part five of Twisting the Rope
He looks at Carlos, and Carlos nods briefly. Time to get out of there, too many people but not enough cameras, boring, and JC has plans. Chris is waiting at home for him. He'll be on his knees, probably on the bed... JC grips his drink a little tighter, picturing the scene in his mind, smiles at the girl in the tight top trying to get his attention, looks for Carlos again. Chris and he have been apart for too long, and he's been making plans.
He finds his hands shaking when he reaches their front door, has trouble getting the key in the lock, stops for a minute to cool himself down. He wants to be in the right space when he enters the bedroom. Chris deserves it. Chris deserves anything JC can give him.
He listens inside the door, closing his eyes to concentrate, but the house is silent around him. Shadows and light flicker throughout the living room and candlelight fills the open staircase. JC looks up the stairs, listening again, puts a hand on the polished banister. He wonders if Chris heard him enter the house, can hear him coming up the stairs. He wonders if Chris's breath is caught in his throat, too.
Outside the bedroom door he stops again and wraps his hand around the doorknob. Nothing, no sound, and he knows Chris has been on his knees for a long time. JC bites his lip and inhales deliberately, caressing the carved metal of the doorknob. Finally he opens the door.
Chris is facing him on the bed, head lowered. There's another glow in the bedroom, another candle lit, but JC can't see it. He can only see Chris, Chris's dark head tilted toward him, Chris's hands clamped on his thighs and his chest rising and falling roughly. He doesn't look up. JC can't move for a minute. He feels a flicker of uncertainty.
Then Chris raises his head and he's smiling a little and JC can't help but smile back ridiculously. He rushes across the room to Chris, loses it all to pull Chris to him, to wrap his arms around Chris while Chris pushes his face into JC's body.
"Christopher," he whispers, and Chris makes a noise into JC's side. JC knows Chris is saying his name. Chris always gets it right no matter what, so good, and JC feels himself slip over into the place he needs to be. He curves one hand around Chris's head, sliding his fingers through dark spikes, frees himself from Chris's embrace gently, steps away. Chris watches him, still smiling. It's time to begin.
He unbuttons his shirt slowly, trailing fingers over skin as he pulls the fabric away. Chris's breathing hitches. JC glances at him, begins undoing his fly even more slowly, pushes his hand in to cup himself briefly. Chris makes a soft sound, his eyes big and dark in the dim light of the bedroom. JC smiles and turns away to strip as quickly as he can.
When he turns back, stroking himself gently, Chris sighs. He's going to like the plan, JC thinks.
"Christopher," he murmurs. Chris answers absently, still watching JC's hand. JC waits a minute, then speaks again. "Christopher."
This time Chris's gaze flies to his and he grimaces, just a twitch. "Yes, JC. Sorry."
He's so amazing. JC wants to go to him again, wants to touch him and he will, but Chris is going to have to work for it first.
"Mmm," he says. "If you're not in the mood to talk to me..." He eyes Chris speculatively.
"No gag. Please."
But he licks his lips and JC knows he's tasting the ball in his mind. JC considers the idea briefly, dismisses it. He needs to hear Chris tonight.
"Okay. No gag. That's good. Because, tonight." He stops. Chris listens intently, his mouth open a little.
"Tonight I want... well. You'll have to figure it out."
Chris's eyes narrow, and a gleeful flicker races through JC's body. It's their game, a game they play often, but JC has a variation in mind, a little twist.
He goes on. "You're going to talk to me, Christopher." he says, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "You, you're going to, to tell me."
JC has to stop again to regroup. He turns away for a second, closes his eyes, reaches for stillness. When he turns back, calm and collected, Chris is watching him solemnly. JC smiles at him.
"Figure out what I want. Tell me what it is, and I'll tell you if you're right. Then you can do it. Whatever it is."
Chris lowers his head. Then he looks at JC again, a flash of something in his eyes. He quirks his lips affectionately at JC and makes a low, rude noise. "You want to drive me crazy, that's what you want," he says, and there's something in his voice, too, but mainly JC hears desire and bravado so he lets it go.
"Wrong," he says coolly, and looks away.
Chris says nothing for a minute. Then JC hears a soft "oh" and Chris takes a deep breath.
"I think..." Chris starts in a low voice. "I think. You want to be on the bed. And I should be naked."
