|
15
April 2001
X-Force And when Sam gets that feeling... Disclaimer: If they were ours, there'd be more leather. Title snitched
from Joy Division's "In a Lonely Place"
Caressing
the Marble
and Stone
Jane: I was digging through my folder of potential sigs (all in a pile, waiting for the mood to strike me), and something about this one made me think of Ric & Shatty: Te: Heee! God, that couch of theirs sees a lot of action . . .Safety first! When riding a bicycle, wear a helmet. Jane: You think it's bad now, just wait until Sam decides to come jump on them. (Mmmm . . . Sam . . . *homerdrool*) Te: *nnngh* Sam because he knows about them, or thinks he does, and is having all these feelings (all this lust) that thoughts of Tabitha aren't even reaching anymore. Times when it seems his control is down to the barest shreds because he wants so badly. And he thinks, maybe, he might know what he wants. Catches himself thinking about it in the shower. What it must feel like to be held down, to fight against someone who can hold their own, or even beat you. Nothing like wrestling with a girl, he thinks, none of that need to be careful and gentle. More of a risk. And on some level just visceral, the stomach-jolt that comes with his thoughts of muscle on top of him, of rough-haired legs around and between his own. And comes at the thought of it. Grip tight around the base of his cock somehow dirty and essentially good at once. Something that Ric would tease him about if he caught Sam like this, though he'd hardly be the first guy in X-Force to get caught with his pants around his knees. Or just naked. Wet and slick and somehow -- in spite of the orgasm -- still aching for it. Weird moment to both fear and love the meaning of the phrase "sexual peak," but it just sends him into thoughts about what it would be like with another man. No immediate need to be gentle, or talk, though he doesn't mind . . . It's just that right now, more than anything else, what he wants is to be doing it again with some guy. Or not really any guy, he's not . . . he doesn't. He'd like to know the person. Trust them with his body and the visceral shame that no amount of no-nonsense lecturing on the Facts of Life from Dom can keep from heating his face. Jesus. Jesus. Well, at least he's only half-hard, and whatever Shatterstar's watching on TV is bound to kill it. No more pornography during the day is the rule, and everyone either laughed or blushed when Cable said it, except for Rictor, who spat out his water and stared at Shatterstar. Shock turning into something else as the look was shared and held. And, so maybe Sam has another reason for wanting to be near Shatterstar, to let himself get used to the idea of talking about this thing with him. It's not like Ric and Shatty've announced themselves or anything. It's just . . . it's in the way the rest of the team talks about the two of them as a them, in the nods and glances and the way Feral is even meaner than usual. There ought to be something that fixes hurts like hers, but Sam doesn't know what it is. He isn't even really sure how to start this conversation. Because Shatterstar's the least familiar person in X-Force to him. Sort of Mike-from-Mars-ish in a way that makes Sam want to grok things and then laugh at the look on Shatty's face while he ponders thatone. Or maybe the look on Cable's, since as far as Sam can tell, pop culture references still leave the man entirely behind. They've gothim brushed up on "The Wizard of Oz" and "Star Wars," but he's a little too much of a snob for pulp sci-fi, and anyway their lives areenough like a bad (well, any, really) Heinlein novel for reading it tobe just that much more disturbing. Sam has a moment in the hall when he wonders which bimbo Ric is, then, if Shatty's Mike-from-Mars. Before it occurs to him that he'sthe wide-eyed blond come begging on the doorstep. And comes into the den still trying to swallow his half-embarrassed laughter,meaning to somehow incorporate himself into the process of television watching. Rictor's out for the afternoon, and Shatterstar's so intensely focussed on the current episode of television-judge-solves-trailer-trashproblems that he doesn't look up. Sam goes to sit, but he twists to stare at the girl confronting whoever's wronged her, because formore than a second it looks just like Tabitha. For thinking that alone he should feel guilty, but something about that strung-outinsistence on herself is just so undeniably her. And he ends upnot sitting down at all, just crouched in front of the couch with his hands between his knees, staring. So that when he finally turns totalk to Shatterstar he just stays there, low and looking up into Shatty's silver-paleness. Mane of hair tied up in a somehow practical top-knot. It's looks less . . . touchable this way, and Sam wonders if he ever lets it downwhen Ric isn't around. A sort of gentle privacy in that thought, something that makes him react in almost the same way as he would to a smallish, cute, begging dog. Thinks they should have a dog. And maybe a couple of those weirdly independent cats that have never felt quite pet-like to him.They would probably suit Dom, and maybe Shatterstar, too. "Do you like dogs?" Which, OK, isn't the best opening gambit he's ever come up with, but at least he's no longer just staring. Slow turn to face him, face mostly that model-pretty blank, save for the slightly quirked eyebrow. "In