Not Real People.
This never happened.
Beta by elucidate_this
Smooth, soft, silken skin rubbed against him and long, sharp fingernails scratched up his back. Strong, slender legs wrapped around his thighs as he slowly moved in and out of her, his face buried in the perfume of her blonde hair.
David kept his eyes closed, bit hard on his bottom lip, Fuck. Why did he drink bourbon instead of eating dinner? This hard on was not going away and he wasn’t anywhere near orgasm. He was not getting any closer, because this was not what he wanted. It wasn’t that he did not appreciate her body or her smile. She was beautiful and she loved him and wanted him and David used to feel the same way.
He had lusted after her with a passion that scared both of them. Chased her fearlessly until she couldn’t see anyone but him in her life or in her future. He’d been overjoyed when she became pregnant and spent every free moment by her side, measuring the changes of her abdomen with the span of his palms and the length of his fingers. He would have willingly taken the pain of his son’s birth from her if given the choice, but all he could do at the time was to stand by in awe as a life he’d helped create was brought into his world.
So what had changed?
Smokey blue green eyes that burnt, long brown hair tangled and knotted in his fingers, fire and spit and biting. Lips that kissed him even as he said ‘I don’t want this’. Unshaven jaw and cheeks that scraped his shoulders and strong, callused, guitar-picking hands that wrapped around his cock. Yanked and twisted until David was blaspheming his parents, his heritage, his God. Pulled until he was coming hard, tears leaking from his eyes, his teeth grinding and nothing left inside him. Everything given and taken and his soul kidnapped and held hostage by the low southern voice, a smile that didn’t mean happiness, by words never spoken.
“Chris . . .” With one unconscious whisper David finally came inside his wife, his fingers tight on her shoulders, hips still thrusting through the shudders and aftershocks and it took a moment for his brain to catch up. She was not moving at all. He pushed up on his elbows, opened his eyes and read the truth on her face of the lie he’d been hiding.
She was gone in two hours. Called two friends to help pack her clothes. She took his son, the family car, and the keys to the beach house in Malibu. The card of a lawyer left beside the phone in the kitchen.
David sat by the pool in the dark, drinking Jack from the bottle and chain smoking. He couldn’t taste the whiskey or the smoke and he thought he could actually hear the crinkle and tear of the world cracking around him.
“Got another bottle?”
David didn’t move. His body a lead weight, empty and stiff and dead. He heard the patio door open and shut and the clink of beer being brought from the kitchen. The scrape of a deck chair beside him and boots kicked off to the side, the metal snap of a Zippo and the sweet smell of pot. A heavy sigh, a noisy swallow and the alcohol gasp that came after.
“Why are you here?” David wanted his voice to contain all the anger he couldn’t release, but instead his words just fell out, sad and dry on the still warm concrete.
“Got a phone call. From your wife. Told me that you were now available and that I should get my dirty, cock-sucking, husband stealing, fucked up ass over here, just in case you might be thinking of doing something stupid. She wants her child support and alimony and full residuals and mentioned something about a million dollar life insurance policy that doesn’t pay out for suicide, although accidental death would be fine. She was on a roll, I’m telling you. I hung up on her.” David felt the touch of Chris’ hand on his arm, holding out the marijuana. “Take a hit, D. You’ll feel better in the morning. Trust me.”
“I don’t feel anything now. How am I going to feel better then?” David shook his head and took another long pull from the whiskey. He saw Chris from the corner of his eyes; shrug, sit back and inhale, and put his face up to the faint, far away stars as he held the smoke in his lungs.
There was nothing more said that night. Chris sipped at his beer and smoked, and David drank himself into a stupor. He was sobbing when Chris finally pulled him up and dragged him in the house. Tears falling from his jaw to the smooth skin of his chest and over Chris’ hands as he held David then dropped him in his bed.
Chris sat in a chair, his feet up on the mattress, the TV on with no sound across from him and David could still smell her on the sheets and the pillows.
When he started vomiting, Chris helped him get to the bathroom, sat on the edge of the tub and handed him a towel when he was done. Then he changed the sheets and blankets and led him back. He took the dirty ones to the laundry room, searched through the cabinets for soap and started the machine. Returned to the bedroom and his chair and watched as David slept, listened to his mumbled words and made sure he didn’t roll off.
Hours later, David came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and pain filled his eyes. He saw Chris in the chair, rolling the kinks out of his neck and there was no denial left in his world.
“Why are you still here?”
“Why not?” Chris asked and David moved to stand in front of him. He tried to not notice the automatic flinch, as if Chris expected to be hit.
“This is wrong.” David whispered. His fingers reached for Chris’ shirt, recoiled, then touching again.
“Yeah.” David felt warm breath and soft hair on his skin as Chris leaned forward. Felt the heat of mouth on dick through the towel. He closed his eyes, let Chris pull it off of him, and there was the burn of lips and tongue and teeth. Never gentle or hesitant, just hard and hurting and God. So real. So there.
