Unusual Methods (Halle/Lyle)
Index/Timeline
When the door opens and Halle looks up, Lyle is standing there with a knife and a calculating expression.
This is not how it normally goes.
He's grinning, too, in the way that means Halle's gonna like this one. Well, Halle had already figured that part out, but he grins back anyways. Watching Lyle shiver pleasantly when he does that never gets old.
"What's the fucking occasion?" he asks as Lyle shuts the door and takes a few steps forward.
"Al and Neil made me film Tieria's birthday present." The way Lyle is standing draws attention subtly to the major tent in his tight jeans. That must be uncomfortable as all fuck. No wonder Lyle looks so happy. "Ever seen your brother do a striptease?"
As a matter of fact, Halle has. Many times. He watches Lyle's hands with new insight as Lyle absently twirls the knife. It's one of Halle's, of course. Grinning much wider now, Halle settles back onto their beat-up old couch. He doesn't need to ask if Lyle has done this before-- the answer is no-- and he doesn't need to ask about music, either. There won't be music. Lyle doesn't need any.
True to Halle's predictions, Lyle doesn't dance. He slides the tip of the knife under the collar of his tight black t-shirt and flicks it casually up and out, opening a neat slice in the fabric. A single drop of blood follows the arc of the movement out, landing somewhere on the floor over by the wall, and a few more drops bead on the newly revealed skin but don't yet trickle down.
Halle wonders when the fuck Lyle learned to be this fucking precise. It's gorgeous.
The second cut opens up one of the short sleeves, and the third draws a red line across Lyle's stomach. It could easily have gutted him if it went a few inches deeper. Halle suppresses the urge to tell Lyle to be careful. Instead of issuing useless warnings, he wriggles out of his boxers and wraps a hand around his cock.
Lyle smirks at him, which shouldn't be as fucking sexy as it is, and transfers the knife to his left hand. Halle watches in fascination as more cuts slice the shirt into tatters without ever disturbing enough structural integrity that the fucking thing comes off. Lyle switches hands a few more times before spinning fluidly to show Halle his back, bringing the knife up-- in his right hand, thank fuck, the crazy bastard-- and slicing the fabric apart all the way up his spine from bottom to top. He shrugs his shoulders and the shirt slides down his arms to land in a little heap at his feet.
A trickle of blood rolls down Lyle's back, from a cut between his shoulderblades that's almost perfectly vertical. Halle can't tear his eyes off it. He wants to pounce, lick it off, and fuck Lyle into the ground.
Instead, he squeezes his cock and waits. The next part is bound to be good.
It's already obvious from the way Lyle moves that he's not wearing any underwear under those dark blue jeans. When he turns to one side and starts cutting them open all the way up his leg, slower now because of the thicker fabric, Halle follows the movement of the knife with hungry eyes. Lyle straightens from his crouch halfway up and, teasing bastard that he is, doesn't finish off the last six inches or so.
Result: something very like the slit up the side of an evening gown, and oh fuck, now Halle is thinking about Lyle bleeding in a dress. He inhales, drinking in the wonderful smell of Lyle's blood, and keeps watching.
Theoretically, Lyle should turn to the other side if he's going to cut the other leg of the jeans. He doesn't. He turns forward and slices up the front. The little wriggle he gives halfway up says volumes to Halle about how much he's enjoying this. Normally, Lyle only likes pain if someone else is giving it to him; putting on a strip show looks like it's the exception to that rule.
Damned if Halle's going to complain.
On the final stretch, cutting just beside the angle of his hip, Lyle slows down. Halle gets the perfect view of the denim just starting to gape open as Lyle finishes the job with a quick, dirty slash and the dismembered jeans fall away. The tip of the knife is beautifully red. That last cut went pretty deep, and the blood is already starting to flow from between the parted lips of the wound.
"Get your ass over here," Halle says roughly. Lyle saunters closer, obviously enjoying the effect his little demonstration had on Halle. "You fucking cheeky little shit."
