Title: Rock and A Hard Place, or Fire to Frying Pan (7/?)
Pairing: Brian/Zacky
Rating: This chapter, PORN. violence, what can be construed as dub-con, swearing.
Disclaimer: lies lies lies.
Summary: It's been five years, countless joints, $1.5 million dollars, and Brian is the only one who can save his old friend's life.
AN: alright, this is a bit behind in updating, but holy cow this chapter turned EPIC. so enjoy! i've noticed an obsession with whiskey by myself lately, so I'm sorry for all the references. Blame Godsmack and well, the whiskey.
The first thought that crossed Zack's mind was I have got to stop waking up like this. Somehow, being crumpled against a wall for God knows how long made the body's muscles ache. Add in the furious headache, the cotton mouth feeling, and the continual throb of his left arm, Zack wanted nothing more than a good bottle of Advil. Or some of those nice Codeines from the hospital.
The basement was encased in complete darkness, and for the life of him, the bruised man could not tell if it was day or night, or how long he was passed out against the wall. Using said wall as a crutch, Zack got onto his feet and rested in a more comfortable position. Once his breath was caught and the world didn't feel so dizzying, he made his way up the stairs, thinking longingly of his admittedly Buddhist like room. But as he got to the top and turned the knob, he found that while it would turn, the door did not budge.
"Brian?" Though Zack really didn't want to incur more wraith from the other man, the call of his bed was much too great. No answer came, so he called only slightly louder this time, "Hey, I think the door is stuck. Bri?" No answer. "C'mon man, I gotta explain myself and sleep. You really packed a punch there."
Pressing his ear to the door, he could barely make out the thumping of a bass-line and a few chords of Metallica's Wolf and Man. Shit. Metallica was Brian's go-to-I-want-to-ignore-the-world band. Used to be whenever they got unfounded criticism on a record, or someone pissed him off. Guess it was Zack's turn now. Bigger shit meaning that if Brian was ignoring him, that meant he was still pissed and the door probably wasn't stuck. He tried to remember a locking mechanism on the door, swearing again as he only saw a keyhole in his mental image. He felt along the knob on his side, sighing as it seemed smooth and without access to the locks.
Oh, if only I hadn't lost my credit cards. Zack slumped to the top stair, pondering where to go from here. He could continue yelling, but that had two possible outcomes. He could eventually become hoarse as Brian continued to ignore him, or he could finally yell so loud that he was heard over Lars and Brian could continue his boxing practice on Zack's face. Hmm. Maybe he'll just curl up on the armchair. This plan, while not as attractive as his bed, was at least better than the other options.
Not bothering with the light, he walked back down and found a throw pillow that had a few suspicious stains on it, but was otherwise soft. After about an hour or so of trying to find that perfect spot, Zack fell into an exhausted sleep, throbbing in his head and arm reduced to a faint echo that plagued his dreams.
*****
Darkness again reigned as Zack awoke. He hoped that at least a few hours had passed so that A. Brian's anger would be dissipated, B. his body could recharge. He stretched, popping his spine and shoulders, then rotated his neck, sighing in relief as his head seemed mostly healed. He again climbed the stairs, moving with a little more gusto this time, and tried the door. Still locked. Dammit. "Brian! C'mon man! BRIAN!"
He didn't really expect an answer anyway. Flipping the light-switch to resign himself to a day of watching Brian's movies, Zack raised an eyebrow when the room was not illuminated. He tried again, being a firm believer in the third-time's-a-charm rule, but no. No light.
Well. Stooping down, he peered under the crack in the door, trying to see if the rest of the house was also without power. Funny thing, it wasn't. Maybe that's just sunlight. Could be a busted light, right? C'mon Baker. You know perfectly well what the lighting is like in this house, and that Brian keeps the damn drapes closed. Fucker turned off the power to this room.
Zack couldn't really see the logic in Brian pulling the fuse for the basement, so he checked the TV just to be sure. Guess what? Yeah, no power. Right fist pounded into the top of the set, causing only a sharp pain to ricochet up his arm. "Fucking ow! Why me, WHY?"
