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SORTA FIC: DB/NB RPS
Kita totally asked for it!
Sue totally instigated with teh pretty.
And I . . . wrote porn about names and bodies that exist but people, personalities, and libidos that do not.
Nick, he's about to tuck his fingers under that big buckle of brass (because, you see, Nick is the one with the big balls of brass. Wait, maybe that buckle is silver? That dampens the wit a bit.) Anyway, tuck his fingers under and give a little tug, and Dave will laugh some more and say, "What the fuck?" And Nick will murmur, "It's your collar, see," and move his lips down the exposed line of Dave's throat. "Shit, Nick, are you fucking high, we're in public," Dave will still be laughing, but you'd notice he's doing nothing to stop this. And Nick will bite Dave's ear and say, "Then you should fucking button up," and roll his hips once against Dave's, fingers still hooked behind Dave's buckle, and Dave will suddenly stop laughing, and groan.
And the hand around Nick's shoulders will twitch to flip back Nick's collar farther, and his other hand will grip Nick's chin (kinda hard) so that his breath will go straight into Nick's mouth when he says, "You're one to fucking talk, you dirty fucking slut." And Dave will kiss him and his tongue is big and thick and strong, and suddenly gone, because Dave has pulled back to say, "Christ, Nick, take off those goddamn glasses."
“My disguise,” Nick’s saying, and nipping the corner of Dave’s mouth; “I’m going incognito,” and then Nick’s other hand is inching up Dave’s shirt to reveal a narrow strip of milky skin. Nick licks his lips and Dave is saying, “You’ve got a fucking filthy mouth,” and Nick patiently explains that “incognito” does not mean “in your pants,” but Dave thinks Nick’s voice sounds like it’s saying “in my mouth is where I really, really want your cock.” So that’s why Nick thinks maybe they have like a secret code language because, “I’d be pleased to be your little cocksucking whore,” is actually what he means while he’s explaining about the Flash’s super secret identity, and how you were not to remove his hat lest you reveal that he was actually Jay.
“No, not here,” Dave tells him, which actually means, “Let’s get the fuck out of here, eh, amigo?” or at least Nick tacks that last bit on because he likes to pretend that they’re friends and that this isn’t just stand-in fucking, and also because he thinks that Dave would sound like a complete doofus saying amigo. The fact of it is, Dave is a big doofus, which is why this should be goofing around fucking, a little drunk kinda fucking, a lots of laughs kinda fucking, a the *fuck* did you just put in my ass? kind of fucking. Like you’re shocked, but turned on, and most of all just having a good time.
Instead of Dave slamming Nick up the wall like he did that one time just off-set, right where Ally could see maybe if she’d been paying attention to anything but Alexis, which of course she hadn’t, that little slut. Actually she was sorta cute in love, and—Dave had jerked him around, blocking Nick’s view of Ally, the pushed him to his knees. And Dave had opened his pants, taken out his cock, and said, “Suck me,” and didn’t mention the whole amigo thing there, either, only, “you little fucking cocktease” complete with variations: “tease, you fucking tease, God the way you fucking suck me down you fucking—little—slut—”, which Nick guessed was Dave-speak for “you aren’t a tease but you’re . . . a fucking little slut,” since Nick had never meant for Dave to take his jokes that way (and Nick guessed Dave hadn’t meant to either) and that did not a tease make, but Nick was taking it this way, which maybe did make him a slut. Or whatever. He kinda liked it, he guessed.
But Nick had graduated from happy-on-his-knees to happy-on-his-knees-after-really-being-a-cocktease, so instead of getting the fuck out of there with his large and often weirdly groomed friend he said, “Come on, you like the attention, cameras on you.” Dave removed his hand from where it’d been stroking the shallow shadow of Nick’s hipbone, under Nick’s shirt but just above the sort of low-slung pants, (shut up it was a look he was trying, look at Dave’s clothes, Jesus), and suddenly burst out laughing. “Shit, what’s gotten into you, buddy? Come on let’s go,” and of course Nick it’s utterly lost at that. Lost. Utterly. Because, buddy, maybe there will be beer and shooting the shit and fun with phallic objects and possibly Dave’s tongue—there—and sometimes Nick really, really wanted to shoot rubber bands at Dave’s head from off set when Dave was doing those “if I were blind I could find (your clitoris)” moments with Sarah because nothing should ever be that serious.
