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trinityofoneActually, this is not so much fic as cheating at the Five Things Meme by prompting myself. But last night in the slow hour between 10 and 11 I had to wait for my download to end and for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spazatron to finish watching Nip/Tuck, and I wanted to write something. And I missed by bowtied boy.
Five Things Julian Lodge Feels While Getting Fucked
~875 words, NC-17, Julian/BYOH (Bring Your Own Hewlett)
1. Shame
He is so weak. To want this, to let himself have it. Disgusting. He can hear a thousand voices speaking it, on TV, on the playground, at the dinner table. Looking at himself in the mirror. And then going out, head bent low, and doing it anyway, getting it anyway, because the only thing worse than this intense blush of shame is the burning feeling under his skin, like he can’t live inside himself anymore, like his suit seams are going to rip and tear and he’ll stand exposed, everyone there to see him for what he truly is.
(Disgusting, says his mother, and knocks back another drink.)
2. Desperation
“Come on, come on,” he says—because he wants to get it over with, sure. He’s on his knees, hands flat on the mattress, not trusting the cheap motel headboard. Head bent. “Come on,” he says, and he can feel the whisper of flesh above his flesh. A hand—gentle, too gentle—steadying his hip. A kiss is pressed against the back of his neck, and he tries to shake it off like a horse a fly. This isn’t—no. Not what it’s about.
His cock is hard and leaking, but the real pressure he feels elsewhere, tight in his chest. He needs this. He needs...
“Please,” he says, and he offers up his bare ass like a sacrifice, a gift.
3. Relief
A hard cock sinking into him, filling him up: Julian makes a sound that’s almost a sob, and shivers with something that goes beyond relief, beyond gratitude; that’s very nearly deliverance.
4. Pleasure
Warm burning stretching pain-pleasure, rocking through him, the mattress creaking below them like it’s coming apart, he’s coming apart, fracturing into something new and wonderful, centered around the heady thumbprints of possession that mark his hips, reborn through every breath-stealing scrape against his prostate, sung in his own gasps and the hot pants of air on the back of his neck, the hand that reaches down to stroke his cock and the mouth that whispers dirty-sweet sentences and half-formed phrases in his ear, aborted promises he doesn’t deserve to hear and can’t, won’t be allowed to keep.
But they continue to be spoken, and Julian continues to take them in, stretching and adjusting until they fit, until he can accept them into himself, in tiny increments and gentle pushes and stroke after stroke of painful, pleasurable, glorious release.
5. Whole
He is asleep, and Julian watches. On his side (because his ass hurts) and eyes open (because he’s too ashamed to close them). The man who shares his bed (although of course, it’s not his bed) doesn’t seem to have such problems. His breathing is steady and his eyelids flutter softly, washing gently in and out of REM sleep.
He looks peaceful, content—two feelings Julian can remember with the same sun-dappled vagueness as summers at the lake, the attic that smelled of paperback books, the field lighting up with fireflies at dusk, his mother’s smile. Julian is envious, and a little annoyed. A few minutes ago, they were physically joined, as close together as humanly possible. Now...they seem an impossible distance apart.
He could widen the space between them. Get up, stuff himself back into his suit, walk out the door. And. And. He could lessen it, too. Their hands, inches apart on the ugly flowered bedspread. He could—he could—
He won’t.
He won’t. He won’t take the man’s hand, or run his fingers down his golden-skinned side. He won’t think—not even to himself—You’re beautiful. Because he’s not—not—
—disgusting—
—that kind.
It’s like a circle, spinning spinning spinning. An inevitable, insidious cycle back around to the beginning, and Julian is ashamed.
He could make his home here, in guilt and sweat and the stink of soiled bedsheets. But despite everything, in spite of his weakness, he is stronger than that. Sure, he may lack the necessary piece to cure himself, to fix it for good, but he will get up, and do without (holed up inside his skin, swallowing around the aching gap that’s always there) for a while longer. For a little while longer, at least.