He flopped back into the armchair which probably now had his ass-print in it (not that he could see it.) and resigned himself to a day of mediation and brooding. Wasn't too hard in the dark, but the dozing interrupted his thoughts on the Theory of Punk Ass Screamo and The Tightness of Their Pants. It was a rather good hypothesis, if only he could remember that part that he was thinking before he fell asleep. So really, all of it was lost.
The musings stopped, however, when the front door slammed and a series of bangs told him that the homeowner was home. At this point, Zack was tired of yelling, and figured that Brian would open the door when he wasn't pissed at the other, or when he got hungry for Zack's cooking.
When the only thing he heard for a few hours was a series of clinks and a few cabinets being slammed, he tiptoed up the stairs, pressing his ear to the door. He tentatively tried the door again (maybe Brian was sneaky and unlocked it?) to no avail and softly knocked. His only answer was a crash against the door followed by a bit of liquid spraying from under the door.
Zack jumped and nearly tumbled down the stairs, but held onto the railing, then crouched down to peer under the door. Remains of a decanter and a small pool of amber liquid confirmed his suspicions that Brian was again washing away his problems with his dear friend Jack. Instead of traipsing back down the stairs again, he slid onto the top step and let his head thud against the wall. Ow, bad plan Baker. God, what a bunch of fuck ups we are. What do you get when one druggie and one alcoholic walk into a bar run by an alcoholic? The remains of a band.
He lost track of time as he wallowed in their problems, so when the door was jerked open, he did fall over, catching himself on the stair below. He looked up to find a swaying, clearly inebriated Brian. It wasn't the happy drunk that everyone thought they knew, the man obsessed with black and pink, or who thought of new body parts to play guitar with. No, this drunk was an unattractive mix of anger, self-loathing, and loathing of everyone else on the planet. Sucky thing for Zack? He was the only one foolish enough to be in Brian's warpath.
"Well if ain't the stupidest fucker this side of...anywhere. What, no more pot, lil' Zacky? No more porn? Shame, cause ya know, it makes me proud to see someone fuck up worse than I have. A real pleasure, yanno?"
Having your life threatened by Russian bookies really puts the self preservation back in you, so Zack smartly didn't stand up, only sat there watching Brian and making sure he didn't step in the broken glass or use it on Zack's face. Not likely to happen, but Brian was a creative fucker, so who knows where his brain was at at this point.
"Whut? Got nuthin' to say now? Callin' me an alcohy before, weren't cha?" Brian stumbled forward slightly, barely grabbing ahold of the doorframe. Zack lifted his arms just in case. Though watching his friend fall down the stairs might have some sort of poetic irony, a dead Brian would equal bad. "Heh, trying to save me, are ya? Well fuck you, I kin take care o' myself jus' fine. You the one...messed up."
"Brian, look, I'm sorr-OW DAMMIT." For in the midst of his grand apology, Brian reached down and grabbed a handful of Zack's hair, pulling the other to his feet. "Get off me, you stinking drunk!"
The next second, Zack was flying again, this time across the kitchen towards the living room that was still a rotten mess. He stumbled upright and noticed that there was a leather couch that had been unearthed. The pile sitting to the right of it told him that Brian had swiped it off before crashing. He turned back to look at the intoxicated man in time for him to be shoved backwards toward said couch.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Regaining his balance, Zack dropped into his own defensive stance, mind taking a second to state holy shit, I haven't tussled with him since...forever. He tried not to think of the last outcome of their fight when he cocked a fist back to throw a punch. For a drunk, Brian was pretty fucking spry because as Zack's fist flew, he sidestepped and grabbed the other's wrist, twisting it until the rest of Zack's body followed, driving him into the ground. A small cry sounded as bones ground together in Brian's tight grip.
"Lookit you, fuckin' weak. You were always the weak one Zack. Never stood up for anytin', just talked 'n talked 'n pretended to be all Vengeance. Think the chicks you did ever knew the real bitch you were?"