“I do like cameras,” Dave’s saying, in the hotel now, walking toward the elevator. “Dude. We should do home movies. That’d be fantastic. You come like you’re on a porno, or something, Nick, begging for it like the only thing you want is more cock inside you. Fucking fantastic!” He’s jabbing the elevator button with his thick, strangely elegant finger and Nick wants it in his mouth, wants two, wants his mouth full in the elevator right there and he almost does it, too, except that Dave has to go and say, “I wonder how much we could make selling those.”
“No way,” Nick says as the elevator doors close, “in front of a camera, you get that smarmy smile, that smirky thing you seem to think is so sexy, that makes you look like a big cheese, like grade A gouda.”
“Does gouda get grades?” Dave looks really interested in this but then he’s already onto the next thing which is, “I do not have a smarmy smile.”
“Do too.”
“You like cameras too.” Dave has a short attention span.
“Do not. See, that’s why I’m incognito.”
Dave laughs uproariously. “You lying son of a bitch.”
He’s shaking his head affectionately which sort of makes Nick forgive him about Dave wanting to sell their porn instead of Dave hoarding it for himself to whack off to for hours and hours and Nick had originally suspected. Hoped. Whatever. “I’m in the biz for the hot chicks,” Nick says with dignity.
“No shit.” The elevator dings. “You calling me a girl?”
“Wasn’t referring to you; the ‘hot’ part should’ve clued you in—”
The elevator doors open and Dave’s pushing Nick out until Nick’s up against the opposite wall and Dave’s panting in his face, “Take the sunglasses off, right now, Nicky, do what I fucking tell you.”
“Or what? You’ll spit on me? I kinda think you already did. Seriously, Dave, spittle control here, you don’t wanna—”
“I wanna,” Dave spits and kisses him, hard, before Dave’s hands are in Nick’s pockets and Nick can feel the heat of the touch through the silky linings on his thighs, and the hairs there are going wonky and maybe kind of straight, kinda like his cock, but kinda unlike his orientation, Nick’s thinking philosophically, when Dave says, “You did. I knew you did. You’re such a dirty little whore, aren’t you, you brought it,” and Dave removed the tube from Nick’s pocket.
“My lips were chapped,” Nick says, and knows he’ll never ever ever pass lube off as Vaseline or chap-stick but Dave laughs, and Nick thinks that’s okay.
“They’re gonna be, when you’ve done wrapping your lips around my cock.” Dave walks down the hall, which makes Nick feel like a real kicked kind of puppy for following along, though Toto he can stand if that makes Dave Dorothy, because the thought of Dave in blue checked gingham’s funny, dammit, but Dave’s on a completely different cross-dressing bent that’s kinda unfunny, as revealed to Nick when Dave says, “You could wear that fucking gloss shit, sticks to everything. The sparkly shit; I wouldn’t mind.” Dave laughs at him and Nick scuffs his shoes because he remembers how this is sheerly stand-in fucking. “Wouldn’t tell a soul, Nick,” Dave says, and guffaws.
He amuses himself, this guy, and Nick is guessing he’ll find some of Sarah’s or Ally’s lipstick in his trailer—or—or Eliza’s, yeah probably Eliza’s, because Eliza would be “huh, what the fuck?” about it, “Dave, are you on crack?” about it, and laugh about it, and of course it’d be Eliza’s because hers was the reddest and the most like a whore’s and he knew because she’d gotten some on his teeth in that one scene and good lord, that girl did not know how to spare on tongue, but neither did Dave, because now they’re inside the hotel room and Dave’s got his big tongue down Nick’s throat again, until he takes it out to say, “gets me hot. That’s fucking weird, isn’t it? Your mouth all pink and shiny and taking down my cock, and I bet it gets you horny too, you get so wet for it, don’t you, just like a girl, aren’t you,” and Dave laughs like it’s all some kind of big joke because for Dave maybe it means, “aren’t I kinky? Isn’t it nice I use you like this?”
