Rated NC-17 for graphic m/m sex. Consider yourself warned.
The lucky people at Alliance own these characters. Man, I'm
jealous.
I suppose this could be seen as a companion/sequel to my
Duty Bound series, sort of after Boredom's the real Silent Killer, but
it will also make sense on it's own, after all it doesn't exactly *have*
a storyline or plot, what do you want from me?
I have nothing against Jerry Springer; in fact I think he
rocks.
Not beta'd my mistakes, mine, all mine.
Stan stared down at his naked torso, make that naked, *unmarred*
torso for the last time. For some strange reason he'd dragged his ass
back to the same place where he'd had his tattoo done, of course he wasn't
drunk this time, well not quite, certainly not drunk enough to numb the
pain he was expecting, he hadn't drunk enough beer, he knew that now,
not nearly enough. When he'd had his tattoo done he'd been in the fuzzy
happy place that was alcohol.
Although now, he was sat under the bright fluorescent tubes
in a sterilised room, pleased that even in his stupor all those years
ago, he'd had enough sense not to venture into one of the dives he often
finds himself visiting in his line of work. Sighing in dread as his hyper
vigilant hearing picked up- the noises of the large tattooed guy clanking
metal sounding instruments together from across the room. How come his
hearing became as sensitive as the Mountie's whenever pain was immanent?
Stan had to fight the urge to get up and run. He didn't care if he was
half naked; his car was only a block away, no biggie, even if it was
nearly midnight. He'd prefer not to have to bump into some of the unsavoury
characters he knew would be lurking around outside, whilst being in a
state of undress, with only his backup gun.
He hadn't realised it was so late, Ray would be worrying
about him, bringing him back to the reason he was led out on a suspiciously
hospital looking bed, waiting fro his body to be mutilated by some guy
who looks like a human doodle.
His eye's widened in panic as the big man turned his attention
back to him, a large needle in his hand. He could do this, he could.
No he couldn't. Just as he was about to jump up and run,
preferring to face Freddie Kruger himself than to go through with it,
he rethought about the reason he was here.
Ray.
OK, he could do this, just gotta concentrate on Ray, hell
he could do that, he'd had hours and hours of practice on that particular
activity. Ray shyly admitting during a television show //not that he
thought that Jerry Springer could actually be worth calling a television
show// that he thought certain body piercings had an appeal. There was
something in the way that he had said it that made Stan pay close attention,
it was quiet and bashful, very unlike his Italian partner. He'd looked
at him hopefully, Stan could still remember the way he'd tried to hide
his true hurt when he'd instantly refused the idea, asking if he had
lost his mind, the way Ray had assured him he was only joking, he didn't
really want him to get his body, 'decorated with painful metal things'.
That was this morning, they'd hardly spoken since, hence the reason he
was here and Ray was probably at home, thinking he'd gone on a bender.
"You okay mate?" the big guy asked him, breaking his train
of thought.
"Greatness," he'd meant it to sound cheerful and reassuring,
but it came out bitter and sarcastic, "get it over with," he hated that
it had sounded like a plea, where'd his tough guy image disappear to,
eh? He felt the coolness of the antiseptic over his nipple as the guy
sterilised it with a cotton swab. He could feel it evaporating quickly,
pulling his nipple into a hard nub //perfect for sticking a needle through
it//
"Ready?"
The guy didn't even give him a chance to answer before he
felt the pain.
Pain.
Concentrated pain closing around his right nipple, he wondered
if it was always this bad for everyone, Ray had always teased him about
his sensitive nipples, and the git wanted him to get a permanent hole
put through one of them, sadistic bastard, he'd never forgive Ray for
this. He'd been shot before and he'd never felt pain like this. He was
pretty sure that getting shot hurt like a son of a bitch, but there was
always something else to think about, the kids to save from the warehouse,
some perp to catch, or he'd just plain old blacked out. Never before
had he nothing else to concentrate on but the pain. He didn't like it
one bit.
Just as soon as the pain had started, it stopped, reduced
to an ache, a damn persistent, throbbing ache, but still an ache. He
could deal with aches. Letting out a huge sigh of relief, he opened his
screwed up eyes and stared tentatively down his chest. Getting a quick
glimpse of the small silver ring through his right nipple before it was
promptly covered with a piece of gauze with sticky edges, increasing
the aching slightly.
