"best known" for thekatcameback
Moooooore holiday fic. thekatcameback requested "the usual", which I took to mean "Kyle abuses Brian, Brian shamelessly enjoys it", because, uh, that's usual for us. Erm. Yes.
Anyways.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It is in no way a reflection on the actual life, behavior, or character of any of the people featured, and there is no connection or affiliation between this fictional story and the people or organizations it mentions. It was not written with any intent to slander or defame any of the people featured. No profit has been or ever will be made as a result of this story: it is solely for entertainment. And again, it is entirely fictional, i.e. not true.
best known
It takes Brian a minute to notice the blue light on in his apartment, flickering on the door. Ashley has her arms around his shoulders, her nose on his neck, so Brian stumbles in, laughing with his hand tangling in the ends of her hair. Slow minute where he realizes that the blue glow isn’t just from behind his eyes, another slow minute to realize what it is.
His TV is on.
He blinks, Ashley’s laughter dying out when she notices she’s laughing alone. She looks up at Brian uncertainly but he’s staring at the back of couch, thinking, there’s no way.
“Hello?”
The TV clicks off and the apartment is plunged into black and afterimage-orange. Ashley is clinging to him, pressing herself along the side of his body. Someone gets up from the couch and walks towards them, a low whimper building in Ashley’s throat, and, yeah, it’s dark, but Brian can read that vague silhouette from a mile off anyways.
“You’re supposed to be in New York.” A little more accusing than he’d wanted but, damn, he’s not supposed to have to feel bad about walking into his own apartment with his own girlfriend.
“Offday.” Which, of course, Brian had completely forgotten, because it’s not like it’s his job to memorize the schedule of a stupid American League team, and anyways it’s still definitely too far for Kyle to be here, he is definitely not going to get back with a responsible amount of time before his next game.
“Ummm.” They’re still standing in the dark and this is not the place to be making introductions, but. “Ashley, um, this is Kyle. Farnsworth, um, I’ve, you’ve heard about him, he’s a friend of mine and, um. Kyle, this is Ashley, she’s my, um.” He can’t quite bring himself to say ‘girlfriend’, under the circumstances, and damn Kyle straight to hell, Ashley’s shivering a little and more upset than before and none of this is Brian’s fault.
“Hi,” Kyle says, making no move to shake her hand or anything like that, god forbid he be civil to anyone he doesn’t already know. Brian would roll his eyes if he didn’t know the gesture would be lost in the low light.
“Ash, um, maybe you’d better, um. I guess I have to talk to Kyle about some, um, stuff, so maybe you should. Um. Head out.”
“Baseball stuff,” Kyle adds helpfully, hands still leadweighted at his sides.
Poor Ashley, Brian feels all kinds of terrible about this. “Bri, are you going to be….?” and bless her, she can’t even bring herself to finish the sentence, her voice trailing off quaveringly. It’s an appealing little sound and very touching, making Brian feel, if possible, even worse.
“I’ll be fine, Ash. He’s my friend. We just need to talk about some. Stuff.”
“Stuff,” Kyle growls in that darkly humorous tone of voice that makes him sound like he’s about to cut someone up with a butcher knife and laugh maniacally while doing it. Somehow this fails to reassure Ashley, who squeezes Brian’s arm tightly, and Brian might, actually, for once, kill Kyle before the night is through.
Turning away from Kyle, hoping the sonofabitch has enough sense to stay fucking quiet for a minute, Brian murmurs to Ashley, it’s OK, really, it is, he’s just… weird, sometimes, but it’s totally fine, everything is fine, finefinefine, he promises. He kisses her on the forehead, just daring Kyle to say something, and he manages to get her out to her car and on her way home. He takes a deep breath of the night air, heavy and damp with impending rain.
He goes back inside and Kyle shoves him up against the door, all hands on Brian’s shoulders and a knee between Brian’s legs and teeth on Brian’s neck. The warm air from outside is forced in a whistle out between Brian’s lips and he can’t quite get his breath back. Which is probably, when he thinks about it, what Kyle wants, because Kyle likes nothing so much as someone gasping and helpless in front of him.