Zack groaned as the grip tightened, then swiped his leg out to catch Brian behind the knee, sending the bigger man tumbling. In a feat that surprised himself, Zack leapt after Brian, landing across the other's chest. "Shut up!" he spat, unleashing his pent up frustration on Brian's face. He got in a few good hits before his arms were seized and they were flipped, finding himself pinned to the floor. It was Zack's turn to see pretty colors as faded 'Marlboro' rearranged his face.
Perhaps all the hits had gone to his head, for while Brian was punching away, he noticed that his intoxicated, but rather attractive friend was in fact straddling him, and he was in fact before this moment, straddling his friend. The next shot loosened a memory of last night's excursion, one man bending over another as he took him from behind.
Is this really the time to think of porn, brain?! Zack finally moved to his defense, brining his arms up to block the punches still raining down. After Brian's fist found the cast on his left arm and Zack cried out again, he decided to inflict his own damage might be the only way to stop Brian. Grabbing onto his friend's hips, he realized belatedly this plan might have one flaw. His brain was still stuck in gutter land.
So when he felt his dick begin to stiffen up, Zack's eyes went wide and he redoubled his efforts to get Brian off of him. While he might be relatively okay with his homo-erotic thoughts, the other might just actually kill him.
What he didn't expect, however, was Brian to take a break from his face, leaning back to catch his breath, his eyes widening in utter shock as he felt Zack beneath him.
"You sick fag! Gettin' off on this shit? What kind of fuck up are you?"
Zack really didn't want to point out that Brian's hands, which had been beating him to shit, were now playing with his t-shirt, skimming the ribs beneath. Guess while being an angry drunk, Brian was also a massively ADHD drunk. Oh freaking joy. This was one of those times where playing dead might be the best option. Especially since he was solely concentrating on his dick, willing it to go down, thinking of everything from dying puppies to grandma tits. But damn, Brian's hands were distracting. Closing his eyes, he bit his lip to stop the soft sound from leaving his mouth.
The hands stopped, and when Zack blinked to see why, he noticed the other's try to focus hard on his fingers. The shock was replaced by lust, quickly shut down by outrage. Shit.
His face met leather as Brian seized him around the neck and pulled up, thrusting the smaller man into the front of the couch. Zack was once again straddled, this time weight being distributed across the backs of his thighs. There were a few positives to this. Brian could no longer use his face for target practice, and he might actually get some action (finally!). But he crossed his fingers anyway.
Whiskey-heated breath ghosted behind Zack's ear, followed by the voice that had probably bedded about half of the female population. "Gotta tell ya Zack, you look somethin' pretty, laid out beneath me, bitin' your lip."
He felt incisors bite down on his lobe, but something about being tossed around like potatoes makes a person wary to start sexual situation. "Brian, don't. Stop."
"You wanted this, shut the fuck up." Lithe fingers slipped underneath Zack's shirt as Brian continued his more pleasurable assault on the other's neck.
"No, you're gonna hate me when you're sober." Zack couldn't really keep the tremor out of his voice. Really, who would be able to with freaking Brian Haner Jr latched onto your neck and straddling you? "You're gonna kick me outta the fucking house. Just stop."
He tried to push up on both his arms, casted one protesting slightly at the extra weight added by Brian, who apparently had other ideas. His hands yanked out of Zack's shirt and cut across Zack's wrists, causing the wounded man to fall back to the couch with a pained grunt. Seeming to be done playing above the waist, Brian reached around to the button of Zack's jeans, wrenching the zipper down with again, too much grace for someone so drunk.
Zack twisted his hips, trying to dislodge the man above. What he hadn't counted on was Brian simply leaning back to allow that to happen, then moving nearly too quickly to get Zack's pants down further.
"No Brian! Get off me!" Sending a right hook forward, he caught Brian under the jaw. Which would have worked brilliantly if Brian hadn't tightened his grip on reflex.
"Shouldn'ta done that, Baker." Tongue flicked out and tasted the blood that speckled his outer lip. "Then again, little rough makes it more fun."
"What part of 'get off me' means rough sex Brian?! Stop this shit now!" Maybe it was best to lie there and not do anything, maybe he'd get bored and go back to Jack.