"Clean it twice a day with salt water until it's healed,
you can take it out after six weeks," the guy informed him, moving on
to his next customer, Stan took that as a hint to get the hell out. Pulling
his tee shirt stiffly over his head, wishing that he'd brought a baggier
one, unappreciative of the way it rubbed against the gauze. Walking down
the road in the dark then climbing gingerly into his GTO Stan glanced
at his watch, nearly one o clock, man Ray was going to be pissed with
him.
#*#*#*#*
Closing the door quietly behind him, Stan stepped into the
dark apartment; Ray had apparently gone to bed. Stan toed off his boots
and socks. Slipping out of his jeans, dumping them on the chair, he slowly
opened the bedroom door.
Ray was already in bed, and Stan hoped stupidly, asleep.
Not willing the risk of pulling his tee shirt off and catching
the gauze, or worse yet, the ring, he left it on along with his jockeys.
Ray would think it was strange of course, he always slept naked. There
was no way in hell that he was going to risk the pain again though. Sliding
quietly in between the sheets, lying prone on his back, Stan thought
he'd got away with it. But before he could breathe a sigh of relief,
Ray turned over onto his back,
"What the hell time do you call this Kowalski?"
" 1am Ray, what the hell time do you call it?" so he couldn't
help the backchat, he was in pain, he really didn't feel like the inquisition.
Ray's eyes narrowed on him, taking in the tee shirt covered shoulder.
"Be that fucking way," Ray snarled, rolling over, turning
his back to Stan again. Stan remained still for what felt like an eternity,
scared to move. Eventually, when he was sure Ray was asleep he shifted
over as close as he could to his lover's back, contented just to feel
his comforting warmth down his side.
#*#*#*#*
Stan slowly ascended his way back into consciousness, he
knew he didn't really want to do that, he'd hardly slept all night, kept
rolling over, a sharp pain bringing him back to reality, before repeating
the same cycle.
Now he was being woken up. Even in his fuzzy state, he knew
that he didn't want that, definitely not.
Leave me alone, he wanted to scream, but just couldn't really
be bothered. Fuck off he wanted to yell at the insistent thrusting against
his thigh, but again, couldn't really be assed. Was that his tee shirt
being lifted up? And what the hell was tugging at his nipple?
His nipple?
Shit.
His eyes flew open in horror, looking into the murky depths
of Ray's own eyes, puling at the gauze with impatient, excited, *jerky*
movements.
Ow.
"Ray, could you, um?"
"What?" Ray asked eagerly, his hand tracing seductive circles
on his stomach.
"Not *do* that, it hurts,"
"Oh. Can I see it?" Ray reminded him of a kid at Christmas,
so excited and wide-eyed, almost made the whole pain thing worthwhile.
Almost.
Not that he had a chance to answer; the gauze was now slowly,
but insistently being removed. He didn't have time to react before Ray
prodded it cautiously with the end of his finger experimentally. Okay,
that didn't hurt as much as he'd expected, it had kind of glued itself
in place with dried pus //umm, nice// as long as it wasn't actually *moved*
then he'd be just fine. He hoped.
"Ra..." he was quickly shut up as Ray shoved three fingers
down his throat, cutting off the rest of the sentence, as he climbed
on top of him, pulling his jockey's down and pushing his thighs apart.
Slowly lowering his head.
//No Ray//
Okay he could deal with that as well, Ray was being incredibly
gentle, gently laving the still throbbing nub. Stan relaxed his head
back onto the pillows and concentrated on sucking on the fingers, he
could trust Ray not to hurt him. The fingers were suddenly removed and
shoved into his exposed ass. Stan's back arched off the bed as Ray's
long fingers brushed his prostrate. Then, just as quickly the fingers
were gone, replaced with something much more appetising. They'd done
this often enough to forego the foreplay, so to speak. Not that they
didn't enjoy it, it just seemed that Ray didn't have enough patience
for it. It didn't take Ray long to come, he was acting like a love starved
teenager. Ray sped up his pumping on Stan's dick, till it wasn't long
before he followed him over the edge.
Ray landed in a sweaty heap on top of him, careful not to put
any weight onto his nipple.
"Love you," Ray murmured,
"Yer just after my body,"
"Who could blame me?" he asked as he moved in for a deep
kiss.
Finis
Comments, good or bad, I can take it, I'm a big girl cheezymule@yahoo.co.uk