Except the answer is yes, it kinda is nice. And because Dave is still laughing, but Nick is silent while he strips and then stretches out on the bed, touching himself and getting himself ready, Nick starts to think maybe it’s not Dave’s fault they skip the beers and get so goddamn serious about it, serious like it’s fucking physics or marriage or beating Kelly on Mario Smash Brothers, fucking goddamn monumental. Maybe it’s Nick’s fault because for Nick this is stand-in fucking too, and if it was anything else that’d be fucking scary; maybe it’s serious because he wouldn’t know how to handle it if they really liked each other. Maybe Nick wants it to be monumental and doesn’t that way lie badness and wrong?
So Dave’s standing just inside the room with his shirt off and his pants open, fisting his cock and saying, “goddamn, just like that, you’re a little fucking whore aren’t you, you want it, you’re ready for me, for me to fuck you, say you want me to fuck you.” And Nick’s got his stomach to the mattress with a pillow under his hips, and instead of obeying with words, Nick’s spreading his ass cheeks wide, mostly because he does wants it—just like Dave says, wants Dave to fuck him good and hard and long and maybe with grunting and possibly name calling and the way Dave likes to bite right behind Nick’s ear—but also possibly because Nick feels fucking ridiculous spreading himself like this, and a secret part of him hopes Dave will tell him to quit being weird or fucked up or at least so stupidly slutty, hopes Dave will laugh, slap him on the ass, tell Nick he doesn’t need to do that, doesn’t need to open himself completely, but Dave doesn’t.
Instead Dave goes silent, comes closer and closer still silent, cat silent, and then grasps Nick’s hips, and that’s the way you hold onto a roller coast, Nick inconsequentially thinks. But then Dave’s tongue is at Nick’s tailbone, then pushing down into the crevice between Nick’s spread cheeks, and then Dave is saying right into Nick’s hole, “God, holding yourself open for me—aren’t you a little slut—God, look at you—waiting for it, you don’t even want my tongue inside you, you want it to be big, you want it to rip you apart, and you’re fucking ready, aren’t you, you’re all slick here and waiting and Christ, Nicky, you’re nothing but a filthy whoring cunt—”
And Dave bites where Nick’s buttocks curve out into thigh, and Nick’s leg sort of spasms, and he thinks again of Toto and isn’t sure that’s actually worse than what Dave just called him, which is why Nick cricks his neck back at Dave and like a smartass says, “I’d’ve settled for your bitch,” and Dave groans, “Christ,” and kneels over him, and then “Fuck,” and splays a hand on Nick’s shoulder to steady himself, and Nick wishes the hand were harder, bruising, and he guesses that’s why he says, “That’s one hell of a pansy-ass grip,” and Dave growls, “Shut your fucking—and for fuck’s sake, Nicky, take the fucking glasses off!”
“They’re for comedic effect,” Nick says, because suddenly he understands, understands that he’s been afraid to laugh. It’s less serious when no one’s laughing. Kelly would say that only in Nick’s fucked up space of head would any of that ever make sense, except Kelly would get it. Dave probably wouldn’t because who knows what the hell goes on behind the seriously high forehead but actually, who the fuck really cares, because Nick isn’t afraid any more, isn’t afraid to want it so badly and isn’t afraid to laugh about it, which always makes it real. And that’s why he arches his back, wiggles his ass, and says, “fuck me,” just as Dave works the broad head of his cock into Nick’s hole. The words make Dave, “oomph,” and “Christ, fuck,” and, “God, you fucking slut, I’m going to fuck you so hard you so hard you’ll feel it right here,” and Nick supposes Dave means right there where Dave is slamming the heel of his hand down into the middle of Nick’s back, holding Nick down as Dave pushes his way inside.
