{Fic} May 7: Seperate From the Rest (Dead Zone; Bruce/Johnny)
Separate from the Rest
By Clarity Scifiroots
Regular disclaimers apply. Although this is completely AU. Title from a line in “Between the Bars” by Elliott Smith.
Fandom/Characters: Dead Zone - Bruce/Johnny
Rated: FRAO light sexual description
Summary: In another life, they might have met like this.
May!fic 7 of 31
---
Tonight he’s called to a VIP grand suite in the most prestigious hotel in Vegas. A new client, Heather told him. “Our boy needs an extra dose of relaxation. Use those beautiful hands of yours and work some magic, hmm? He promises a tidy sum if his evening is satisfactory... May even invest in a few days.” Her smile promised punishment if he failed.
He provides his ID to the young man in the elevator before he’s allowed to the top floor. He exits the elevator alone and slowly walks down the hall. He’s done this for years, yet tonight he feels the stirrings of anxiety.
Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door. And waits. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. He considers knocking again but the door finally opens. He looks up through his eyelashes, knowing how appealing it is.
The man standing inside is of average build, little taller than himself, has bronze-gold hair, pale-skinned, and leans heavily on an ebony cane. The blonde’s pale blue eyes are shuttered, revealing nothing.
“I believe you talked with Heather? I’m Bruce.” He’s never known if he ought to offer his hand. Some customers solve that problem; this man isn’t one of them.
Blondie steps back, allowing Bruce to pass through before he shuts and triple-locks the door. Bruce barely suppresses a shiver as he hears each click. Heather’s always been careful, but she’s not infallible.
“I’ve been informed,” Bruce starts quietly, “that you might be interested in a massage.” He again glances through his eyelashes. “I’m very good with my hands,” he offers.
The blonde stares at him for a few tense moments. Finally he nods and speaks for the first time. “I’m John.”
Bruce nods. He looks around surreptitiously for an idea of which room he should head toward. John notices his hesitance and leads the way. Bruce notes the way John balances himself, the tension of shoulders and hands at each limping step. This is a man used to living with pain but far from immune to it.
They step into the bedroom-simplistic modern design with black satin sheets and a black-and-white comforter folded at the foot of the bed. The balcony door is open, letting in a cool breeze. John stops, moves his cane in front of him. Bruce takes his cue and moves to the dresser. He sets down his bag and removes the massage oils: two natural, ones he’s picked out himself, and one “KY Personal Lubricant” (he hates that shit but has it at Heather’s behest).
Bruce shrugs off his jacket, folding it and setting it off to the side. He turns to look at John; the man’s body screams tension and discomfort. Suddenly Bruce feels relaxed and perfectly calm.
He offers a real smile to John. “Listen, you have complete control here. You set the pace and the boundaries. I know Heather gave you the rundown, so I hope you know that you can ask anything. But if I say stop, that’s it and we move on. Or I leave.” He manages to catch John’s eyes-emotion finally sparking in the pale blue. “I have the feeling I can trust you,” Bruce admits.
Quickly he looks away and fingers the bottles he’s set out. “Let’s start with a massage. Do you have a preference...?”
John hesitates before limping closer. He scans the bottles briefly then indicates one of the natural oils with a mild scent. Bruce nods and picks it up. John’s hand on his arm makes him look up, and he’s caught by a gaze that is suddenly flooded with boiling emotions spinning by faster than he can track. Bruce is breathless when John blinks, returning to his shuttered stare.
“I’d like you to, ah”-John’s gaze flickers down to Bruce’s hand, and he licks his lip nervously-“undress me.”
Bruce runs his fingers over John’s shoulder in response. With practiced ease, Bruce leads the blonde to the bed. He sets aside the massage oil as John sits and takes off his shoes. Bruce waits until John straightens up and then caresses his arms.
The buttons Bruce maneuvers with his fingertips are smooth and shiny, slipping easily through their holes. John wears no undershirt; his chest is as pale as his hands and face. Bruce rubs John’s hands before unbuttoning the shirt cuffs. He soothes the blonde’s tension as he moves the shirt down. When he shifts, the city lights cast a different shine on the pale skin and he suddenly sees what John must be worried about.
Scars are nothing new, so Bruce can tell these are from some sort of accident and surgeries. He runs a finger lightly over the vicious two-inch patch of white under John’s ribs. The blonde bites off a gasp and closes his eyes. Bruce moves his free hand to cup John’s head and leans forward to press his lips to the man’s forehead. He feels a shiver run through John’s body.
“Can I touch?” he asks softly.
John’s nod is short and his eyes are still closed when Bruce kneels and looks closer at the pearly white marks on the man’s torso. Patiently he moves his fingers over each, studying how John breathes and how his body reacts to every touch. He makes a decision and leans forward, kissing John’s sternum. When John inhales sharply and brings a hand to the back of Bruce’s head, he parts his lips and moves over the right pectoral. His tongue finds the change of skin texture; he laves attention on the nipple as John’s hands bring him closer.