First, he takes the knife from Lyle's hand and carefully licks it clean with a few swipes of his tongue. Then, he tosses it aside and grabs some lube out of his pocket. Lyle seems to be waiting for the pounce, but Halle doesn't feel like being predictable today. He yanks Lyle into his lap, fingers him hard and fast for a few seconds, then closes a hand around that bleeding hip. Lyle moans softly and lets himself be pulled back onto Halle's cock.
Halle grins, wraps his other arm around Lyle's stomach, and bites down hard on the back of his neck. Lyle writhes, panting, clenching deliciously around Halle's cock and then moaning again as Halle squeezes his hip in response. Blood is getting everywhere, all over both men and the couch, but it's not like that's news.
"Fuck," Lyle gasps. "Oh, fuck me, you wonderful bastard." Halle purrs, thrusts hard, and digs his fingernails into the open slice in Lyle's hip. "Shit, right there, yes--"
"C'mon, ride me like you mean it." He punctuates this demand with a few more thrusts; they settle into a quick, brutal rhythm, Lyle grinding down onto Halle as Halle slams up into Lyle, and Lyle's hands tighten helplessly on the edge of the couch. It's fantastic. Especially when Halle takes his hand away from Lyle's hip and licks hot blood off his fingers.
Lyle, whimpering at the loss, fucks himself even harder on Halle's cock. Halle rakes his nails across Lyle's bleeding stomach. It earns him another low moan, so he drops his other hand to squeeze Lyle's hip again and sinks his teeth into the curve of Lyle's shoulder.
That does it. With a blissful shriek, Lyle comes. He doesn't stop moving, and Halle doesn't stop fucking him, until Halle follows a few seconds later. Then both of them relax; Lyle wriggles off Halle's cock and they snuggle down together in a happy, bloodstained tangle.
"Still yours," murmurs Lyle, tucking Halle's shoulder under his chin.
"Still mine," Halle agrees. He nuzzles Lyle's hair and presses a fond kiss to the side of his face. "And in five minutes you're gonna haul your lazy ass off me and let me stitch you up."
Mumbling something more or less like assent, Lyle captures one of Halle's hands and intertwines their fingers. Halle lets him. No harm in a quick cuddle before first aid, not with cuts that shallow, and the scent of fresh blood is very relaxing.
When the door opens and Halle looks up, Lyle is standing there with a knife and a calculating expression.
This is not how it normally goes.
He's grinning, too, in the way that means Halle's gonna like this one. Well, Halle had already figured that part out, but he grins back anyways. Watching Lyle shiver pleasantly when he does that never gets old.
"What's the fucking occasion?" he asks as Lyle shuts the door and takes a few steps forward.
"Al and Neil made me film Tieria's birthday present." The way Lyle is standing draws attention subtly to the major tent in his tight jeans. That must be uncomfortable as all fuck. No wonder Lyle looks so happy. "Ever seen your brother do a striptease?"
As a matter of fact, Halle has. Many times. He watches Lyle's hands with new insight as Lyle absently twirls the knife. It's one of Halle's, of course. Grinning much wider now, Halle settles back onto their beat-up old couch. He doesn't need to ask if Lyle has done this before-- the answer is no-- and he doesn't need to ask about music, either. There won't be music. Lyle doesn't need any.
True to Halle's predictions, Lyle doesn't dance. He slides the tip of the knife under the collar of his tight black t-shirt and flicks it casually up and out, opening a neat slice in the fabric. A single drop of blood follows the arc of the movement out, landing somewhere on the floor over by the wall, and a few more drops bead on the newly revealed skin but don't yet trickle down.
Halle wonders when the fuck Lyle learned to be this fucking precise. It's gorgeous.
The second cut opens up one of the short sleeves, and the third draws a red line across Lyle's stomach. It could easily have gutted him if it went a few inches deeper. Halle suppresses the urge to tell Lyle to be careful. Instead of issuing useless warnings, he wriggles out of his boxers and wraps a hand around his cock.
Lyle smirks at him, which shouldn't be as fucking sexy as it is, and transfers the knife to his left hand. Halle watches in fascination as more cuts slice the shirt into tatters without ever disturbing enough structural integrity that the fucking thing comes off. Lyle switches hands a few more times before spinning fluidly to show Halle his back, bringing the knife up-- in his right hand, thank fuck, the crazy bastard-- and slicing the fabric apart all the way up his spine from bottom to top. He shrugs his shoulders and the shirt slides down his arms to land in a little heap at his feet.