Kind of fucked-up, really, but Brian tips his head back and invites the biting, already thinking of ways to explain the marks to Ashley, the trainers. When it comes to fucked up, he can’t exactly talk.
“Bad,” Kyle growls again, making Brian want to roll his eyes, oh really, we’re doing the one-word thing tonight? but Kyle follows up his announcement by dragging down Brian’s zipper and digging a hand into Brian’s jeans, just a little too hard to be comfortable and that’s. Really. Kind of OK with Brian.
“So that’s the girlfriend,” and yeah, Brian does not appreciate that sneering tone of voice, not when Ashley’s the subject of it. “She for appearances or what?”
“Fuck. You,” he manages to grind out, pushing his hips up regardless. In a way Ashley is sort of for appearances, but in a way she’s sweetness and light and bright clean uninflected love, all the things that Kyle isn’t. In Brian’s mind, where things like this make sense, Ashley’s the shiny silver side of the duct tape, reliable and reassuring, and Kyle’s the sticky side, getting all over everything and completely annoying but you can’t hate it, it’s what ultimately gets the job done.
Kyle smirks and grabs the back of Brian’s neck hard, fingers curling. “She fuck you like I do?” He’s smug and insufferable and Brian fucking hates when he’s like that, especially when he’s right, especially when his fingers are hitting pressure points that hurt in the particular way that makes Brian’s eyes unfocus and his breath shorten. Really, fuck Kyle for knowing that too.
“Come all the way down here an’ you’re paradin’ ‘round with the girlfriend. Don’t even deserve the bed tonight.” The logic here is all kinds of flawed, it’s his apartment, his city, he can do what he likes, not as though Kyle was expected today, but Brian can’t bring himself to mention it, because he’s too busy shivering with anticipation. Kyle pries Brian off the door by the back of his neck, navigating him back into the living room and shoving him over the arm of the couch, already tugging his jeans down in the same motion.
It’s still dark, the TV still off, blackness weighing heavy on Brian’s eyes when he’s got them open just the same as when they’re closed. Kyle still has a hand on the back of his neck, the other working his own pants down now that he’s got Brian where he wants him.
It’s better with his eyes closed, Brian decides, less disorienting. Kyle rubs an open palm on his ass and there’s a gentle swish of a sound, air displaced, split-second warning that he’s drawn his hand back before it reconnects with a stinging slap. Brian can’t help the high yelp that escapes from his throat and the low chuckle behind him says that Kyle knows it full well. It should be embarrassing, the noise he makes and the way he starts rubbing on the couch, half to work up some friction for himself but at least half to show Kyle how much he likes it, wants it. But Brian’s pretty much beyond embarrassment these days, where Kyle’s concerned.
Low and rumbling and Kyle’s either chuckling or saying things that sound a little like “you deserve it, you know it too, fuckin’ love it don’t you,” or maybe a little bit of both. Brian would object but, well, he doesn’t really object. He’s the starting catcher, now, he has to call the shots day in and day out, and, fuck, sometimes he just wants to sit back a little maybe, have someone else make the decisions. Someone who looks better than Bobby Cox, anyways.
He sighs and shifts his legs apart when Kyle works his thigh up between them. Kyle seems content to just flex his leg there, Brian awkwardly bent over and precariously balanced between Kyle and the couch, tilting forward up on his toes. He wants Kyle to just fuck him already but he’s pretty sure that Kyle is waiting for him to beg for it. And Brian’s not going to beg, dammit. Not after Kyle barging into his apartment when he’s supposed to be in New York, scaring poor Ashley half out of her wits, getting Brian this turned on and getting all smug about it. No. Brian won’t beg.
Kyle presses his leg up a little more, Brian’s toes straining further until he can’t move in either direction. It’s equally tormenting, down against Kyle’s leg or forward against the couch and he suddenly doesn’t care about whether or not he’s going to play Kyle’s game anymore, because he just needs to get off, needs to get fucked, nownownow.
“Ky. Kyle. Fuckmepleasejustdoitalreadybastardplease.”