Bruce finds himself naked, sitting beside an equally naked blonde not long after. They’re both half erect but Bruce’s goal is not yet to encourage the sexual. He warms the massage oil in his palms before touching John’s thigh. Just above the knee are sunken scars where surgery salvaged what it could of damaged tissue. John groans, pained, and Bruce whispers comforting phrases as he slowly works out the knots.
---
Johnny feels like he’s sinking into the mattress. This is a piece of heaven: relatively pain-free, mind clear without the usual codeine haze, and tender hands sending ripples of pleasure throughout his body. It’s been so long since he’s let his body detox. It’s been even longer since he can remember having more than a few hours’ respite from the visions.
The visions made him The Psychic back home. Local news stations and papers hailed his recovery from a six-year coma as a miracle, his ESP as a blessing or a curse or some other sign of external powers. He can’t make the visions go away, no more than he can escape the pain engulfing his body.
However, in this moment, during his first night in Vegas in an exorbitantly pricey hotel with a comparatively expensive companion, he finds peace. He’s had only one vision tonight and it left him with promises of pleasure to come.
Bruce finished a full-body massage only minutes ago. Now he lies between Johnny’s legs, his head resting on Johnny’s hip as he wraps his fist around Johnny’s penis. It’s surreal, looking down his body and seeing a dark hand, a stranger’s hand, urging him towards ecstasy. Odder still is the contented expression on Bruce’s face; his lips wear a gentle smile. Bruce’s free hand is curled over Johnny’s, occasionally tightening as if reaffirming his presence.
Johnny closes his eyes and allows himself to get lost in the moment.
---
Bruce stands on the balcony, completely naked, utterly relaxed. He stares over the city and marvels at the perspective one gets at this height. Presently he feels like he might walk on air. There’s an inexplicable sense of bliss overwhelming reality, keeping him warm despite the desert’s chilly night.
In the bedroom John lies on the bed, deeply asleep. Bruce saw the codeine and other painkillers on the bathroom shelves when he’d showered. It seemed unimaginable that John could sleep without the medication; Bruce hopes he has something to do with that. He glances over his shoulder to study the pale body tucked beneath inky black sheets. Something about this man captivates him. He hopes Heather was telling the truth about the blonde asking for extended days. Bruce isn’t ready to leave yet.
Eventually he returns to the bed and slips beneath the sheets. He lays on his side, facing the blonde so that he can comfortably wrap his arm over John’s torso. He settles in and kisses the blonde’s shoulder.
--- Fin (for now) ---
Story continues in Potential
(Fulfilling this fleeting idea I’ve had in my head since yesterday of Bruce in the pleasure business...)
And yes, Heather is a nod to Lady Heather from CSI.
By Clarity Scifiroots
Regular disclaimers apply. Although this is completely AU. Title from a line in “Between the Bars” by Elliott Smith.
Fandom/Characters: Dead Zone - Bruce/Johnny
Rated: FRAO light sexual description
Summary: In another life, they might have met like this.
May!fic 7 of 31
---
Tonight he’s called to a VIP grand suite in the most prestigious hotel in Vegas. A new client, Heather told him. “Our boy needs an extra dose of relaxation. Use those beautiful hands of yours and work some magic, hmm? He promises a tidy sum if his evening is satisfactory... May even invest in a few days.” Her smile promised punishment if he failed.
He provides his ID to the young man in the elevator before he’s allowed to the top floor. He exits the elevator alone and slowly walks down the hall. He’s done this for years, yet tonight he feels the stirrings of anxiety.
Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door. And waits. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. He considers knocking again but the door finally opens. He looks up through his eyelashes, knowing how appealing it is.
The man standing inside is of average build, little taller than himself, has bronze-gold hair, pale-skinned, and leans heavily on an ebony cane. The blonde’s pale blue eyes are shuttered, revealing nothing.
“I believe you talked with Heather? I’m Bruce.” He’s never known if he ought to offer his hand. Some customers solve that problem; this man isn’t one of them.
Blondie steps back, allowing Bruce to pass through before he shuts and triple-locks the door. Bruce barely suppresses a shiver as he hears each click. Heather’s always been careful, but she’s not infallible.
“I’ve been informed,” Bruce starts quietly, “that you might be interested in a massage.” He again glances through his eyelashes. “I’m very good with my hands,” he offers.
The blonde stares at him for a few tense moments. Finally he nods and speaks for the first time. “I’m John.”
Bruce nods. He looks around surreptitiously for an idea of which room he should head toward. John notices his hesitance and leads the way. Bruce notes the way John balances himself, the tension of shoulders and hands at each limping step. This is a man used to living with pain but far from immune to it.
They step into the bedroom-simplistic modern design with black satin sheets and a black-and-white comforter folded at the foot of the bed. The balcony door is open, letting in a cool breeze. John stops, moves his cane in front of him. Bruce takes his cue and moves to the dresser. He sets down his bag and removes the massage oils: two natural, ones he’s picked out himself, and one “KY Personal Lubricant” (he hates that shit but has it at Heather’s behest).
Bruce shrugs off his jacket, folding it and setting it off to the side. He turns to look at John; the man’s body screams tension and discomfort. Suddenly Bruce feels relaxed and perfectly calm.