what way?" "As pets. You know, to play with." "I have never had a dog in such a manner." Which triggers a whole flood of images that Sam simply did not need, so he does his best to just nod. "I was thinking maybe wecould get one, sort of a team mascot." "I find the idea of mascots rather . . . disturbing." "Well, OK, not a mascot, then. Just a pet." "Hmm. What purpose would it serve?" "Oh, you know, it would just hang around, steal our socks to run around with. Bark at nothing. Something we could all play with." And Shatterstar is suddenly so deeply lost in thought that Sam wonders if he broke something. Asked him to divide by zero,count angels on a pin. It's sometimes hard to remember that Shatterstar is at least as human as the rest of them are, if not necessarily as . . . familiar. The silence stretches for a while, the trailer trash girl weeping with gratitude and grating a little on Sam's consciousness beforeShatterstar finally speaks again. "Playing is useful." It's not a question, so Sam doesn't offer an answer. "I think Julio would like a dog . . ." It's said so softly that Sam's startled. Nothing like Shatterstar's declarations on the way of the warrior or his slightly confused observations on the mixed-up weirdness of pop culture that he seems to get on a level that most of the people from thisdimension just don't. Which may say as much about TV as it says about Shatterstar. But when Sam turns to look at him, there's justthis tiny, soft smile playing across Shatterstar's lips, and if Samwasn't sure before, he is now. He's jealous. And he was before, but his body-lust didn't contain the fact that nobody's ever smiled like that for him. And it'ssomething that everything in his life to this point has made him want. It's a sign that he should walk away. But instead he pulls one knee up on the couch and says in his best Jewish accent, "True love is the greatest thing in the world. Exceptfor a nice MLT -- mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwich -- when the mutton is nice and lean, and the tomato is ripe. They're soperky. I love that!" Shatterstar stares at him for a moment before making the connection. And then smiles again, though in that less intimate way that justsays that they're communicating in the same language for a change.Speaking media, or something. But he either doesn't make the connection or he ignores it, because he doesn't say anything. Just goes back to watching television. And Sam sits with him. Feels the time pass easily, and falls a little under the spell of the trailer-girl's post-verdict statement to thecamera. Watches commercials. Goes with it when Shatterstar slides them into a talk show that's just starting. The sun's low and slanting,and it catches the soft, loose bangs Shatty's acquired recently. Sam'snot sure whether Shatterstar actually cut his hair that way, or whetherit's just that some bits aren't long enough to fit into the pony tail without accompanying gel, but he can see the light through it, andhe's not sure he's ever seen anything so startlingly red. Reaches out with one hand and ends up curling his hand against one pale cheek when Shatty turns unexpectedly into his touch. Leaving them . . . there. Somehow still, and trapped in the moment. Staring and silent until Sam swallows once, painfully, and tracesthe curves and angles of Shatty's face, and back toward the curve of his ear. Shatty does nothing but lowers his lashes, a message Sam desperately wants to decipher his way, and so he leans in for a kiss.Soft and probably embarrassingly chaste, and the other man neithermoves nor closes his eyes. Knot of need and frustration in Sam'schest and he does it again, lips parted, and again, slipping his tongue over and around the soft, closed mouth. And backs away, palm hot and slightly damp against the heat of Shatty's skin. "What do you want of me, Sam?" Pulls in a shuddering breath and tries not to feel how hard he is already, or at least not to show it too plainly. He already knows theanswers he'll get, and he can't quite bring himself to ask. Leans in fast, instead, tonguing at the place Shatty's lips meet, begging forentrance, permission. Breathing ragged through his nose, free handnot brave enough to make this any more clear than it already is. In the end he chokes out a moan against Shatty's lips and just . . . stays there. Waits. "I do not wish to have sex with you, Sam." Sam shudders, just once. "I think I figured that out." Shatty nods judiciously and sits back, easily slipping away from Sam's touch. "Perhaps Julio would. Would you like me to askhim? I understand these negotiations can be difficult." Blinking and staring, and now Sam's feeling shorted out. Resolves to be nicer to computers in the future, and at least let enemycomputers die a quick, noble death. Realizes just in time that he's about to fall off the couch and go into hysterics, and clamps downon it hard. For now. "Um." "We haven't discussed monogamy yet; it is possible that he has a different viewpoint." "Monogamy?" "Are you unfamiliar with the concept?" "Er . . . no . . ." Another nod, and Shatty returns most of his attention to the screen. At least Sam's not as hard anymore, but it's not much comfort,really, especially since a weak, sick part of him is now recasting the last hour's fantasies with Ric. I am Sam Guthrie, Homosexual Slut Mutant. "Ah.. that would be. Um. Great. The asking. Of Ric." Another nod. "Julio has