“I don’t feel it right there yet,” is all Nick says, and Dave’s voice is frustrated and panting behind him, Dave’s sweat dampening Nick’s back where Dave still pins him, as if Nick would move, until Nick does move, thrusts his ass back, sighs, and says, “I like being your whore,” which forces an inarticulate sound out of Dave, a sort of guttural thing that Nick knows means, “Yeah, your well-being? I don’t give a fuck any more, Nick, you son of a bitch.” Nick mutters, “That’s it,” which isn’t strictly true, as when Dave pushes the rest of the way in Nick repeats, “That’s it?” which Dave actually knows isn’t an observation of size, but actually Nick saying, “Can’t you go any faster, harder, here I am all spread out and open for you and you don’t even have the decency to ride me so raw I can’t fucking even talk to you that way, can’t even talk I’m being used so hard—hurt so hard—”
But instead Dave pulls out most of the way, laughs, and says, “You saying I don't measure up?”
“That’s fucking right,” Nick laughs.
“We’ll see,” Dave says, and plunges his fingers into Nick’s hair, pulls back hard, so that Nick’s head and neck and back are arched up and Dave is thrusting back inside of Nick, hard. And fast, because now Dave’s hand his smooshing Nick’s face back into the mattress as he pulls out again, working Nick’s body against his movements like a rag doll, like a thing he can force to flow in opposition, and all Nick can say is, “Yeah, like that, use me like that, I’m your fucking slut, or whatever, please—”
“Say that again,” Dave snarls, no laughter now.
“I’m your—”
“The other.”
“Please,” Nick begs. “Please, oh please,” and Dave’s got one hand yanking on Nick’s hair and the other’s crept up to the shoulder, jerking Nick around, pulling, pushing, molding Nick to obey Dave’s cock, and Nick whimpers, “please, harder, fuck me harder; I want it, please.”
He can feel bruises blooming on his shoulder under Dave’s hand, imagines how they’ll look, black and lilac. Can feel Dave’s sweat, imagines how Dave looks, red and sweaty and grunting behind him with great, heaving movements of that large and somehow graceful body. Can feel Dave inside of him, hitting just—that—spot—can feel his own cock hard and neglected and leaking beneath him, so close just from rutting up against the mattress, just from Nick knowing he’s a shameless whore who wants this and really desperately hopes that Dave will stay after this and do the beers and laughing and maybe their ex’s vibrators, and maybe Dave’ll watch TV or play Smash Brothers or do some pot or he doesn’t know what Dave does, probably devises weird outfits and thinks up goofy tricks to play on people, or maybe plays Twister, but maybe Nick will find out if Dave stays until they’re ready to fuck again—
But maybe not and that makes Nick kind of sad, but still not afraid, which is why when Dave says, “Christ, I’m gonna—” Nick laughs, and arches beautifully, so beautifully that when Dave snarls, “stay the fuck still—” Nick knows Dave’s saying it was gorgeous, a white and perfect curve of flesh that should’ve been an arch on a building, maybe, it was—architectural like that. Architecturally sexy. And that’s actually Joss talking, which is you ask Nick is just plain freaky.
So maybe it isn’t something monumental after all, but it’s enough so that afterwards, Dave stands up, still all sweaty, looks down at him and says, “You really could do porno come-shots. You really are that fucking good, Nicky.” He’s very earnest, somehow, grinning like the biggest fucking goofball Nick’s ever seen. Dave presses his lips in thought, then smiles again. “We could make a fucking fortune off of you.”
“I already got a career in show biz,” Nick says, not really caring. Yawns, stretches.
Dave is watching him. Almost anxiously. “Hey. Hey, Nick. You want to go get some beers?” He’s still watching as Nick flicks the dried come off his own belly. “Hey,” he says again. “Let’s go get some fucking beers. Come on, buddy, let’s go.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“And take off those piece of shit.”
“Sure,” Nick says. “No more incognito for me.” He puts the glasses on the nightstand.
“Yeah,” Dave says. “Yeah. Let’s go get some fucking beers.”
They laugh.
I either write off the cuff or agonize forever. Sometimes for years, which is the short version of forever, but still. Why?