He falls silent. JC nods, moves over to the bed, stretches out next to him on the covers. Chris lets out his breath in a whoosh, turning his head to stare the length of JC's body.
"You want to watch me get undressed the way I watched you," he says, and that's good, JC likes that one.
"Mmm, yeah," JC says, roughening his tone. Chris closes his eyes briefly.
Then he gets up from the bed slowly. He's so beautiful, fumbling with his clothes, a little self-conscious but into it, JC can tell. He's hard and ready, touches his own cock briefly, smiles at JC. Amazing.
"You want me to touch you," Chris says.
JC shakes his head. "Not yet."
Chris frowns. "I... JC," he says, so JC says "mmm," brushes a hand over his belly and up his chest, reaches overhead for the headboard of the bed. Chris watches him and after a second his expression brightens a little.
"You want to touch yourself. You want me to watch," Chris says, like he's discovered a naughty secret. JC makes an amused sound.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah," he says. Chris makes a happy sound himself, edging closer to the bed. JC brings his arm back down, his hand to his chest, rubs gently at a nipple, sighs. Chris's hands clench at his sides.
"Sure you don't want me to touch you?" he asks hopefully. JC says "mmm" and shakes his head, but he slides over on the bed and gives Chris a sidelong glance.
"Oh," Chris breathes. "I get... you want me on the bed with you."
JC exhales and pinches his nipple, murmurs at the tingling throughout his body, turns his head to watch Chris as he settles gingerly onto the covers next to him. Chris palms his cock, checking for JC's reaction, and god, that's nice. JC says "yeah" and reaches for his cock, too.
He loves Chris's responses, loves how Chris's breath comes short as he watches, his eyes glazing, his cock jerking in his hand. JC wants to lick him, wants to rub his face all over that gorgeous hard cock and inhale. He realizes he's biting his lips and making low yearning noises when Chris says "oh" again. Chris moves closer on the bed.
"You want, mmm. You want to suck me," Chris whispers. JC's lips throb and he has to hold the back of his his hand to his open mouth so he can calm down. It's an amazing thought, so fucking hot, and he can practically taste Chris already, but somehow, that's not right.
"No," he gasps shortly.
Chris's face falls a little. He looks hurt, and JC can't tolerate that, so he shimmies across the bed and rubs up against him to apologize. Chris smiles a little and wiggles back, mollified, and that's so good, the wiggling, that JC finds himself turning over and backing up. It's close, it's almost... Chris tips his head to rest on JC's back, and the feel of his breath makes JC grunt and jerk his hips.
"I'm going to. You want me to touch you now," Chris whispers. JC groans and shifts his legs. He can feel Chris's cock, pressing against the back of his thigh, rubbing, hot.
"No, no, Chris. Can't, don't you..."
JC can't go on. Something's rising in him, something wild, and all he can do is close his eyes and hope Chris can save him.
"I do know what you want, JC," Chris says finally, his voice changing, hardening. JC feels something so much like relief that he moans and lifts his ass.
"You want me. To fuck you."
"Oh, no," JC whispers, but a wave of heat runs through him, spreading his thighs against the bed.
"No? I think you want me to fuck you on your belly."
Chris's voice is so dark and rough now. JC wants to see his face, but he can't open his eyes, can only pant and twist on the bed. Chris is wrong, so wrong, but he says "you like that, remember? You want to be on your belly" and somehow JC ends up face down in the pillow, moaning "god, Chris" and clutching the bedspread.
Chris comes down heavily onto JC's back. "You want me on top of you," he says into JC's neck, and JC pushes back against him and says "fuck, oh fuck."
Chris rummages in the drawer of the bedside table. JC feels something cool and slippery and Chris's fingers, says "ahh." Chris laughs into his shoulder, whispers "you like that, I remember," and JC shakes his head, rubbing his face over the pillow, arching his back.
"You do, you love that," Chris says. JC feels him fumbling around, feels his cock lining up, pressing in, and he gasps and shakes his head again, reaches wildly to clutch Chris's tense ass, pulls hard.
"Yeah," Chris says, sliding all the way in with a jerk. "Love it, you love it, fuck."
"Chris, god, listen to me," JC manages, but Chris slides out a little and pushes in again.
"I do, JC. I listen," he growls. "I hear you. I hear you." He pushes in again, and again, and JC's hips rise from the bed and his cock feels like iron.
"You want me to fuck you, JC. Remember? Fuck. I can't forget."
