Batting Lefty
"Why can't I feel... my skin should crack and peel... I want the fire back"
[end]
"Reaching from nowhere
When it's all over, he has time to think about his reasons for animosity against Jack, the one person he should have trusted from the start. He, along with the rest of CTU and beyond it seemed, knew about the affair with Nina. She'd never mentioned him when they were in private. After fucking her he'd toy with her hair, wanting desperately to ask if it was better than Jack.
He remembers now what he'd tried to block out then.
Her lips around his dick as she went down on him, eyes closed and not looking at him. All he could see as he watched her was Jack, Jack's dick in her mouth. And he'd wondered what Jack looked like while she did it. Did he watch her? Touch her? Was Jack's dick thicker than his? And when he came, it was just as the unbidden thought of what he would taste like conjured it's way into his brain.
His body had been full of tension afterward. She'd looked at him in amusement, saying she thought the purpose of the act she'd just performed was to relieve tension. He'd smiled stiffly, and thankfully she hadn't pressed the issue.
After that night, he'd been like a time bomb around Jack, radiating anger from his lips and disgust from his gaze.
Throughout the day of the primary, the day none of them would ever forget, he was constantly suspicious of the man and Nina had called him on it again and again. But all he could see was the two of them together. He saw the way she kept protecting Jack - and he saw himself as he came while thinking of him.
When he'd seen them up in Jack's office, he wanted to race up the stairs, whirl Nina away and push him up against the wall; kiss him till Jack's lips were bruised.
Somewhere along the way, they'd started trusting each other. Perhaps a mixture of finally learning the full story and sympathizing with what the man had been going through allowed it to happen.
After learning Nina's betrayal, the only person he wanted to see was Jack. He'd gone inside after they took her away, only to find the man with blood on his hands, eyes red and swollen as Kim sobbed loudly.
He felt sick in his gut, and when Jack met his eyes, his fear was confirmed.
Jack never returned to work. Tony called him often, but they were never returned. Nina was being held in a federal jail, currently waiting for sentencing. He'd gone to question her, one last attempt for answers, and she'd smiled cruelly, taunting him: 'Bet you never thought I could be that convincing, eh Tony?' 'Did you really believe I cared?' 'You were just fucking me to get to Jack, admit it.' 'The macho power struggle between the two of you was almost two much. It's obvious who should have been fucking whom.'
It'd taken all his willpower to keep from slapping her. And the worst part was, she wasn't wrong.
Now, he goes through the motions. Everyone's at CTU is new besides George. The place haunts him every day as he walks in. Especially Jack's office; he can still see his fantasy self up against that wall.
Sometimes he goes to a bar, picks up some anonymous guy, fucks him and moans out Jack's name as he comes.
At night, he jerks off to his fantasy; bruising Jack's lips and then licking them better; shoving his hand down the front of Jack's pants, taking his pulsating cock in his hand. Sometimes he fucks him. Sometimes they kiss more tenderly than he'd like. Sleeping afterwards, he usually doesn't dream.
When he does, Jack answers the phone.
[end]
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(The Dreyfus Affair, Randy/DJ, Randy POV, 512 words)
Randy Dreyfus stretched out languidly on his bed. Yawning loudly, he peered out of one eye to the figure on his left and smiled sleepily at the sight of his lover, magnificently naked, his dark body contrasting with the cream colored sheets.
Lover.
To this day, it still amazed him. Even more amazing, he supposed, was the fact that he didn't regret one of his actions -- yet it was the god's truth. Any other person, he supposed, would be living in a constant state of panic if everything they knew, everything they believed about themselves turned out to be false, but for Randy, it was the opposite.
*Before*, his life had been like that. And since he's been with DJ it's like he could finally breathe.
Now of course, any sane person would say he was crazy to throw away everything that he had, and some did on a regular basis but Randy paid it no mind. Why would a famous, rich, successful baseball player want to give it all up, including a wife and kids for *gasp* a man? Well, it often made him feel like a huge fa... er, queer (he's been trying for DJ) but the answer was always the same: for love.
Of course, the media would never settle for such a nelly answer so they'd often try their best to get some dirt out of him; Knocking on the cabin widow at ungodly hours of the morning with inane questions: 'Randy, will you come back if asked?' 'Is DJ Pickett your first male lover?' 'What do you think of the rumors that your wife is writing a tell all book?' 'Is it true your daughters are in therapy with an Egyptian?'