A trickle of blood rolls down Lyle's back, from a cut between his shoulderblades that's almost perfectly vertical. Halle can't tear his eyes off it. He wants to pounce, lick it off, and fuck Lyle into the ground.
Instead, he squeezes his cock and waits. The next part is bound to be good.
It's already obvious from the way Lyle moves that he's not wearing any underwear under those dark blue jeans. When he turns to one side and starts cutting them open all the way up his leg, slower now because of the thicker fabric, Halle follows the movement of the knife with hungry eyes. Lyle straightens from his crouch halfway up and, teasing bastard that he is, doesn't finish off the last six inches or so.
Result: something very like the slit up the side of an evening gown, and oh fuck, now Halle is thinking about Lyle bleeding in a dress. He inhales, drinking in the wonderful smell of Lyle's blood, and keeps watching.
Theoretically, Lyle should turn to the other side if he's going to cut the other leg of the jeans. He doesn't. He turns forward and slices up the front. The little wriggle he gives halfway up says volumes to Halle about how much he's enjoying this. Normally, Lyle only likes pain if someone else is giving it to him; putting on a strip show looks like it's the exception to that rule.
Damned if Halle's going to complain.
On the final stretch, cutting just beside the angle of his hip, Lyle slows down. Halle gets the perfect view of the denim just starting to gape open as Lyle finishes the job with a quick, dirty slash and the dismembered jeans fall away. The tip of the knife is beautifully red. That last cut went pretty deep, and the blood is already starting to flow from between the parted lips of the wound.
"Get your ass over here," Halle says roughly. Lyle saunters closer, obviously enjoying the effect his little demonstration had on Halle. "You fucking cheeky little shit."
First, he takes the knife from Lyle's hand and carefully licks it clean with a few swipes of his tongue. Then, he tosses it aside and grabs some lube out of his pocket. Lyle seems to be waiting for the pounce, but Halle doesn't feel like being predictable today. He yanks Lyle into his lap, fingers him hard and fast for a few seconds, then closes a hand around that bleeding hip. Lyle moans softly and lets himself be pulled back onto Halle's cock.
Halle grins, wraps his other arm around Lyle's stomach, and bites down hard on the back of his neck. Lyle writhes, panting, clenching deliciously around Halle's cock and then moaning again as Halle squeezes his hip in response. Blood is getting everywhere, all over both men and the couch, but it's not like that's news.
"Fuck," Lyle gasps. "Oh, fuck me, you wonderful bastard." Halle purrs, thrusts hard, and digs his fingernails into the open slice in Lyle's hip. "Shit, right there, yes--"
"C'mon, ride me like you mean it." He punctuates this demand with a few more thrusts; they settle into a quick, brutal rhythm, Lyle grinding down onto Halle as Halle slams up into Lyle, and Lyle's hands tighten helplessly on the edge of the couch. It's fantastic. Especially when Halle takes his hand away from Lyle's hip and licks hot blood off his fingers.
Lyle, whimpering at the loss, fucks himself even harder on Halle's cock. Halle rakes his nails across Lyle's bleeding stomach. It earns him another low moan, so he drops his other hand to squeeze Lyle's hip again and sinks his teeth into the curve of Lyle's shoulder.
That does it. With a blissful shriek, Lyle comes. He doesn't stop moving, and Halle doesn't stop fucking him, until Halle follows a few seconds later. Then both of them relax; Lyle wriggles off Halle's cock and they snuggle down together in a happy, bloodstained tangle.
"Still yours," murmurs Lyle, tucking Halle's shoulder under his chin.
"Still mine," Halle agrees. He nuzzles Lyle's hair and presses a fond kiss to the side of his face. "And in five minutes you're gonna haul your lazy ass off me and let me stitch you up."
Mumbling something more or less like assent, Lyle captures one of Halle's hands and intertwines their fingers. Halle lets him. No harm in a quick cuddle before first aid, not with cuts that shallow, and the scent of fresh blood is very relaxing.