Zack should've figured, the way his luck was going, that wasn't gonna happen.
Brian's hand snaked its way inside Zack's boxers, groaning as Zack pulsed beneath his hand. "Yeah, you want me to stop alright. Next time, don't watch gay porn in my house. Don't make all those noises and have such suggestive body language."
A smartass comment would've come out of Zack's pierced lips if it weren't for the low whimper that got in the way. The protests also died as Brian leaned forward and caught his mouth in a earth shattering kiss that clearly told him that Brian owned him in every way possible.
As he again moved to Zack's neck and sucked fresh marks there, the other whimpered out, "Please" and neither cared nor knew if he meant please stop or please continue. This time Brian's hands were successful with ripping the cotton from Zack's body, fabric shredded in the rather caveman display. He growled and attacked a soft chest, urging nipples into hard peaks. Zack wove his fingers through the other's hair, brain faltering and only gibberish spilling from his lips. Brian growled again and tugged at Zack's pants, clearly wanting a bit of help in getting them off. Zack complied, lifting his hips, meeting Brian's and echoing the other's groan as their erections brushed. Oh sure, I'm the sick fag. But Zack's brain turned off completely as Brian too shod his clothing.
"Well damn." For someone protesting so loudly before, the both of them certainly got into the whole sex business as Zack ran his hands up Brian's torso. Life as a reclusive professor hadn't dulled his physique and Zack would be damned if he didn't love every inch of it while he could. He leaned up, shooting a quick look at Brian's face (cause hello, don't need to be punched when naked, thankyouverymuch), but only saw lust, giving him all the encouragement he needed. He licked a pathway up to Brian's collarbone, nipping gently along it, humming as Brian's hand wound it's way into Zack's hair. Considering how much he enjoyed the attention on his own nipples, he returned the favor by swirling his tongue around the nub, then bit down, earning a rich groan from the other man. His head was jerked back by the hand still entwined in his hair, confronted by wide blown pupils surrounded by chocolate. Brian's other hand came up to press two fingers against Zack's lips, "Suck."
This time, Zack didn't shiver from fear. Nah, it was more of a holy-crap-that's-one-sexy-ass-voice. So he obeyed, in a way. He put more effort into it than he should have, but the look he got in return clearly told him that yes, Brian too would much rather have his dick in Zack's mouth as well. Brian's other hand reached beneath Zack's thigh and lifted, scooting himself between the other's legs and bending his legs up to his chest. He grinned wickedly then pulled his fingers free with an obscene Pop! only to move them down to Zack's ass.
Green eyes squeezed tight against the intrusion below, but no move was made to stop Brian from opening him up. And soon enough, pain became pleasure as a fingertip brushed something inside, and Zack saw a different kind of star behind his eyelids. They both paused at that moment, awe struck at the reaction.
"So that's what I've heard about." Zack panted, and raised an eyebrow as Brian busted out in laughter, actual laughter for the first time in over 5 years. Strangely, it sent a bigger tingle down Zack's spine than any amount of prostate stimulation ever would. 'Course, as Brian added another finger and jabbed at it again, there may have been a debate, considering the loud cry that burst from Zack's throat.
His hands tightened around Brian's back, leaving half-moon marks behind, in danger of drawing droplets of blood. When a hand started pumping his dick in time with the fingers inside him, Zack threw cautions to the wind.
"Please, Brian. Fuck me, fuck me now. Want you inside." To him, the words sounded desperate, submissive. But apparently Brian took them as standing orders, and removed his fingers only to spit in his palm, stroking his own cock quickly. He guided himself in, leaning down once again to capture Zack's mouth. It was a good thing he did, too, because Zack felt like he had been split in two, and would've cussed enough to make Christian Bale blush if not for the clever distraction of Brian's tongue. Instead, a small whimper escaped as Brian bottomed out. Zack was momentarily brought out of his lust by confusion as the other looked down in concern and whispered "sorry" against Zack's temple, brushing soft kisses down to his jaw-line. But as he bit down on the smooth neck below him, and shallowly thrust out and in experimentally, all trace of pain was lost as Zack's eyes rolled back.
