| Slips and Tumbles: Standalone |
[May. 12th, 2008|10:25 pm] |
Title: Slips and Tumbles: Standalone
Author: ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) jaygetsaround
Pairing: Bert/Frank
Rating: R
POV: Frank's
Summary: "But everytime he tries to find his feet, he slips and tumbles."
Warnings: Consensual sex but not-so-consensual circumstances.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Frank dragged his nose along Bert's jawbone, inhaling the scent of sweat, dirt and sex. The man beneath him shuddered, his eyes fluttering closed. He knew the man liked it, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He knew it just as well as he knew that right outside this basement, the moon was shining bright as ever. He sucked at Bert's neck, rocking his hips against the younger man's. He was naked, lying under Frank, his eyelids shining that sickly shade of pink which couldn't be right and his lips slightly parted. Ragged hot breaths passed them and tickled Frank's forehead. There were plenty things Frank figured couldn't be right but none of which had been confirmed. The fact that Bert was here at all, in his basement, looking like a fading bag of bones couldn't be right. And Frank rationed that, one day, he wouldn't have use for Bert anymore. But right now... he couldn't imagine giving him up. He'd seen him at a party... a few parties... not that he was stalking him or anything. Him and Frank shared a cigarette outside an Iron Maidan concert and talked for a while. That's when it started. But he'd completely forgotten about Frank after that. When Frank walked up to him and his friends rolling a blunt at one of the parties he'd followed him to, Bert had looked him up and down then averted his eyes. Just like that, he was dismissed. Frank tried to re-introduce himself and tell Bert who he was but no recollection entered the man's eyes. Finally Frank figured it was a lost cause.
"Getta load 'uh this guy," Frank heard one of the guys joke as he was walking away.
He wasn't finished yet, though. No, he never gave up that easily. In fact, he wasn't even phased by the response. All he knew was that he wanted that man and he was going to have him. So he waited until Bert was leaving. It turned out he wasn't actually leaving but going outside to puke in the house owner's shrubs, so Frank ended up having to hit him over the head pretty hard, heh. He remembered how beautiful he looked then, the stench of vomit, beer and marijuana clinging to his stringy, sweat-drenched hair. His skin was glowing blue under the purple street lights, and his red shirt was hugging his thin figure. Frank rushed him, not that Bert was much of a good fight anyway. He gave the older man the impression that had he been sober, he may not have had such an easy time getting him into the backseat of his Volvo but as things were, there wasn't much of a struggle on the receiving end.
He had been difficult at first. He'd been in Frank's basement three and a half months and it took Frank two just to get him to shut the fuck up. He'd yelled, screamed, unaware that they were out in the woods, where no one would hear him. It was Frank's mother's house but his now. His mother was buried in the backyard, with her legs spread and on her back, the same way she worked her way through life. No, he didn't kill her. Came close but he decided not to. She killed herself. Everytime he stuck a needle in her arm. Frank just didn't exactly do anything to help her when he saw on the floor foaming at the mouth, her golden hair splayed out on the carpet, her skin as white as a sheet. He figured, what the hell? At least he had a car. Anyway, back to Bert. See, there was no one around to hear him so Frank didn't think it was necessary to punish him. He didn't even tell Bert where they were, he let him figure it out on his own. Which took a month. But Frank had all the patience in the world. His mom told him boys who played with barbie dolls grew up with patience. He figured it must be true because he could sit outside and wait for the world to end, if he thought he'd be getting something worthwhile out of it. Bert hadn't been restrained before, he'd been in handcuffs. The real kind that cut into your skin when you pull. His wrists were bleeding by the second day, streaked with wounds after the first week, and completely raw after the second. Eventually the wounds were replaced by scabs and Frank took that as a good sign. His legs were band together by a wire-thin rope which was secured to the bedpost. It was Frank's old bed, from when his mom was still alive.
Frank couldn't help but walk into the basement and instantly start growing hard. Fuck, if you had Bert tied up in your basement, you'd get hard, too. It took him a two days to get Bert to finally drink the water he was bringing him, four to get him to finally eat something. He wasn't with-holding any food. All Bert had to do was ask. In fact, he'd told Bert that but what Bert wanted he couldn't give him.
"I want to get the fuck outta here!" he yelled.
Frank didn't even flinch. All he muttered was, "I'm sorry." Racing Bert's secrets to the basement door. Let's see who could get away quicker. He really was sorry. He rarely said anything he didn't mean. He was a man of few words but when he did say something, it was sincere.