He offers a real smile to John. “Listen, you have complete control here. You set the pace and the boundaries. I know Heather gave you the rundown, so I hope you know that you can ask anything. But if I say stop, that’s it and we move on. Or I leave.” He manages to catch John’s eyes-emotion finally sparking in the pale blue. “I have the feeling I can trust you,” Bruce admits.
Quickly he looks away and fingers the bottles he’s set out. “Let’s start with a massage. Do you have a preference...?”
John hesitates before limping closer. He scans the bottles briefly then indicates one of the natural oils with a mild scent. Bruce nods and picks it up. John’s hand on his arm makes him look up, and he’s caught by a gaze that is suddenly flooded with boiling emotions spinning by faster than he can track. Bruce is breathless when John blinks, returning to his shuttered stare.
“I’d like you to, ah”-John’s gaze flickers down to Bruce’s hand, and he licks his lip nervously-“undress me.”
Bruce runs his fingers over John’s shoulder in response. With practiced ease, Bruce leads the blonde to the bed. He sets aside the massage oil as John sits and takes off his shoes. Bruce waits until John straightens up and then caresses his arms.
The buttons Bruce maneuvers with his fingertips are smooth and shiny, slipping easily through their holes. John wears no undershirt; his chest is as pale as his hands and face. Bruce rubs John’s hands before unbuttoning the shirt cuffs. He soothes the blonde’s tension as he moves the shirt down. When he shifts, the city lights cast a different shine on the pale skin and he suddenly sees what John must be worried about.
Scars are nothing new, so Bruce can tell these are from some sort of accident and surgeries. He runs a finger lightly over the vicious two-inch patch of white under John’s ribs. The blonde bites off a gasp and closes his eyes. Bruce moves his free hand to cup John’s head and leans forward to press his lips to the man’s forehead. He feels a shiver run through John’s body.
“Can I touch?” he asks softly.
John’s nod is short and his eyes are still closed when Bruce kneels and looks closer at the pearly white marks on the man’s torso. Patiently he moves his fingers over each, studying how John breathes and how his body reacts to every touch. He makes a decision and leans forward, kissing John’s sternum. When John inhales sharply and brings a hand to the back of Bruce’s head, he parts his lips and moves over the right pectoral. His tongue finds the change of skin texture; he laves attention on the nipple as John’s hands bring him closer.
Bruce finds himself naked, sitting beside an equally naked blonde not long after. They’re both half erect but Bruce’s goal is not yet to encourage the sexual. He warms the massage oil in his palms before touching John’s thigh. Just above the knee are sunken scars where surgery salvaged what it could of damaged tissue. John groans, pained, and Bruce whispers comforting phrases as he slowly works out the knots.
---
Johnny feels like he’s sinking into the mattress. This is a piece of heaven: relatively pain-free, mind clear without the usual codeine haze, and tender hands sending ripples of pleasure throughout his body. It’s been so long since he’s let his body detox. It’s been even longer since he can remember having more than a few hours’ respite from the visions.
The visions made him The Psychic back home. Local news stations and papers hailed his recovery from a six-year coma as a miracle, his ESP as a blessing or a curse or some other sign of external powers. He can’t make the visions go away, no more than he can escape the pain engulfing his body.
However, in this moment, during his first night in Vegas in an exorbitantly pricey hotel with a comparatively expensive companion, he finds peace. He’s had only one vision tonight and it left him with promises of pleasure to come.
Bruce finished a full-body massage only minutes ago. Now he lies between Johnny’s legs, his head resting on Johnny’s hip as he wraps his fist around Johnny’s penis. It’s surreal, looking down his body and seeing a dark hand, a stranger’s hand, urging him towards ecstasy. Odder still is the contented expression on Bruce’s face; his lips wear a gentle smile. Bruce’s free hand is curled over Johnny’s, occasionally tightening as if reaffirming his presence.
Johnny closes his eyes and allows himself to get lost in the moment.
---
Bruce stands on the balcony, completely naked, utterly relaxed. He stares over the city and marvels at the perspective one gets at this height. Presently he feels like he might walk on air. There’s an inexplicable sense of bliss overwhelming reality, keeping him warm despite the desert’s chilly night.
In the bedroom John lies on the bed, deeply asleep. Bruce saw the codeine and other painkillers on the bathroom shelves when he’d showered. It seemed unimaginable that John could sleep without the medication; Bruce hopes he has something to do with that. He glances over his shoulder to study the pale body tucked beneath inky black sheets. Something about this man captivates him. He hopes Heather was telling the truth about the blonde asking for extended days. Bruce isn’t ready to leave yet.
Eventually he returns to the bed and slips beneath the sheets. He lays on his side, facing the blonde so that he can comfortably wrap his arm over John’s torso. He settles in and kisses the blonde’s shoulder.
--- Fin (for now) ---
Story continues in Potential
(Fulfilling this fleeting idea I’ve had in my head since yesterday of Bruce in the pleasure business...)
And yes, Heather is a nod to Lady Heather from CSI.