More low chuckles and there’s something dribbling down his ass which means that Kyle must have had lube in his pocket, and he must have condoms or he wouldn’t, to his credit, be trying to make this happen, and who just walks around with all that in their jeans pockets? Sexy MacGyver? And how does Kyle fit all that stuff in his pockets anyways when he wears his jeans so fucking tight?
Brian’s thankful for the way his mind wanders, trying to work out whether or not he noticed the lump in Kyle’s pocket before, because the fact that he’s momentarily distracted is probably the only thing that keeps him from coming right away, the second Kyle presses him against the couch even more and presses just barely in.
Twitch forward, inch by slow and agonizing inch and, yeah, Ashley doesn’t do this to Brian, not nearly.
Kyle hardly gives him time to adjust, a few seconds that are more about making sure Brian knows Kyle could be taking his time and making this easier on Brian, but isn’t. He leans on Brian, using fucking gravity, of all unfair things, to shove himself in deeper. Brian shoves back as best he can, needy whine building in the base of his throat.
“Want it?” Kyle mutters, buried as far as he can go in Brian’s ass, hands deceptively gentle around Brian’s hipbones. Brian nods frantically, bobbing his head, beyond even verbal begging. He’s been doused in gasoline, heady and itching to erupt, all he needs is that one… little… spark….
As annoyingly attuned to him as ever, Kyle pulls back and slams in, just the right angle with Brian bent over the arm of the couch just so, and there are more than enough sparks, exploding chaotically behind Brian’s eyelids.
It’s all that Brian can do to grab at the couch, tense his fingers around whatever bit of cushion he can hold. Kyle’s thumping into him over and over again, not nearly enough time between for Brian to breathe in. There’s not a damn thing he can do except strain up on his toes, gasp and groan and take it as best he can.
It’s nothing at all like Ashley, and fuck Kyle, fuck him for being in Atlanta and knowing Brian like he does, because it’s exactly the opposite of Ashley, and it’s exactly fucking perfect.
A few of the holiday fics might show up after Xmas, because, uh, there's no way I finish them all before. Hopefully they'll all be posted before New Years. Hey, that's still the holidays. In my books.
Anyways.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It is in no way a reflection on the actual life, behavior, or character of any of the people featured, and there is no connection or affiliation between this fictional story and the people or organizations it mentions. It was not written with any intent to slander or defame any of the people featured. No profit has been or ever will be made as a result of this story: it is solely for entertainment. And again, it is entirely fictional, i.e. not true.
best known
It takes Brian a minute to notice the blue light on in his apartment, flickering on the door. Ashley has her arms around his shoulders, her nose on his neck, so Brian stumbles in, laughing with his hand tangling in the ends of her hair. Slow minute where he realizes that the blue glow isn’t just from behind his eyes, another slow minute to realize what it is.
His TV is on.
He blinks, Ashley’s laughter dying out when she notices she’s laughing alone. She looks up at Brian uncertainly but he’s staring at the back of couch, thinking, there’s no way.
“Hello?”
The TV clicks off and the apartment is plunged into black and afterimage-orange. Ashley is clinging to him, pressing herself along the side of his body. Someone gets up from the couch and walks towards them, a low whimper building in Ashley’s throat, and, yeah, it’s dark, but Brian can read that vague silhouette from a mile off anyways.
“You’re supposed to be in New York.” A little more accusing than he’d wanted but, damn, he’s not supposed to have to feel bad about walking into his own apartment with his own girlfriend.
“Offday.” Which, of course, Brian had completely forgotten, because it’s not like it’s his job to memorize the schedule of a stupid American League team, and anyways it’s still definitely too far for Kyle to be here, he is definitely not going to get back with a responsible amount of time before his next game.
“Ummm.” They’re still standing in the dark and this is not the place to be making introductions, but. “Ashley, um, this is Kyle. Farnsworth, um, I’ve, you’ve heard about him, he’s a friend of mine and, um. Kyle, this is Ashley, she’s my, um.” He can’t quite bring himself to say ‘girlfriend’, under the circumstances, and damn Kyle straight to hell, Ashley’s shivering a little and more upset than before and none of this is Brian’s fault.