He shifts, moves one slow thigh and then another. He has one foot on the floor when the man’s eyelashes flutter in a movement that’s stronger than dreams. Blue eyes open and look at him, into him, and lips that had gently kissed his neck and the points of his spine spread into a smile.
“Hey.”
Julian swallows. He doesn’t move, or speak; he barely thinks.
Fingers find his with unerring ease. They squeeze but apply no pressure. Julian stares. It’s harder, he finds, to achieve the necessary distance when you’re face to face. It’s all too easy to desire, to attain, intimacy, closeness. It’s almost as if he has it already.
His stomach clenches like one long-starved and finally fed. It’s a painful feeling.
Julian often thinks that he deserves pain. But sometimes, when he opens to it, he gets the other, surprising things that come with.
A soft kiss and strong arms, pulling him back onto the bed. Julian spreads his legs and welcomes the feeling of oneness, of being filled, of being whole.
I wish there were more Julian fic. Plotty Julian fic. I think I need to kidnap some West Wing writers and make them write it for me.
spazatron to finish watching Nip/Tuck, and I wanted to write something. And I missed by bowtied boy.Five Things Julian Lodge Feels While Getting Fucked
~875 words, NC-17, Julian/BYOH (Bring Your Own Hewlett)
1. Shame
He is so weak. To want this, to let himself have it. Disgusting. He can hear a thousand voices speaking it, on TV, on the playground, at the dinner table. Looking at himself in the mirror. And then going out, head bent low, and doing it anyway, getting it anyway, because the only thing worse than this intense blush of shame is the burning feeling under his skin, like he can’t live inside himself anymore, like his suit seams are going to rip and tear and he’ll stand exposed, everyone there to see him for what he truly is.
(Disgusting, says his mother, and knocks back another drink.)
2. Desperation
“Come on, come on,” he says—because he wants to get it over with, sure. He’s on his knees, hands flat on the mattress, not trusting the cheap motel headboard. Head bent. “Come on,” he says, and he can feel the whisper of flesh above his flesh. A hand—gentle, too gentle—steadying his hip. A kiss is pressed against the back of his neck, and he tries to shake it off like a horse a fly. This isn’t—no. Not what it’s about.
His cock is hard and leaking, but the real pressure he feels elsewhere, tight in his chest. He needs this. He needs...
“Please,” he says, and he offers up his bare ass like a sacrifice, a gift.
3. Relief
A hard cock sinking into him, filling him up: Julian makes a sound that’s almost a sob, and shivers with something that goes beyond relief, beyond gratitude; that’s very nearly deliverance.
4. Pleasure
Warm burning stretching pain-pleasure, rocking through him, the mattress creaking below them like it’s coming apart, he’s coming apart, fracturing into something new and wonderful, centered around the heady thumbprints of possession that mark his hips, reborn through every breath-stealing scrape against his prostate, sung in his own gasps and the hot pants of air on the back of his neck, the hand that reaches down to stroke his cock and the mouth that whispers dirty-sweet sentences and half-formed phrases in his ear, aborted promises he doesn’t deserve to hear and can’t, won’t be allowed to keep.
But they continue to be spoken, and Julian continues to take them in, stretching and adjusting until they fit, until he can accept them into himself, in tiny increments and gentle pushes and stroke after stroke of painful, pleasurable, glorious release.
5. Whole
He is asleep, and Julian watches. On his side (because his ass hurts) and eyes open (because he’s too ashamed to close them). The man who shares his bed (although of course, it’s not his bed) doesn’t seem to have such problems. His breathing is steady and his eyelids flutter softly, washing gently in and out of REM sleep.
He looks peaceful, content—two feelings Julian can remember with the same sun-dappled vagueness as summers at the lake, the attic that smelled of paperback books, the field lighting up with fireflies at dusk, his mother’s smile. Julian is envious, and a little annoyed. A few minutes ago, they were physically joined, as close together as humanly possible. Now...they seem an impossible distance apart.
He could widen the space between them. Get up, stuff himself back into his suit, walk out the door. And. And. He could lessen it, too. Their hands, inches apart on the ugly flowered bedspread. He could—he could—
He won’t.