Sue totally instigated with teh pretty.
And I . . . wrote porn about names and bodies that exist but people, personalities, and libidos that do not.
Nick, he's about to tuck his fingers under that big buckle of brass (because, you see, Nick is the one with the big balls of brass. Wait, maybe that buckle is silver? That dampens the wit a bit.) Anyway, tuck his fingers under and give a little tug, and Dave will laugh some more and say, "What the fuck?" And Nick will murmur, "It's your collar, see," and move his lips down the exposed line of Dave's throat. "Shit, Nick, are you fucking high, we're in public," Dave will still be laughing, but you'd notice he's doing nothing to stop this. And Nick will bite Dave's ear and say, "Then you should fucking button up," and roll his hips once against Dave's, fingers still hooked behind Dave's buckle, and Dave will suddenly stop laughing, and groan.
And the hand around Nick's shoulders will twitch to flip back Nick's collar farther, and his other hand will grip Nick's chin (kinda hard) so that his breath will go straight into Nick's mouth when he says, "You're one to fucking talk, you dirty fucking slut." And Dave will kiss him and his tongue is big and thick and strong, and suddenly gone, because Dave has pulled back to say, "Christ, Nick, take off those goddamn glasses."
“My disguise,” Nick’s saying, and nipping the corner of Dave’s mouth; “I’m going incognito,” and then Nick’s other hand is inching up Dave’s shirt to reveal a narrow strip of milky skin. Nick licks his lips and Dave is saying, “You’ve got a fucking filthy mouth,” and Nick patiently explains that “incognito” does not mean “in your pants,” but Dave thinks Nick’s voice sounds like it’s saying “in my mouth is where I really, really want your cock.” So that’s why Nick thinks maybe they have like a secret code language because, “I’d be pleased to be your little cocksucking whore,” is actually what he means while he’s explaining about the Flash’s super secret identity, and how you were not to remove his hat lest you reveal that he was actually Jay.
“No, not here,” Dave tells him, which actually means, “Let’s get the fuck out of here, eh, amigo?” or at least Nick tacks that last bit on because he likes to pretend that they’re friends and that this isn’t just stand-in fucking, and also because he thinks that Dave would sound like a complete doofus saying amigo. The fact of it is, Dave is a big doofus, which is why this should be goofing around fucking, a little drunk kinda fucking, a lots of laughs kinda fucking, a the *fuck* did you just put in my ass? kind of fucking. Like you’re shocked, but turned on, and most of all just having a good time.
Instead of Dave slamming Nick up the wall like he did that one time just off-set, right where Ally could see maybe if she’d been paying attention to anything but Alexis, which of course she hadn’t, that little slut. Actually she was sorta cute in love, and—Dave had jerked him around, blocking Nick’s view of Ally, the pushed him to his knees. And Dave had opened his pants, taken out his cock, and said, “Suck me,” and didn’t mention the whole amigo thing there, either, only, “you little fucking cocktease” complete with variations: “tease, you fucking tease, God the way you fucking suck me down you fucking—little—slut—”, which Nick guessed was Dave-speak for “you aren’t a tease but you’re . . . a fucking little slut,” since Nick had never meant for Dave to take his jokes that way (and Nick guessed Dave hadn’t meant to either) and that did not a tease make, but Nick was taking it this way, which maybe did make him a slut. Or whatever. He kinda liked it, he guessed.
But Nick had graduated from happy-on-his-knees to happy-on-his-knees-after-really-being-a-cocktease, so instead of getting the fuck out of there with his large and often weirdly groomed friend he said, “Come on, you like the attention, cameras on you.” Dave removed his hand from where it’d been stroking the shallow shadow of Nick’s hipbone, under Nick’s shirt but just above the sort of low-slung pants, (shut up it was a look he was trying, look at Dave’s clothes, Jesus), and suddenly burst out laughing. “Shit, what’s gotten into you, buddy? Come on let’s go,” and of course Nick it’s utterly lost at that. Lost. Utterly. Because, buddy, maybe there will be beer and shooting the shit and fun with phallic objects and possibly Dave’s tongue—there—and sometimes Nick really, really wanted to shoot rubber bands at Dave’s head from off set when Dave was doing those “if I were blind I could find (your clitoris)” moments with Sarah because nothing should ever be that serious.