“Hi,” Kyle says, making no move to shake her hand or anything like that, god forbid he be civil to anyone he doesn’t already know. Brian would roll his eyes if he didn’t know the gesture would be lost in the low light.
“Ash, um, maybe you’d better, um. I guess I have to talk to Kyle about some, um, stuff, so maybe you should. Um. Head out.”
“Baseball stuff,” Kyle adds helpfully, hands still leadweighted at his sides.
Poor Ashley, Brian feels all kinds of terrible about this. “Bri, are you going to be….?” and bless her, she can’t even bring herself to finish the sentence, her voice trailing off quaveringly. It’s an appealing little sound and very touching, making Brian feel, if possible, even worse.
“I’ll be fine, Ash. He’s my friend. We just need to talk about some. Stuff.”
“Stuff,” Kyle growls in that darkly humorous tone of voice that makes him sound like he’s about to cut someone up with a butcher knife and laugh maniacally while doing it. Somehow this fails to reassure Ashley, who squeezes Brian’s arm tightly, and Brian might, actually, for once, kill Kyle before the night is through.
Turning away from Kyle, hoping the sonofabitch has enough sense to stay fucking quiet for a minute, Brian murmurs to Ashley, it’s OK, really, it is, he’s just… weird, sometimes, but it’s totally fine, everything is fine, finefinefine, he promises. He kisses her on the forehead, just daring Kyle to say something, and he manages to get her out to her car and on her way home. He takes a deep breath of the night air, heavy and damp with impending rain.
He goes back inside and Kyle shoves him up against the door, all hands on Brian’s shoulders and a knee between Brian’s legs and teeth on Brian’s neck. The warm air from outside is forced in a whistle out between Brian’s lips and he can’t quite get his breath back. Which is probably, when he thinks about it, what Kyle wants, because Kyle likes nothing so much as someone gasping and helpless in front of him.
Kind of fucked-up, really, but Brian tips his head back and invites the biting, already thinking of ways to explain the marks to Ashley, the trainers. When it comes to fucked up, he can’t exactly talk.
“Bad,” Kyle growls again, making Brian want to roll his eyes, oh really, we’re doing the one-word thing tonight? but Kyle follows up his announcement by dragging down Brian’s zipper and digging a hand into Brian’s jeans, just a little too hard to be comfortable and that’s. Really. Kind of OK with Brian.
“So that’s the girlfriend,” and yeah, Brian does not appreciate that sneering tone of voice, not when Ashley’s the subject of it. “She for appearances or what?”
“Fuck. You,” he manages to grind out, pushing his hips up regardless. In a way Ashley is sort of for appearances, but in a way she’s sweetness and light and bright clean uninflected love, all the things that Kyle isn’t. In Brian’s mind, where things like this make sense, Ashley’s the shiny silver side of the duct tape, reliable and reassuring, and Kyle’s the sticky side, getting all over everything and completely annoying but you can’t hate it, it’s what ultimately gets the job done.
Kyle smirks and grabs the back of Brian’s neck hard, fingers curling. “She fuck you like I do?” He’s smug and insufferable and Brian fucking hates when he’s like that, especially when he’s right, especially when his fingers are hitting pressure points that hurt in the particular way that makes Brian’s eyes unfocus and his breath shorten. Really, fuck Kyle for knowing that too.
“Come all the way down here an’ you’re paradin’ ‘round with the girlfriend. Don’t even deserve the bed tonight.” The logic here is all kinds of flawed, it’s his apartment, his city, he can do what he likes, not as though Kyle was expected today, but Brian can’t bring himself to mention it, because he’s too busy shivering with anticipation. Kyle pries Brian off the door by the back of his neck, navigating him back into the living room and shoving him over the arm of the couch, already tugging his jeans down in the same motion.
It’s still dark, the TV still off, blackness weighing heavy on Brian’s eyes when he’s got them open just the same as when they’re closed. Kyle still has a hand on the back of his neck, the other working his own pants down now that he’s got Brian where he wants him.