Contrary to the way the situation seems, Frank didn't first initiate the sex. Bert did. A month in, after the screaming stopped, Frank would come downstairs and tell him stories about a guy named Onan. These were actually stories about Frank but the decided to use the "I have this friend..." story-line. Why Onan? He didn't know why Onan, but he did have a cat named Onan. He could still see the cat, laying dead in the middle of road, completely flattened with flies buzzing around its rotting flesh. Frank had picked it up and taken it home to his mother, begging her to 'fix him.' His mother, staring at him with her hazy blue eyes took another drag of her cigarette and told him the only way to fix him was to bury him in the backyard. If he buried him in the backyard, God would reach down and pick his soul from the grave, kind of like the tooth fairy.
After Frank started telling these stories, Bert grew a little less bitter and a little more interested. He kept scotting closer to Frank on the bed, with his empty eyes. Once he got close enough to head-butt Frank, but Frank didn't even flinch at the pain. He reached up to his head and said, "Ow." Bert had glared at him, scrunching his face in anger or dissatisfaction, one could never know. Besides, he had a story to tell so he just continued. It was the night Frank had come down in only his boxers to tell Bert a story. He can't lie and say he didn't want to fuck Bert before but he didn't want to force anything on the man he didn't want. This, what he was doing, wasn't the same, he told himself often times. Because if Bert was here long enough, he'd grow to like it. Wouldn't he?
That night, Bert nudged Frank's crotched with his face and moaned. He smelled so fucking horrible and so fucking good at the same time. He almost smelled like Onan, that sweet, sweet scent he could remember like it was yesterday. Frank pulled down his boxers and exposed himself, and Bert took him into his mouth, seeming satisfied for the first time since he'd been there. Trapped, with no one to run to. Was it his survival instinct? Or was it desire?
Both?
"You're so fucking hot," Frank whispered, pushing Bert's head down as far as it would go. "I knew this would be worth it. So fucking worth it." He shuddered and threw his head back as Bert's tongue dragged along the underside of his dick. That had been the end of it that night, but the next night, Frank expected more. Now that he knew it was something Bert wanted too, there was no reason for him to hold back. He'd become so preoccupied with Bert and taking care of him that he'd completely forgotten his grooming habits. That night after the incident, Bert sucking his dick he meant, he'd shaved for the first time since he'd brought the man back here. He wondered if he should cut his hair but decided against it. He'd only fuck it up more if he did.
The next time was more intimate, Frank had disposed of Bert's clothes, deciding the man didn't need them anymore. The sex was amazing, their damp bodies slamming against each other, in desperation, both their mouths searching for the other, sliding against each other's faces as they lost control. He'd sucked, licked and knawed every part of Bert's body, as well as vice versa. Bert's eyes weren't the same anymore, though. They were vacant, and the only time he showed the slightest bit of interest is when they were fucking. Otherwise, he may as well have been a zombie. He listened to Frank's stories and sometimes his interest seemed to perk. He seemed to want to hear the same story over and over these days. The one where Onan got caught in a crater. It was wet and muddy inside, and it took seven hours for him to be found. His cat, the real Onan, had peeked in and scampered off, seeming to go to tell the news to his mother, that he needed to be rescued. Even to this day, he whole-heartedly believed it was Onan who saved him even though the police said it was a kindly old store-owner who'd heard his screams. But those were the worse seven hours of his life. He tried everything he could to get out and ended up with bloody palms and scapred knees. Seven hours is a long time to a six-year-old. Seven hours can be a lifetime. He'd screamed and cried, but no one had heard him at first. Until Onan. Thank God Onan was such a good friend, otherwise he might have rotted in that crater. There were all kinds of parasites, worms and creepy crawlers down there.
He didn't have such a bad childhood. The worse word he could associate with his childhood was 'lonely'. His father was never around, so it was just him and his mom in the woods. The bus stopped coming down to take him to school when he dropped out at fourteen. All his life, his mother was high. Sometimes men came over, sometimes she left with them. But she never had clear eyes, they were always glazed over. She often sent Frank to do the shopping and when he got back she wouldn't be home. He figured she'd be out with one of her boyfriends. He couldn't lie, she was beautiful. Beautiful in that trashy, strung out way. Like Bert. Yeah, kind of like that. With her sweet blue eyes and wispy blond hair. But Bert was even more beautiful. His face, scruffy and dirty, still looked to be the face of an angel. Sometimes Frank would watch him sleep, just because. And when they were fucking, that's when Bert's face really came to life.