He'd answer as best one could to such requests and hope they'd leave before he belted someone. Naturally, it was all media bullshit. In actuality, he and Susie were better friends now than ever before. She eventually got over her initial hurt and now harbors no resentment toward him, simply accepting the fact that she loved and married a gay man and neither of them had realized.
And of course she'd have no problem finding someone else. Like most of America thought, she was a fox. At times he missed the twins, but really he'd barely known them all that well to begin with. He was proud to announce though that he could finally tell them apart; Molly has the squeakier voice.
DJ rolled over and nuzzled Randy's chest.
"Mmm..."
"Hey."
"Hi."
"I want pancakes."
DJ yawned and kissed his chest. "We don't have any."
"Okay, then I want eggs."
"Omelet?"
"What else?"
"Mmm, sounds good."
"Come on, you can help me perfect it."
"God forbid I eat shells again. Ouch, okay. Just ... little longer." DJ kissed his way down his stomach.
"Ah ... you're just trying to distract me."
"Possibly."
DJ's head disappeared beneath the covers and Randy stretched again, spreading his legs.
"I suppose -- breakfast can ... wait."
He closed his eyes on the sound DJ's muffled laughter and sighed.
Life was good.
[end]
(Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy/Spike, Buffy POV, 548 words)
"Afraid I'm gonna..." he starts to say but she's not listening to him anymore, hasn't been for some time. Instinct takes over. She lunges towards him and kisses him; kisses him because if she doesn't, she may kill him. And after a second, just as she knew he would, he kisses her back. By now, she's eating him up. She doesn't even feel her hand smash the wall because he's clutching her and pushing her backwards, slamming against her. His mouth eats at her lips, greedily sucking and it's harsh and fierce and it's just what she needs. As long as he is kissing her, she is able to feel. As long as he's pressing against her, his hard cock that she can so aptly sense; the heat of it, hotter than any dead body should be, hotter than Angel's ever was, then she knows that even if this is Hell, it's where she wants to stay. But he's got her pinned and she can't let him know that he holds that power over her, can't let him forget that she is the Slayer and just because she wants to fuck him, it doesn't change that fact.
She wants to fuck him.
It's the first time she's ever truly thought it and she pushes him away fiercely only to slam against him again, this time against a different wall. She feels the shaking around them but pays it no mind; for she craves him, needs him, and that's all that matters right now: nothing else. Not Dawn or demons or death.
She kisses him again, wildly. He lifts her up till her thighs are wrapped around his. They're so close, but it's not enough. She needs him to fuck her. And by the look in his eyes she knows he ... wants it too. She unzips his pants, and swiftly grips his cock. She manages to push aside as much clothing neccessary and then-- he stops ... and stares at her and their eyes lock on one another as she puts him inside her. She's shocked him, and herself, but it's too late to turn back now and she doesn't want to. With decisive precision she starts to move, slowly at first, her mouth dropping open in a silent prayer. And he's staring at her, a gaze filled with such lust and passion; it's been far too long. Brutal desire washes over them once again and he's spun her around so that she's pinned again. Yet this time she doesn't mind. She grips at the wall and lets out a moan. He's thrusting into her hard and she needs it -- she's taking it all, soaking it up. His breathing is harsh, he's grunting and suddenly she can't take it anymore. She needs to be even closer, deeper. She wants to be consumed by him, and she hates herself for it. She pushes him backward yet again and this time they fall -- and they keep falling. She dimly realizes that the place has been collapsing around them, that her violence and desire toward this -- man has gotten out of hand; and yet she keeps staring at him, because as long as he's inside her, she's alive. And she figures tonight, she can deal with the hate.
[end]
(Drawing Blood, Zach/Trev, Zach POV, 508 words)
The plane was about to touch down any moment and Zach could practically feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It was almost better than coffee. Almost. He should be beat, he should feel like shit, and in all truth he did, but it didn't still the excitement of where they were going and whom he was with.
Jamaica.
Trevor.
Trevor Black, whom it was hard to believe he didn't know up until a few days ago. Trevor Black, who after years of fighting it, he fell in love with so deep and so hard and he never wanted to stop. The man was brilliant and gorgeous and more than a little fucked up, yet Zach wouldn't change a thing about him. He felt he could stare at him all day if he wanted to -- and if Trevor didn't mind. Something told him though that after about twenty minutes Trev would jump up and yell at him to stop, or perhaps pounce on him. Maybe he'd test it one morning. He tries to think back to a time before Trevor and the events of Missing Mile, but New Orleans feels like a distant memory now, a surreal jumble of images and tricks, men and women who meant nothing and faces he would never be able to recognize again. He knew for a fact that in a few years, the only person from his former life he'd probably even remotely remember was Edie. And hell, he thinks, I owes her that much.
