muscles clenching as he fought against the intrusion, against the restraints, against his own treacherous body that was already relaxing into compliance. Pleasure was a white-hot current pulling him asunder and Chris gave up, gave in, gave everything he had, the intimacy of their position undeniable, his submission absolute.
The crying is sort of appealing, but that last sentence makes me cringe. It’s too… flowery. Or something. Just doesn’t work.
Next we have little orgasm denial. It’s almost as if I’m working my way through a list of kinks here. Which I wasn’t at the time, not consciously anyway, but re-reading the fic now, it sure feels like it. Heh.
In that moment of surrender Chris would have stumbled over the precipice if not for Ray’s hand reaching around, thumb and forefinger wrapping around the base of his cock and squeezing hard, staving off the inevitable. “Do. Not. Come.” Each word emphasised with a tightening of fingers. “Not until I say so.”
“I won’t, I won’t. Just… please, oh God, I need…”
Ray’s hand withdrew, only to smack down on his buttocks once more before seizing his hips in a brutal grip. Ray rammed his cock into him, the head sliding over and over the sweet spot inside and Chris could feel it all the way at the back of his fucking throat. He was trying not to come, not yet, not yet, oh Jesus, please soon. The need for release made his balls throb and tighten, the agony of it lifting him higher.
And yet, underneath it all, a single thought pulsed bright in his mind. Sam.
But not Sam alone. Ray was there too. Had always been.
Remember Chris’ split lip from when Ray punched him in the alley? I did! And since I quite liked it, I managed to work it into the sex scene.
More important however, is what’s happening in Chris’ head.
Chris bit down hard on his split lip, causing a trickle of fresh blood seep into his mouth, desperate to keep quiet. He couldn’t trust himself to cry the right name - didn’t even know what the right name was anymore - and he didn’t want this to stop.
Sam and Ray. Ray and Sam. The two men merged and shifted, one inside his mind, the other inside his body, and oh God he couldn’t tell which was which anymore.
It was Sam who bit down, teeth sinking into his shoulder, seeking muscle underneath the skin and making Chris scream and rear up, back crashing against the hard body over him. And that was Ray, Ray slamming into him, fast and deep, hand coming down to Chris’ cock, pumping once, twice, thumb brushing the slit, slippery with precome.
He squeezed around the thickness in his ass, a sudden rush of scalding liquid splattering his insides and pushing him over. His cock jerked in Ray’s fist - Sam’s mouth - the cradle of fingers and tongues taking possession, taking away control and choice. Chris was coming, the world going nova under his eyelids, orgasm tearing him apart, the blades of pleasure sharp and merciless.
Ray, he thought. Sam.
Then nothing.
***
Yes, okay, graphic sex was had. If you thought it was hot, then good. Like I said in Part 1 of the Commentary; if I fail to turn on the reader, then I’ve failed at writing the sex scene.
But to me the sex was almost superfluous at this point. I was more interested in describing the psychological merging of Ray and Sam that took place in Chris’ mind than the corporal one that happened between Ray and Chris.
The story now returns to Ray’s POV, not only because it’s the end scene and as mentioned I felt that starting and ending things was Ray’s role here, but also because I literally didn’t have any grasp of what Chris was thinking and feeling at the moment. In a way I think he’s almost beyond all that right now, whereas Ray is only now really starting to understand what happened.
Awareness returned slowly, creeping around the borders of consciousness like a thief in the night. Ray dropped his forehead into the slick valley of Chris’ shoulder blades, breathing in the musky scent of sweat and semen that arose from the two of them in waves.
Shards of thoughts kept falling around him like broken glass in a bar fight and the biggest of them was shit, what have I done? But there were others, quieter but no less insistent like so good and finally and mine. Ray let the last one float to the surface, mouthing it against Chris’ damp skin, somewhat startled by the loudness of his own voice.
Chris made a wordless hum that sounded agreeing, his sluggish movement causing after shocks of pleasure that made Ray tighten his hold again. They stayed like that for another minute, both trembling from the effort to maintain contact but at last Ray had to pull out.
He made short work of the belt, freeing Chris’ wrists and helping him to his feet. “Go on, get into the shower. You stink to high heaven.”
Part of that understanding had to be taking responsibility. I needed it to be. I couldn’t bear the thought of Ray tossing Chris out on the street, like some meaningless one-night fuck. And after all that graphic sex I wanted to included a “softer” scene between them. Outright romanticism or declarations were out of the question, but practical shower seemed like an acceptable substitute.
The younger man just blinked at him, boneless like a rag doll, letting himself be moulded and arranged. Ray liked that. Liked it enough to kiss him, softer than before, taking his time. He could afford to do that now.
“Come on then, we’ll both go.”
They were still half-dressed and it was an effort to get out of the clothes, exhaustion making their limbs slow and clumsy. The shower was quick and functional -hot water never lasted long anyway, besides which, Chris was nodding off and Ray had to hold him upright against the wall tiles to keep him from collapsing.
Chris’ pale skin was turning angry red at places, bruises the shape of Ray’s hands starting to appear on his back, hips and arse. Ray felt his mouth water at the sight and he had to quell the desire to just push Chris down to his knees and take him again. It would be so easy, he knew, there would be no resistance from the younger man. He could, it was his right. And for now that had to be enough.
As well as responsibilities, what they did comes with consequences. Nothing has really been resolved and Ray is beginning to understand that.
Ray kept his mind carefully blank until they were safely in the bedroom, Chris falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was only Thursday, they had to be at work tomorrow and Ray had no idea how he would manage that.
They would have to drive in together, Chris’ car was still at the pub. And people would talk, no doubt about it, because Chris was utterly incapable of keeping anything from showing on his face. Ray could just see it now. Phyllis not meeting his eyes but cataloguing every little detail, fodder for the rumour mill. Guv would smirk but not say anything, probably as unsurprised as Ray himself and Tyler…
And Ray couldn’t help but smile, lazy and mean, because really, who was having the last laugh here?
Chris hadn’t said it. Hadn’t said Sam’s name. For a short moment he felt content with that, running an idle hand across the younger man’s back, the flat dark and quiet around them once more. But after a while the smile faltered, doubts crawling under his skin like a swarm of insects.
Because Chris hadn’t said his name either. Not when it mattered.
I’m pleased with the ending. It’s self-explanatory enough without me talking it to death. It certainly confirmed what I’d suspected throughout the writing; the story still wasn’t over. There’s a third (and final!) instalment to this saga, but at the moment it’s still mostly in my head. I have great hopes for the summer though, and give you full permission to kick my ass about writing fic *gg*
***
Thus endeth To Have and to Hold Down and its DVD Commentary. *wipes brow* I hope you have enjoyed reading it half as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Still, it was hard work,
pushkin666! I’m now looking around for that SPN fic you promised me as a way to unwind…