He won’t. He won’t take the man’s hand, or run his fingers down his golden-skinned side. He won’t think—not even to himself—You’re beautiful. Because he’s not—not—
—disgusting—
—that kind.
It’s like a circle, spinning spinning spinning. An inevitable, insidious cycle back around to the beginning, and Julian is ashamed.
He could make his home here, in guilt and sweat and the stink of soiled bedsheets. But despite everything, in spite of his weakness, he is stronger than that. Sure, he may lack the necessary piece to cure himself, to fix it for good, but he will get up, and do without (holed up inside his skin, swallowing around the aching gap that’s always there) for a while longer. For a little while longer, at least.
He shifts, moves one slow thigh and then another. He has one foot on the floor when the man’s eyelashes flutter in a movement that’s stronger than dreams. Blue eyes open and look at him, into him, and lips that had gently kissed his neck and the points of his spine spread into a smile.
“Hey.”
Julian swallows. He doesn’t move, or speak; he barely thinks.
Fingers find his with unerring ease. They squeeze but apply no pressure. Julian stares. It’s harder, he finds, to achieve the necessary distance when you’re face to face. It’s all too easy to desire, to attain, intimacy, closeness. It’s almost as if he has it already.
His stomach clenches like one long-starved and finally fed. It’s a painful feeling.
Julian often thinks that he deserves pain. But sometimes, when he opens to it, he gets the other, surprising things that come with.
A soft kiss and strong arms, pulling him back onto the bed. Julian spreads his legs and welcomes the feeling of oneness, of being filled, of being whole.
I wish there were more Julian fic. Plotty Julian fic. I think I need to kidnap some West Wing writers and make them write it for me.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 05:08 pm (UTC)This is just phenomenal.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 05:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 05:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 05:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 05:28 pm (UTC)Also, BYOH is a happy thought indeed.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 05:33 pm (UTC)And maybe if we got them drunk enough, they would make out with each other!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 05:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 05:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 06:07 pm (UTC)*...begins to read*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 06:12 pm (UTC)OTOH, dystopian futures can be fun...
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 06:18 pm (UTC)Or Stephen's emo pain.
I go to make more tea, for I sense that tea is required here.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 06:26 pm (UTC)*is still way too intrigued by fic*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 06:47 pm (UTC)*is agog*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 06:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 06:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 06:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 07:03 pm (UTC)So gorgeously fucked-up. Oh Julian. :X:X
(Also, OT: I totally dare you to read that TDS fic. Cause I kinda want to know what it's about and/or if it's good without actually having to read it. Ha.)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-05 07:13 pm (UTC)frakking awesome, and dude!!1 yeah, It'll prolly make you cry.
BAsically, Evil Vice-P took over, made TV and all other forms of media worth nil. AND Jon has dissappeared. Stephen has emo-angst. it's all good.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 07:09 pm (UTC)also: BYOH? *is dead*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 07:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 07:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 08:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 11:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 11:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 12:19 am (UTC)Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 02:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 02:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 02:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 04:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 04:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 04:37 am (UTC)Wow. I needed that. I jusst watched Angelina Jolie play this gorgeous, completely fucked-up model who gets AIDS and dies right after she gets off the heroine and her girlfriend is ready to take her back, and I really. Needed. Julian/BYOH.
And this was hot, but also sweet and sad, with hope. So it was perfect.
(I really feel that A Hewlett could just make everything better for Julian, I seem incapable of cynicism in that regard. Maybe the one from that awful movie where we get to see Hewlett with wings; he's a big real estate mogul now, and cranky because he's on his third divorce, and he goes to this self-actualization seminare where he meets Julian.)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 04:40 am (UTC)Just so you know, it's all the fault of the hotness of your story. My legs were still trembling.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 05:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-07 05:26 am (UTC)I love the idea that Julian's suit doesn't fit him anymore. That it's a struggle to put it on again. That damned bow tie is such a perfect symbol for all his mixed up repression.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-16 08:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-21 04:53 pm (UTC)Resident of ouch-town: Me. (A happy resident)