Edie fell in love, just like Zach did. He felt a brief pang of sympathy for her. Because if this is love, and this is real, then Zach couldn't imagine what it'd be like if the other person didn't return it; couldn't imagine Trevor one day walking out the door and never coming back. Maybe, if it happened, he'd drink some more coffee and try to get to Birdland again. Or maybe he'd take a less cowardly way out. Maybe he'd hunt down Trevor and ask him to finish what he couldn't that night in the bathroom; because if this were the way it was going to be, then this time he wouldn't stop him. Either way, the thought made him feel helpless, frantic, and he clumsily reached out to grab at Trevor, only to find his hand swiftly intertwined with. Trevor wrapped his fingers around his so gently that Zach wanted to cry. Zach looked over at him; he hadn't even known the other man was awake. And Trev smiled up sleepily, a silent question in his eyes. We almost there?"
"Yeah," Zach answered aloud, and he froze for a moment. Foolishly enough, he hadn't until that moment realized how deeply connected they were. After everything they'd been through, the house, the drugs, Birdland, it took this moment for him to see that there was no Zach anymore. There was only Zach and Trevor.
And in his gut, he knew it would stay that way.
"Yeah," Zach whispered again, and kissed his lips softly.
(US Queer as Folk, Justin/Ethan, Justin POV, 680 words)
"Love is a many splendid thing,
love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love."
Quixotic; adj. Like Don Quixote; romantic to extravagance; absurdly chivalric; apt to be deluded.
* * * * * * * * * * *
His rough, calloused fingers trace their way across my skin. His hands are so skilled; they're able to coax the most beautiful sounds from his Violin and make my body tremble with the barest touch. He kisses like he plays; full of passion and electric energy. It makes my heart beat faster, my cock grow thicker, my toes curl beneath my socks.
He kisses like it's a necessity for living, and when he breaks away from me his eyes close as if they're in pain. His breath is ragged and his body is so warm. His hair is thick beneath my fingers and oh so soft. He strips me of my clothing and we are surely frantic and aching for one another, yet still so attentive. His hands run feverishly up my body, hot fingertips along my skin, but still so gentle beneath their anxiousness. He puts his heart into every touch and I feel as though I'm being worshipped. His fingers run along every inch of my body, cataloging the feel of me. His eyes meet mine and hold. He kisses me again, and I melt into it, closing my eyes and I'm feeling as swept away by his scent and body as I was with his music. His tongue licks at my teeth and probes my mouth and I sigh against him. My senses are heightened, my brain devoid of thought except for one word that keeps repeating over and over again like a lyric stuck in your head.
::Perfection::
I feel it in every kiss, every touch, and every lick.
::Perfection::
I see it when he gazes at me, when he smiles, when he quivers with desire and holds me tight against him as our bodies rub together.
I sense it when I realize that it's been over an hour and he hasn't turned me around yet to fuck me, hard and fast; resounds in my mind as he continues to kiss me and rub his thigh against my cock and tease my nipples until they are red and hard and so sensitive to his touch that they're painful.
I let it flow through me when he kisses my chest, running his hands up my arms in tender strokes while he whispers my name.
It's been so long since I've heard it from someone else's lips while in bed. And I've never heard it like this before. Like it's a mystery to be solved. Or an untouchable entity. Or perhaps -- an exquisite being?
It makes my heart sore and my eyes burn and I realize I want this night to last forever. I want this sort of perfection on a daily basis. I want to hear his breathless moans as he pushes my thighs apart and settles between them, his eyes burning a hole through mine until he lowers his head and tickles my torso with the faint patch of hair on his chin and kisses along the length of my cock. It's deliciously slow and I don't move, I barely breathe. I just lay there as he inhales deeply and kisses me so gently, leaving not even a square inch untouched by his lips.
My hands pet his hair, he looks up at me with those bright shining eyes as he wraps his fist around me and licks from base to tip.
His mouth -- absolute perfection. And it's then, when I realize I easily would have let him kiss me all night, and I'm sighing his name as my orgasm ebbs from me, that I know I'll have to eventually force myself to leave this haven.
And it'll hurt like hell.
[end]
(24, Tony, implied Tony/Jack, 623 words)
Feeling for your hands
Screaming out your name
Nearing towards you"
