Mitchell "Mitch" Malone (
andthethrill) wrote2009-10-18 09:17 pm
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"To sleep is an act of faith."
Mitch could never hope to stay awake as long as J is able to. He tried a few times, back before they knew each other too well -- back when he still didn't trust the blond not to do something to him while he slept -- and failed.
Now, he's back to a similar level of wariness. But he doesn't try, these three months and a lifetime later, to stay up again. Instead, when sleep starts to tug at him, he gets off at the next exit, and checks them in at the cheapest nearby hotel. If J protests the pause in their journey, he promises that they'll get going again first thing in the morning. And he gets ready for bed, and he sleeps.
He told J, when they first met, that he was a light sleeper. Hopefully, he'll be light enough.
Now, he's back to a similar level of wariness. But he doesn't try, these three months and a lifetime later, to stay up again. Instead, when sleep starts to tug at him, he gets off at the next exit, and checks them in at the cheapest nearby hotel. If J protests the pause in their journey, he promises that they'll get going again first thing in the morning. And he gets ready for bed, and he sleeps.
He told J, when they first met, that he was a light sleeper. Hopefully, he'll be light enough.
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It's a slow transition in activity and he's grateful for it. There's still the burn of the fresh cut to his chest and the wet warmth of his blood between them as Mitch lowers down close. Mitch's lips feel so soft and so much wetter than his own --pulled taught with the stitches and drying from it-- but soon that moisture is being shared. Mitch's tongue runs between his lips and J parts them for it...then bites, smiling. It's quick and sharp, then he licks back. He moves his hands up to set his nails into Mitch's lower back and drag them up to the shoulders.
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His lips start to curve in a smile -- see? two can play that game -- but then J is leaving pink-red scratches up his back, sweet little lines of pain, and instead of smiling at his own cleverness he's moaning into J's mouth, trying to arch his back and grind against him, both at once, and not getting near enough of either. He wants more.
He shifts his weight so that he's held up just by the hand holding the knife (less 'holding,' now, admittedly, than 'hand resting on top of'), and moves the other one down J's side, fingernails trailing.
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That moan means he's done something right and J is sort of proud of himself. He sets his nails hard into Mitch's shoulders when it seems the boy might arch enough to pull away. He's not allowed. Not yet. J isn't done with this.
His side is clawed at and he tilts his head back, groaning in pain and pleasure. He grinds up against Mitch wanting more without knowing which feeling he wants more of. All of it, maybe; even at the risk of sensory overload.
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J arches and Mitch loses his mouth, but that's alright. He moves his attention down to the other boy's neck, sucking at his pulse, dragging his teeth against his skin, wanting to leave even more marks on J, marks he makes with his mouth, not just the knife or his fists.
He slips his hand between them, adding friction and pressure for them both, and the feel of his fingers wrestling blindly with J's pants. Bites at his neck in celebration, when he finds the zipper.
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He feels that hand between them and his body moves on its own to seek Mitch's touch. J surprises himself with how much he wants this again. The fear and confusion are so much less now and he accepts this all so much more easily. He's ashamed, on some strange level, but it feels good and shame isn't something he's good at. Mitch's teeth dig in and nothing else matters. J gasps and cries out, one hand finding its way to knot in Mitch's hair and hold that mouth to his throat.
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He gets J's pants undone, then turns his hand, working at the fastenings for his own. Still pressed tight against J, able to feel both of their pulses, the heat and hardness on both sides. But him, his hand, both of them... it may be selfish (he doesn't care that much) but he wants J to touch him, too. Wants what he didn't get last time.
"Your hand," he mutters against J's skin, letting his voice dip lower again. Licks at his neck, then elaborates, reaching up to grab J's wrist. "Let me..."
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Mitch speaks and it takes a moment to make sense of the words. J's wrist is seized. And he wonders if he did wrong somehow. He didn't even go for the knife and he could so easily. Then he realizes what's going on. J bites at his lip, considering escape, then nods and lets himself be moved and posed.
"Alright...I just... I don't know how..."
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His hair free from J's grip, he pulls himself up to kiss him, just a light peck on the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry," he says, feeling stitches scratch his lips, "It's not hard. Just..." He guides the other boy's hand down, to the front of Mitch's opened pants. His breath stutters, and he shifts forward at just the guided, non-participatory touch. Losing himself for a heated moment before he remembers -- teaching. And reciprocation. He slips his own hand down the front of J's pants, wrapping his hand around his cock and giving a demonstrative stroke. "Do what I do."
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Mitch works to set him at ease and J swallows and nods, finding himself in this position again ...someone wanting him to share something he's so sure he doesn't have to give. He wonders why Mitch doesn't just screw him. It would have to be so much easier from the bottom and he could deal with whatever discomfort there might be. It would be quicker and he wouldn't be doing it wrong.
J closes his fingers around Mitch, the same as the boy does to him, and his breath shakes. He moves his hand the way it's demonstrated and there's slick, wet precum sliding under his fingers. His hand tightens as he tries again. He lets Mitch set a rhythm and keeps his hand tight just to keep from shaking.
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He can tell -- even he can tell, that J is scared. It would probably be kinder to just let him lay back. Or to not be doing this at all. But he doesn't want to do that. He isn't that selfless anymore. He wants to feel the other boy, and be felt. And he can give him this, give him pain in return, at least. If that's what he wants.