It’s better with his eyes closed, Brian decides, less disorienting. Kyle rubs an open palm on his ass and there’s a gentle swish of a sound, air displaced, split-second warning that he’s drawn his hand back before it reconnects with a stinging slap. Brian can’t help the high yelp that escapes from his throat and the low chuckle behind him says that Kyle knows it full well. It should be embarrassing, the noise he makes and the way he starts rubbing on the couch, half to work up some friction for himself but at least half to show Kyle how much he likes it, wants it. But Brian’s pretty much beyond embarrassment these days, where Kyle’s concerned.
Low and rumbling and Kyle’s either chuckling or saying things that sound a little like “you deserve it, you know it too, fuckin’ love it don’t you,” or maybe a little bit of both. Brian would object but, well, he doesn’t really object. He’s the starting catcher, now, he has to call the shots day in and day out, and, fuck, sometimes he just wants to sit back a little maybe, have someone else make the decisions. Someone who looks better than Bobby Cox, anyways.
He sighs and shifts his legs apart when Kyle works his thigh up between them. Kyle seems content to just flex his leg there, Brian awkwardly bent over and precariously balanced between Kyle and the couch, tilting forward up on his toes. He wants Kyle to just fuck him already but he’s pretty sure that Kyle is waiting for him to beg for it. And Brian’s not going to beg, dammit. Not after Kyle barging into his apartment when he’s supposed to be in New York, scaring poor Ashley half out of her wits, getting Brian this turned on and getting all smug about it. No. Brian won’t beg.
Kyle presses his leg up a little more, Brian’s toes straining further until he can’t move in either direction. It’s equally tormenting, down against Kyle’s leg or forward against the couch and he suddenly doesn’t care about whether or not he’s going to play Kyle’s game anymore, because he just needs to get off, needs to get fucked, nownownow.
“Ky. Kyle. Fuckmepleasejustdoitalreadybastardplease.”
More low chuckles and there’s something dribbling down his ass which means that Kyle must have had lube in his pocket, and he must have condoms or he wouldn’t, to his credit, be trying to make this happen, and who just walks around with all that in their jeans pockets? Sexy MacGyver? And how does Kyle fit all that stuff in his pockets anyways when he wears his jeans so fucking tight?
Brian’s thankful for the way his mind wanders, trying to work out whether or not he noticed the lump in Kyle’s pocket before, because the fact that he’s momentarily distracted is probably the only thing that keeps him from coming right away, the second Kyle presses him against the couch even more and presses just barely in.
Twitch forward, inch by slow and agonizing inch and, yeah, Ashley doesn’t do this to Brian, not nearly.
Kyle hardly gives him time to adjust, a few seconds that are more about making sure Brian knows Kyle could be taking his time and making this easier on Brian, but isn’t. He leans on Brian, using fucking gravity, of all unfair things, to shove himself in deeper. Brian shoves back as best he can, needy whine building in the base of his throat.
“Want it?” Kyle mutters, buried as far as he can go in Brian’s ass, hands deceptively gentle around Brian’s hipbones. Brian nods frantically, bobbing his head, beyond even verbal begging. He’s been doused in gasoline, heady and itching to erupt, all he needs is that one… little… spark….
As annoyingly attuned to him as ever, Kyle pulls back and slams in, just the right angle with Brian bent over the arm of the couch just so, and there are more than enough sparks, exploding chaotically behind Brian’s eyelids.
It’s all that Brian can do to grab at the couch, tense his fingers around whatever bit of cushion he can hold. Kyle’s thumping into him over and over again, not nearly enough time between for Brian to breathe in. There’s not a damn thing he can do except strain up on his toes, gasp and groan and take it as best he can.
It’s nothing at all like Ashley, and fuck Kyle, fuck him for being in Atlanta and knowing Brian like he does, because it’s exactly the opposite of Ashley, and it’s exactly fucking perfect.
A few of the holiday fics might show up after Xmas, because, uh, there's no way I finish them all before. Hopefully they'll all be posted before New Years. Hey, that's still the holidays. In my books.