Tonight Frank wasn't one for small talk. Not that he ever was. He unbuckled his jeans and got rid of them. Bert seemed anxious, in a way that he never was. Like the first time. He planted kisses on Bert's neck.
"You want me inside you, baby?" he breathed. Bert nodded, his breath coming slower, more controlled. Frank pulled his shirt over his head and scooted up, kissing the top of Bert's head as the younger man took one of his nipples between his teeth, sucking and pulling. A gasp fell from his lips as he rocked his hips against Bert's stomach. He ran his hand along his torso, caressing the bones underneath the white skin freckled here and there with golden freckles. Sliding down, he lifted the younger man's knees and placed his legs around his shoulders. He spread Bert's ass cheeks and slid his tongue down the middle. The man tasted even better than he had before. He tasted a little like Frank's spit and come but he wouldn't have it either way. He salivated and pushed his tongue into Bert's asshole, massaging the walls. The man's back was arched off the bad as he cried out, "Oh-- oh-- oh--" over and over until it echoed from the walls. Frank reached around and grabbed the other man's dick, squeezing it slightly in his hands then stroking it. Working up a rhythem, he continued to dart his tongue in and out of Bert's asshole.
"Fuck, s-so. G-good. M-my--Oh!"
Twisting and turning his body into distorted positions, pulling his restraints to their limit, he gave into Frank completely and let go.
Frank finished and crawled up Bert's body just before the made was ready to blow. He spit in his hand and stroked his dick as Bert watched intently. Lifting the man's legs again, he slammed into him. Bert didn't squirm anymore. Now he pushed down onto Frank, his eyes bulging at the force the older man used. There was something about the pain, that he found arousing. There was something about pain in general that really kept Bert ticking. Probably the only reason he survived this long, as little as he ate. Their thrusting was sloppy, containing no rhythm but their own. Bert began to push down as Frank pulled out, and they were going much to fast to get it right. This was what they needed, both of them. He reached down and stroked the man beneath him once, glazing pre-come over his fingers before rubbing it on his mouth. Bring his glistening lips down to Bert's, they brought their faces together, massaging their tongues together. Bert ran his tongue over Frank's lips.
"Mmmm," he purred as Frank closed his eyes and shivered, a chill passing through him.
"Fuck--I'm gonna--" he didn't have a chance to finish before he was slamming into Bert erratically, joining their bodies completely at the hips, and emptying himself into the man in long, hot spurts. When he'd finished, he dragged himself down and wrapped his lips around Bert's dick. Sliding his mouth up and down, he managed to dip half his hand in at the same time to wet it and, propping himself up on his elbows, he reached down gave the man's balls a slight tug, dampening his sandy pubic hair with his spit. He didn't pull away when he felt Bert tighten in his mouth, instead he waited, and let the man's come fill his mouth, what he couldn't swallow dripping out the sides. Instead of wiping his face, he slid up again to kiss Bert, letting the man suck and knaw lightly at the sides of his mouth, cleaning up the mess he'd made. They laid there, for close to thirty minutes, saying nothing until Frank decided he should go upstairs and get a shower.
It wasn't until he was almost to the basement door that Bert spoke.
"Wait," he called.
Frank turned slowly, wondering what he would have to say. Genuinely curious, if you will. He hoped he wasn't going to ask Frank to take him out to dinner. He didn't do dates. He wasn't a dating kind of guy.
"O-Onan. Ya know? What does he do, ya know? When he's trapped he's starting to lose hope?" Bert asks. Frak's eyes glaze over as he goes back to that time, again, like he has many days.
"He just, keeps trying to climbing out, Bert. He can see the sunlight peeking through, however pale it's getting so he figures that someone's got to come find him." He turns, looks down and heads to the door again. Before turning the knob, he faces Bert again, looking just as tired and vacant as he had before Frank had walked in here. He wouldn't last much longer...he was losing something. "But every time he tries to find his feet, he slips and tumbles."
The door opens and slams, and Frank slides down the door, constricting his insides and clamping his eyes shut and hoping, just hoping, that anything at all would make sense. Not knowing that there's a man on the other side with his eyes squoze shut, hoping just as hard for the same thing.
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