Chris fucks him hard then, pounds him into the bed, and he's angry, JC thinks, and it's the best and worst thing JC has ever known. His body's insane, taking him over, but before he loses it completely he tries again.
"Chris, Chris, please."
"You want me to make it easy for you," Chris hisses, and JC shudders under him. He moans "no, no," rolls his hips up as Chris plunges forward.
"You want it to be my fault. You want me to take it all away. You want, you want me, you want me... god, JC."
Chris convulses into him, filling him up, pushes that beautiful cock into him again and again until JC's world goes white and he's weightless on the bed, moaning "Chris" and "no" and "god, Chris, no," over and over.
Chris pulls out too soon, too hard. JC just wants to float, wants to lay there with Chris all over him, but Chris pulls out and JC can't help a little gasp of pain. In a second Chris is off the bed, across the room.
"Christopher," JC says, and Chris shudders, shakes his head.
"Christopher," JC repeats, trying to keep his voice level, but Chris doesn't look at him. He grabs up his clothes and jerks open the bedroom door, stumbles a little on his way out, pulls the door closed behind him. JC thinks he can hear the front door open and slam shut below. Then nothing, silence, and he's all alone.
He's fucked it up again. Fucked it up, and he always leaves, always runs away until Chris finds him and makes everything okay, but this time that won't happen. There's nothing to be done. Chris is gone, and JC's alone in an empty house.
Nothing is okay. Nothing is going to be okay.
JC can't move, sits paralyzed on the bed looking at his hands, his mind a blank, his body filled with darkness. When the candle sputters out it's the saddest thing he can remember. Finally, he curls up on the rumpled covers.
His eyes come open some unguessable time later.
The house is quiet and dark around him. JC waits for the crushing heaviness to surround him again, but it's gone. He hasn't slept, only lain on the bed without thinking for hours, but it feels as though he's waking up. Something's different.
He rises stiffly from the bed and faces the bedroom door, a tiny glow kindling in him, something important that he understands without any thought at all. He can move now. He thinks he knows where to go, too. JC opens the bedroom door and drifts toward the stairs.
Outside the door to the rec room he stops again. He can barely hear the tv. Opening the door is hard, his stomach all in knots, but inside he finds Chris in a nest of blankets on the couch, surrounded by candy wrappers.
"Took you long enough. You hungry?" Chris's voice is trembling a little. It's the strangest thing. JC shakes his head, mute.
Chris looks at him for a minute, then holds an edge of the blanket open. JC's heart comes up into his throat. He slides in next to Chris, barely breathing, and Chris folds him up in the blanket and settles against him.
Chris looks at the tv for awhile, but JC can't even pretend to do that. He watches Chris, listens to him with his whole body, waits.
"I'm supposed to tell you what you want," Chris says finally, in a husky voice.
JC says "Chris" and closes his eyes. He never wants to think about this night and this game again.
"But I'm not going to."
Chris's voice is trembling again. He edges closer to JC under the blanket. JC feels dizzy and cold, like he knows what's coming. He bows his head and says "Chris" again, amazed at how subdued he sounds.
"You should, you. You, you sh-" Chris fumbles to a stop, shaking hard. He bites his lip. JC says "Christopher" and pushes his face into Chris's neck, and Chris takes a deep breath.
"You should tell me what you want."
JC feels a prickling in his eyes. He wants to tell Chris "it was just a game" but he can't. He wants to say "I always do that, that's what I do" but that's not right, either. The only thing that will come out of his mouth is "how" and he whispers it into Chris's hair, terrified.
Chris hugs him closer, but he says nothing for a long time. Then he pulls away and gives JC a sardonic look.
"Well, you could use your mouth," he says.
JC looks at him uncertainly. Chris flushes a little and grimaces, says "I meant. I didn't mean," and he's so gorgeous and scared and right that JC knows exactly what to do, for what feels like the first time ever. He smiles unsteadily and licks his lips.
"Maybe we can talk first. Then I'll use my mouth later. Okay?"
Chris lets out a heavy breath and smiles, suddenly.
"Yes. That's good. That'll... that's acceptable. Very acceptable. Yes." He stops himself with a clear effort.
JC makes a warm sound and leans his forehead against Chris's for a second. Then he settles back, tries to ignore the icy tangle in his stomach, and with no real idea of what he's going to say, opens his mouth to begin.