"That's it baby." The hand on Zack's cock began moving in time with Brian's thrusts, a steady see-saw effect that had the bottom quivering like an arrow ready to shoot.
Zack would've liked to say it lasted for half the night, but c'mon. Both men will grudgingly admit not having any action since their last tour, and dear lord, did they know how to press each other's buttons. So when Brian gripped Zack's dick extra tight and licked across the tattooed A under his ear, the smaller man shuddered and came hard, the muscles inside milking Brian for all he was worth, Zack raking his nails down his back sending him over the edge into pure oblivion. The addict didn't know whether to be turned on or grossed out by the come filling his ass, but erred on the side of it was weird, and kind of nice.
Collapsing like they took turns running a marathon, Brian and Zack stayed intertwined, not really caring as a limb there or a hand there fell asleep.
"Ya know, I could so use a blunt right now." Brian sighed, saying the first thing that popped into his mind.
Too tired to punch his friend, Zack simply glared and sneered, "Gee, thanks asshole."
"Shit." Bad thing about after-sex Brian was, he got real truthful. And forgot the whole tact thing. Not that he really held store for tact in normal life, but post-coitus and he would tell you your arms looked like hams and plastic surgery would've been better spent on your face than your boobs. "Ya know, you are still a huge fuck up. How the fuck did you manage to screw up so badly?" To add insult to injury, he moved so that he could wrap his arms around Zack's middle and pressed his face into the back of his neck.
Zack wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in those warm arms, but while he hadn't minded being the bottom on their sexapade, he was done being the bitch on this whole "who's more fucked up" jag.
So he surged to his feet, "Fuck you Brian! Enough of this shit where you pick on me!" He hadn't really expected the shock on Brian's face at the moment, which was kind of hilarious. Straight face man, c'mon. Serious Zack time. "You're still a fucking alcoholic, and thank you, it's true. The bruises on me are fucking proof!"
"Oh fuck off Zack. I'm not an alcoholic." After-sex Brian was also a lazy sort of creature, and when coupled with the aftereffects of alcohol, he was practically supine.
Starkly contrasted, Zack was ready to roll. Well okay, not roll in the hay, cause hello sore ass, but he wanted to win this argument for once and all. "Really? You're not? Where did all the booze downstairs go then? Out the drain? Where do you keep your stash now? I know you have one. I know you, Brian!"
He stomped to the kitchen (trying to ignore the liquid now sluggishly flowing down his thigh), which given the fact he cleaned it from top to bottom, was free of whiskey, but he had point to prove. Flinging open cupboards, he was surprised to note that Brian didn't really attempt to stop him. Then again, that could be the whole after-sex-sleeping-jungle-cat-thing.
Next was Brian's bedroom, which considering it was torn apart anyway, wasn't that hard to search. He grabbed up a sheet that was haphazardly crumpled at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around his naked body. "Where is it all Brian? We're gonna end this shit tonight, I swear to God."
Then he remembered the locked door. He stopped in front of it, in Brian's line of vision, a foot poised to kick the damned door down (what, doesn't everyone go Rambo while wearing your friend's bed-sheet?). "Is it here?"
He'd expected Brian to get pissed, to tell him to shut the fuck up and forget about it all. What he hadn't expected was for his friend's face to drain of all color and shout "DON'T!" in a manner that was more scared shitless than pissed that Zack would break the door.
"Fuck you Brian." And reeling back, Zack stomped hard on the door directly to the left of the knob. Funny thing about watching too much TV when stoned out of your mind, you actually learn shit. First kick didn't budge it, but as Zack noticed Brian dive from the couch to try and stop him, he geared up quickly and kicked out again, splintering wood and falling over into the room from the momentum.
Zack's eyes widened as the debris settled. "Holy fucking shit on a plate."
AN2: hey, if you happen to be reading this, and haven't commented yet, could ya drop me a line? anything really, i'm easy. just comment with "reading" or "this is shit" or "i want to have your babies, you awesome author, you." again, anything. it doesn't even have to be truthful. thanks!