“I do like cameras,” Dave’s saying, in the hotel now, walking toward the elevator. “Dude. We should do home movies. That’d be fantastic. You come like you’re on a porno, or something, Nick, begging for it like the only thing you want is more cock inside you. Fucking fantastic!” He’s jabbing the elevator button with his thick, strangely elegant finger and Nick wants it in his mouth, wants two, wants his mouth full in the elevator right there and he almost does it, too, except that Dave has to go and say, “I wonder how much we could make selling those.”
“No way,” Nick says as the elevator doors close, “in front of a camera, you get that smarmy smile, that smirky thing you seem to think is so sexy, that makes you look like a big cheese, like grade A gouda.”
“Does gouda get grades?” Dave looks really interested in this but then he’s already onto the next thing which is, “I do not have a smarmy smile.”
“Do too.”
“You like cameras too.” Dave has a short attention span.
“Do not. See, that’s why I’m incognito.”
Dave laughs uproariously. “You lying son of a bitch.”
He’s shaking his head affectionately which sort of makes Nick forgive him about Dave wanting to sell their porn instead of Dave hoarding it for himself to whack off to for hours and hours and Nick had originally suspected. Hoped. Whatever. “I’m in the biz for the hot chicks,” Nick says with dignity.
“No shit.” The elevator dings. “You calling me a girl?”
“Wasn’t referring to you; the ‘hot’ part should’ve clued you in—”
The elevator doors open and Dave’s pushing Nick out until Nick’s up against the opposite wall and Dave’s panting in his face, “Take the sunglasses off, right now, Nicky, do what I fucking tell you.”
“Or what? You’ll spit on me? I kinda think you already did. Seriously, Dave, spittle control here, you don’t wanna—”
“I wanna,” Dave spits and kisses him, hard, before Dave’s hands are in Nick’s pockets and Nick can feel the heat of the touch through the silky linings on his thighs, and the hairs there are going wonky and maybe kind of straight, kinda like his cock, but kinda unlike his orientation, Nick’s thinking philosophically, when Dave says, “You did. I knew you did. You’re such a dirty little whore, aren’t you, you brought it,” and Dave removed the tube from Nick’s pocket.
“My lips were chapped,” Nick says, and knows he’ll never ever ever pass lube off as Vaseline or chap-stick but Dave laughs, and Nick thinks that’s okay.
“They’re gonna be, when you’ve done wrapping your lips around my cock.” Dave walks down the hall, which makes Nick feel like a real kicked kind of puppy for following along, though Toto he can stand if that makes Dave Dorothy, because the thought of Dave in blue checked gingham’s funny, dammit, but Dave’s on a completely different cross-dressing bent that’s kinda unfunny, as revealed to Nick when Dave says, “You could wear that fucking gloss shit, sticks to everything. The sparkly shit; I wouldn’t mind.” Dave laughs at him and Nick scuffs his shoes because he remembers how this is sheerly stand-in fucking. “Wouldn’t tell a soul, Nick,” Dave says, and guffaws.
He amuses himself, this guy, and Nick is guessing he’ll find some of Sarah’s or Ally’s lipstick in his trailer—or—or Eliza’s, yeah probably Eliza’s, because Eliza would be “huh, what the fuck?” about it, “Dave, are you on crack?” about it, and laugh about it, and of course it’d be Eliza’s because hers was the reddest and the most like a whore’s and he knew because she’d gotten some on his teeth in that one scene and good lord, that girl did not know how to spare on tongue, but neither did Dave, because now they’re inside the hotel room and Dave’s got his big tongue down Nick’s throat again, until he takes it out to say, “gets me hot. That’s fucking weird, isn’t it? Your mouth all pink and shiny and taking down my cock, and I bet it gets you horny too, you get so wet for it, don’t you, just like a girl, aren’t you,” and Dave laughs like it’s all some kind of big joke because for Dave maybe it means, “aren’t I kinky? Isn’t it nice I use you like this?”