Chris didn’t tease him. Didn’t play games. Just want and take and have since the first time they’d met. And David had never found the strength inside to push him away. His whispers of ‘ . . . no . . . no . . . stop . . .’ not heard over the torn clothing, the heated kisses, and the wet slap of flesh against flesh. The way David’s hands pulled Chris’ hair and dug into his skull when David’s mind was being blown straight out of his head. And David would feel Chris’ fingers, wet with lube or spit or come, demand that his thighs part and enter him with harsh force. Too much. Too fast. Too right.
“This is mine.” Chris would say, his voice low and throaty. Allowing no argument, no discussion.
David would nod, far past the point of no. His eyes large and dark and he could see nothing but Chris, “Yes. Fuck, yes. Just do it now.”
Sometimes, when Chris was spent, fingerprints perfectly bruised into David’s hips or shoulders or neck, his come running down the strong curve of David’s legs, Chris would turn in his arms, rub his ass up against the heat of David’s pulsing, dripping cock, “Fuck me. Like you mean it. Like you need it. Like I’m yours.”
And David would slide his dick straight into heaven. Smooth, tight, burning hot, clenching muscles holding him, pushing up against him. Making him fight for every thrust, forcing him to want what he was taking. Chris never gave it up easily, he never begged and he would not ask twice.
Afterwards, David would feel exactly like what had happened. Like he had been raped and drained. Stretched and bent over and emptied and he couldn’t fucking wait for the next time Chris would look at him. His lips curved in a smirk, his eyes bright, shining with coke and whiskey or hazed with pot and beer, his voice a growl,
“Come here boy.”
Even now, his life torn and gone, shattered around him, broken shards of stained glass that cut into the soles of his feet . . . his wife knew. She fucking knew . . . David could not resist Chris. His thighs shook as Chris sucked at him, his fingers a tight, almost painful ring at the base of David’s cock, holding his orgasm in check. Chris pulled his mouth off and stood up, never letting go with his hand. He waited until David opened his eyes, the brown a stark contrast to the blood shot white.
“Take me to your bed, Dave.”
“No. Not our, not my bed.” David shook his head, even as he let Chris back him up to the edge of the mattress.
“Shit, it’s just a bed, D. Somethin’ to lie on. Sleep in. Just another place to fuck you senseless.”
It was morphine and heroin, this sinking, swirling, losing feeling. The knowledge that no matter what he said or did or believed, David would do whatever Chris asked. Whatever he needed. David knew that as he pulled Chris down on the soft down comforter and the Percale sheets, and he was kissing Chris, letting the scrape of stubble cut his dry lips, he was crying again. Silent tears that didn’t match the sounds of lust and heat that bubbled up from inside and spilled out his mouth. Fingers and hands that helped Chris out of his clothes even as they shook and trembled, at war with the pain inside.
Chris grabbed at the lotion that sat on the nightstand, slicked up his cock and pushed David’s legs apart. He slid into David, fast and smooth, inhaled the gasp and moan and licked up the wet salty trails that scattered on David’s cheeks. David felt Chris settle deep inside him and stop. No withdrawal, no push, pull, thrust and yank. He just stopped. And David opened his eyes, found two dark blue ones, close, looking back at him.
“You want this.” Chris spoke into his mouth, hot breath, hotter skin. “You need me.” He didn’t wait for David to answer. Chris’ tongue snaked out, licking David’s lips, inhaled the soft groan as he started moving. The sound could’ve been yes or no or nothing at all and David couldn’t close his eyes. Didn’t dare turn away from Chris, wanted to know for himself that this was what he had chosen. Chris’ hand slipped down between them, hard fingers wrapped around David’s cock, pulling him up by the root with each thrust inside and David’s vision swam with colors he couldn’t name, but he still wouldn’t close his eyes.
David felt Chris’ body tremble as he came, watched his face tighten. Lips thinning as if he was in pain, then the relaxation, the deep breath and David tasted sweat on his lips that dropped from Chris’ temples. Chris fell into him, his forehead cushioned by pillows, and his chin dug into David’s shoulder.
Chris moved slowly down David’s body, dragging his mouth on the smooth skin of his chest. He sat back on his knees, brushed sweaty, dirty hair out of his eyes and looked down. His fingers were still locked around David’s cock and David had been held on this plateau for so long he’d forgotten what it felt like to come. Trapped in this heat, his mind was an empty ball, bouncing to the beat of his heart and the pulse in his groin. He wasn’t sure if he was thankful or not when Chris opened his mouth and took him in. Released his tight hold and slid his fingers into David’s wet, stretched ass, scraping over that sweet spot and drinking him down as he came. Hard and fast, thrusting up as David’s hands pushed the back of his head closer, smashing into him and it just went on and on and Chris kept sucking even after David was empty and drained and it wasn’t good anymore. It hurt now. He was too sensitive and Chris was too close and this was too real.
They sat by the pool in the twilight, drinking beer and Jack and smoking Marlboros and marijuana.
“I’m going after her.” David’s voice was low and he didn’t look at Chris. Just listened to the exhalation that was filled with smoke and resignation.
So ~ not my usual thing. Your thoughts and feedback would be appreciated and snuggled and licked and, yeah . . . like that.