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He's not connected to it --not involved more than by physical contact-- until the tip of the knife digs in. J cries out in shock, pain, and adoring gratitude. It's going to be such a mess when they're done...if he lives to see it. Every movement of that sliced arm seems to make the pain in the muscle fresh and new. There's a stunted pause in his strokes and his hand tightens intensely, then relaxes with some effort.
"..Ahh..not so...so...oh god."
He just laughs nervously, not seeing the point in telling Mitch he's at risk of cutting too deep.
J now has his focus split between the searing pain that throbs with his heartbeat and movements and the rising heat and pressure of approaching orgasm. J tries to regain his matched pace with Mitch and tilts his head back, gasping for air. He feels sure he could stop breathing at any moment.
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He knows it was a deep cut, can feel the blood flowing. He isn't going to cut that deep again. (Not this time, part of him amends, and he agrees to that. Not even questioning whether there'll be a next time.) But he does just scrape the blade down his upper arm, and tighten his grip on the other boy's cock, as he feels himself getting closer, nearly-nearly-almost there. Some ever-analytical part of him wanting to see what that does to push J toward the edge. And the rest of him just wanting to see him go over, and follow him.
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The knife scrapes over him again, less deeply, and he arches --thrusts-- into Mitch's grip. A grip that tightens painfully, only sliding freely care of a steady flow of precum. J's shoulders are driven down to press hard into the mattress as his body attempts to thrust up off of the bed, lifting himself and Mitch, but falls short.
"Nnn...gah.."
He pants, feeling himself teetering on the edge of that still-unfamiliar abyss. It's so much harder to keep pace with his hand like this, but he just barely manages. The rhythm only stalls and stutters a moment or two as Mitch's steady, firm pumping drags J's climax from him. He wanted more. He wanted to see what Mitch would do to him next. J still hasn't learned to show stamina, though. He cums in several short bursts and shuddering moans. He tightens his hand and tries to mimic the same for Mitch. He wants to see Mitch feel that; wants to be the one that does it.
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What the sight doesn't do, J's hand -- too tight, if he'd started out that way, but now, pushed this far, nerves raw and hungry, it's perfect -- accomplishes. He makes a choked sound, a groan he isn't quite able to let out, let go enough to let out, as he jerks against J, coming in his hand. His other hand tightens around the knife, then drops it entirely.
J did that to him, he thinks, not quite in words. J did that, and he did that to J. They just keep getting more tangled up in each other.
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The changes in Mitch's body as he's pushed to and over that final edge are so multisensory. J enjoys that it's something he can see, hear and feel. That tension under his fingers, the changes in the man's breath, then Mitch's cum flowing out hot and slow over his fingers. It's beautiful to watch, in its way. The expression looks so similar to pain, but it's so different... So much of it is the same as hurting someone.
He's still panting himself when Mitch is finished. J stops moving his hand, but his griop remains firm, unsure if he's supposed to let go or not. Unsure what he'd do with his hand if he did. His body is over sensitive, his head is filled with cotton, and the pain throbbing in time to his heartbeat from every cut left on him has blended in with it all to be a dull buzzing of background sensation. He sighs and sucks at his lower lip, smiling almost coyly. Looking, somehow, like he still won here.
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Still... Mitch doesn't let himself follow the natural sequence, just yet. That smile, the look on J's face, presses deeper buttons, and makes him want to stay awake just a little longer.
He makes a quiet hm sound, as he reaches down and carefully removes J's hand from his body, threading his fingers in with the other boy's. Pulling both their hands up and pressing them to the sheets beside J's head, as he lets himself relax and move in closer to the other boy. (Snuggling is such an effeminate word for it.)
His other hand rests on top of the knife again.
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When Mitch is pinning his hands, J feels sure he's going to be shaken out of this state and maybe they'll be fighting again...but Mitch is gentle and just lays with him. It's warm. It's like being pinned down or restrained, but...not. It feels strange but also an unfamiliar sort of safe. J lets out a frustrated sigh, seeing the knife is kept out of reach by Mitch's other hand. A soft noise between a whine and a comfortable hum sounds in his throat and, god help him, J thinks he could actually sleep... He just still doesn't know if he wants to. Another little whine and he settles into it. He relents to being 'snuggled' for now. Maybe sleep is ok...just for now. Just like this.
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Snap.
He still wants to. J turned on him, tried to hurt him, and he needs to be taught that there's consequences for that. And even if it wouldn't keep J from doing it again, it would make him feel better. But one violent act would beget another, start the fighting again, and he's comfortable. They both are. A threat seems just as good.
"If you do that again, I'll break your fingers," he mutters, squeezing J's hand, then relaxing his grip. Closing his eyes.
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J relaxes with a soft smile and squeezes Mitch's hand back.
"Ok. Only one hand, though, or...ah...you'd have to finish on your own."
It's an acceptance of the rules being laid down, as well as a subtle agreement to the strange developments in their relationship. He lowers his head closer to Mitch and lets himself start to drift off.
He mumbles and mutters in his sleep and curls up more tightly with Mitch. It's not so terrible to get some rest...
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He falls back on the pillow with a quiet grunt. "Mmm."
J's on his way to a good night's rest for the second time in as many days. More sleep, total, than he's probably had in the two weeks previous. God only knows what that will do for him. Or if it becomes a habit.
Mitch closes his eyes too, and surrenders himself, J'd mutterings familiar and comfortable as he slips under. Tomorrow... tomorrow is another day. And they'll just have to take it as such. See where it leads them.