Except the answer is yes, it kinda is nice. And because Dave is still laughing, but Nick is silent while he strips and then stretches out on the bed, touching himself and getting himself ready, Nick starts to think maybe it’s not Dave’s fault they skip the beers and get so goddamn serious about it, serious like it’s fucking physics or marriage or beating Kelly on Mario Smash Brothers, fucking goddamn monumental. Maybe it’s Nick’s fault because for Nick this is stand-in fucking too, and if it was anything else that’d be fucking scary; maybe it’s serious because he wouldn’t know how to handle it if they really liked each other. Maybe Nick wants it to be monumental and doesn’t that way lie badness and wrong?
So Dave’s standing just inside the room with his shirt off and his pants open, fisting his cock and saying, “goddamn, just like that, you’re a little fucking whore aren’t you, you want it, you’re ready for me, for me to fuck you, say you want me to fuck you.” And Nick’s got his stomach to the mattress with a pillow under his hips, and instead of obeying with words, Nick’s spreading his ass cheeks wide, mostly because he does wants it—just like Dave says, wants Dave to fuck him good and hard and long and maybe with grunting and possibly name calling and the way Dave likes to bite right behind Nick’s ear—but also possibly because Nick feels fucking ridiculous spreading himself like this, and a secret part of him hopes Dave will tell him to quit being weird or fucked up or at least so stupidly slutty, hopes Dave will laugh, slap him on the ass, tell Nick he doesn’t need to do that, doesn’t need to open himself completely, but Dave doesn’t.
Instead Dave goes silent, comes closer and closer still silent, cat silent, and then grasps Nick’s hips, and that’s the way you hold onto a roller coast, Nick inconsequentially thinks. But then Dave’s tongue is at Nick’s tailbone, then pushing down into the crevice between Nick’s spread cheeks, and then Dave is saying right into Nick’s hole, “God, holding yourself open for me—aren’t you a little slut—God, look at you—waiting for it, you don’t even want my tongue inside you, you want it to be big, you want it to rip you apart, and you’re fucking ready, aren’t you, you’re all slick here and waiting and Christ, Nicky, you’re nothing but a filthy whoring cunt—”
And Dave bites where Nick’s buttocks curve out into thigh, and Nick’s leg sort of spasms, and he thinks again of Toto and isn’t sure that’s actually worse than what Dave just called him, which is why Nick cricks his neck back at Dave and like a smartass says, “I’d’ve settled for your bitch,” and Dave groans, “Christ,” and kneels over him, and then “Fuck,” and splays a hand on Nick’s shoulder to steady himself, and Nick wishes the hand were harder, bruising, and he guesses that’s why he says, “That’s one hell of a pansy-ass grip,” and Dave growls, “Shut your fucking—and for fuck’s sake, Nicky, take the fucking glasses off!”
“They’re for comedic effect,” Nick says, because suddenly he understands, understands that he’s been afraid to laugh. It’s less serious when no one’s laughing. Kelly would say that only in Nick’s fucked up space of head would any of that ever make sense, except Kelly would get it. Dave probably wouldn’t because who knows what the hell goes on behind the seriously high forehead but actually, who the fuck really cares, because Nick isn’t afraid any more, isn’t afraid to want it so badly and isn’t afraid to laugh about it, which always makes it real. And that’s why he arches his back, wiggles his ass, and says, “fuck me,” just as Dave works the broad head of his cock into Nick’s hole. The words make Dave, “oomph,” and “Christ, fuck,” and, “God, you fucking slut, I’m going to fuck you so hard you so hard you’ll feel it right here,” and Nick supposes Dave means right there where Dave is slamming the heel of his hand down into the middle of Nick’s back, holding Nick down as Dave pushes his way inside.