taught me the importance of fulfilling one's needs. I would've thought something so vital would be more in evidence in your culture's advertising and entertainment." Well, that's relatively safe ground. "Ah, well . . . if everyone got what they needed, there wouldn't be enough drama. You find moreof that sort of thing in the movies, I think." "The limitations of weekly programming. I understand. Sometimes we were asked to make the battles longer, and more exciting." "Um. You don't . . . um. Do that now. Do you?" "That would impractical and dangerous." "Wasn't it impractical and dangerous then?" "Very much so, but I've been assured that it was highly entertaining." Sam nods slightly. This new world he seems to be living in is way too surreal, but then, conversations with Shatty have always beenlike that. He pulls himself together, eventually, and gets up. Goesto his room and reads. He doesn't think he's hiding, not really. He learned to hide from Nathan, who's the annually-honoured master of the art of making oneself scarce. He's just staying out of the way. By the window with whatever book his aunt gave him for Christmas. Somethingpaperbacked and small enough to hold comfortably in one hand. He's still there four hours later when Rictor comes in. Without knocking. And stands in the doorway, attempting to loom andnot quite managing it. He'd have an easier time if Sam didn't have three inches on him. Sam looks over and he's surprised by the swell of want that hits him. Sight and smell of this man in the doorway almost too much.He has to pull his knees up to hide the growing hard-on in his jeans and tries to think of something to say. Ric says, "I had a weird conversation with 'Star." Sam doesn't say anything. "You kissed him." Not a question. "Yeah." "He asked me if I wanted to fuck you." Sam flinches. Tries to ignore the ache in his belly and between his legs. Rictor comes in and slams the door. The picture of Sam's family on the shelf beside the door falls over, and so does the desk chair.Sam's not sure that Ric hasn't amplified the shockwave to make hispoint. He keeps the book between them. It's no kind of protection, but it's a psychological barrier, at least. And he should have expectedthat Rictor would be angry. Sam would have been, in Ric's place. Tries to imagine what it might be like to storm into the room ofthe man who just tried to seduce his lover and who's currently sporting a hard-on for him, and comes up short. I am Sam's missing brain. Rictor bends over him, and now he does manage to loom. "Fuck you, Sam! I love him!" Sam whispers, "I figured. Why I asked." And it seems to halt Rictor there, glaring at him and breathing through his nose. Fists clenched and ready at his sides until hefinally spins away and starts to pace Sam's room. Making it smaller, making the air thick and unbreathable. Incredible, somehow, hownothing at all is making the stupid, mindless want go anywhere. How it all just makes him harder. "You know, I could have expected this from that fucking bitch Feral, but this . . . what the fuck is wrong with you, Sam?" Almost pleading, that voice, and he can see how scared Rictor is, how this hits him right where he lives. So easy to forget that Rictor's the younger one, that Shatterstar isn't all-knowable evento him and, oh fuck and oh God it's not fair that this is so . . . so fucked up and all he can say is "I wanted . . . Ah . . . ah want. Still.What you have." Rictor in his face again. "You can't have it, you bastard! You getthat? Hunh?" And Sam's looking and Rictor is looking. At him, focussed entirely on him for perhaps the first time since he walked in the room.Staring at his crotch, at the bulge there and the red in Sam's cheeks and. It's maybe the moan that does it, long and low and rasping out from deep in Sam's chest, the one that's all just Sam begging.Begging for Ric to look at him again, even just like that, angry andfull of contempt, just look at him and see him so hard and wanting.Like it would maybe make it easier to bear, easier to carry if Ric heldon to Sam's shame, too, and Shatterstar noted and remembered Sam's need. Rictor's hand on him through the jeans makes him cry out, slam his head back against the window frame. Buck into it even as Rictorsqueezes hard -- too hard. "You want this, 'mano? Hnn?" Low and dangerous, growled out half-command, calling up vague memories of other fantasies and oh God other men -- "Yes, fuck me, please . . ." Tears at the corner of Sam's eyes, trickling down the grimace of his face and his hands are shaking, opening his fly and pushing his jeans down. Briefs too, and his cock is right there. Hot and obvious and seeking his abdomen. Near purple and just aching for it, but when he moves to stand, turn around, kneel on the bed, anything, Rictor just pushes him back into the same sprawl. "No, you cheating fucker, you take what I give you." Which is a hand around Sam's dick, jacking him rough and steady, making him whimper with each stroke. Pushing up into it, helplessly in rhythm, then stuttering, shuddering out. Holding on to the frame to keep his balance, white knuckled and eyes wide, eyes open to Rictor's own. Anger,and lust, and more anger as Rictor works him skilfully to a whitehot orgasm that leaves Sam shaking and still needing so damned much when Rictor slams back out of the room. Leaving Sam alone, curled in on himself. Dry-eyed and trying not to think. janete go back |