“I don’t feel it right there yet,” is all Nick says, and Dave’s voice is frustrated and panting behind him, Dave’s sweat dampening Nick’s back where Dave still pins him, as if Nick would move, until Nick does move, thrusts his ass back, sighs, and says, “I like being your whore,” which forces an inarticulate sound out of Dave, a sort of guttural thing that Nick knows means, “Yeah, your well-being? I don’t give a fuck any more, Nick, you son of a bitch.” Nick mutters, “That’s it,” which isn’t strictly true, as when Dave pushes the rest of the way in Nick repeats, “That’s it?” which Dave actually knows isn’t an observation of size, but actually Nick saying, “Can’t you go any faster, harder, here I am all spread out and open for you and you don’t even have the decency to ride me so raw I can’t fucking even talk to you that way, can’t even talk I’m being used so hard—hurt so hard—”
But instead Dave pulls out most of the way, laughs, and says, “You saying I don't measure up?”
“That’s fucking right,” Nick laughs.
“We’ll see,” Dave says, and plunges his fingers into Nick’s hair, pulls back hard, so that Nick’s head and neck and back are arched up and Dave is thrusting back inside of Nick, hard. And fast, because now Dave’s hand his smooshing Nick’s face back into the mattress as he pulls out again, working Nick’s body against his movements like a rag doll, like a thing he can force to flow in opposition, and all Nick can say is, “Yeah, like that, use me like that, I’m your fucking slut, or whatever, please—”
“Say that again,” Dave snarls, no laughter now.
“I’m your—”
“The other.”
“Please,” Nick begs. “Please, oh please,” and Dave’s got one hand yanking on Nick’s hair and the other’s crept up to the shoulder, jerking Nick around, pulling, pushing, molding Nick to obey Dave’s cock, and Nick whimpers, “please, harder, fuck me harder; I want it, please.”
He can feel bruises blooming on his shoulder under Dave’s hand, imagines how they’ll look, black and lilac. Can feel Dave’s sweat, imagines how Dave looks, red and sweaty and grunting behind him with great, heaving movements of that large and somehow graceful body. Can feel Dave inside of him, hitting just—that—spot—can feel his own cock hard and neglected and leaking beneath him, so close just from rutting up against the mattress, just from Nick knowing he’s a shameless whore who wants this and really desperately hopes that Dave will stay after this and do the beers and laughing and maybe their ex’s vibrators, and maybe Dave’ll watch TV or play Smash Brothers or do some pot or he doesn’t know what Dave does, probably devises weird outfits and thinks up goofy tricks to play on people, or maybe plays Twister, but maybe Nick will find out if Dave stays until they’re ready to fuck again—
But maybe not and that makes Nick kind of sad, but still not afraid, which is why when Dave says, “Christ, I’m gonna—” Nick laughs, and arches beautifully, so beautifully that when Dave snarls, “stay the fuck still—” Nick knows Dave’s saying it was gorgeous, a white and perfect curve of flesh that should’ve been an arch on a building, maybe, it was—architectural like that. Architecturally sexy. And that’s actually Joss talking, which is you ask Nick is just plain freaky.
So maybe it isn’t something monumental after all, but it’s enough so that afterwards, Dave stands up, still all sweaty, looks down at him and says, “You really could do porno come-shots. You really are that fucking good, Nicky.” He’s very earnest, somehow, grinning like the biggest fucking goofball Nick’s ever seen. Dave presses his lips in thought, then smiles again. “We could make a fucking fortune off of you.”
“I already got a career in show biz,” Nick says, not really caring. Yawns, stretches.
Dave is watching him. Almost anxiously. “Hey. Hey, Nick. You want to go get some beers?” He’s still watching as Nick flicks the dried come off his own belly. “Hey,” he says again. “Let’s go get some fucking beers. Come on, buddy, let’s go.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“And take off those piece of shit.”
“Sure,” Nick says. “No more incognito for me.” He puts the glasses on the nightstand.
“Yeah,” Dave says. “Yeah. Let’s go get some fucking beers.”
They laugh.
I either write off the cuff or agonize forever. Sometimes for years, which is the short version of forever, but still. Why?
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