Dead Like Me: Can't Even Pretend (Rube/Mason)
...Apparently I only write fanfiction when I can't seem to find enough of the good stuff. Witness my total love of Due South and it's fandom and my complete lack of drive to write for it (I'd much rather read what's already written). The Dead Like Me fandom is not nearly so big. Even though this is really only a drive-by fandom for me. But whatever. It was a plot bunny (...or pwp bunny) that wouldn't die.
Can't Even Pretend
Fandom: Dead Like Me
Pairing: Rube/Mason
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1000!
I’m on my knees and my legs are growing numb against the slick tiled floor. But I just don’t care. Water’s streaming over my head and beating down on my back, steam rising slightly as the liquid pools around my body before it slides down the shower drain. But I can’t be bothered. Because his hands are knotted in my wet hair and my mouth is full of his dick and for once, I’m content. Just living in the moment, my mind blank, my needs fulfilled. I don’t need to score, I don’t need any money; I just need to stay right here, sucking on his cock. I’ve been staring straight ahead at his hips and I glance up, wanting to catch him watching me. Fucking drives me nuts. But he’s leaning back against the shower wall, his eyes closed, and his breath is coming in measured pants as he shallowly thrusts into me, using me. And I can’t even pretend that I mind.
I’ve got a cocktail of drugs zinging through my system but nothing’s giving me as big a thrill as feeling him shove into my mouth, forcing me open. He’s thick and hard and his big hands are holding my head completely still at just the angle that he wants, thrusting in and out without even a so much as by your leave. And I fucking love it. He feels that everything is just due to him no questions asked and that’s just fucking fine. Let him be Lord of the Castle. ‘Cause I was the one that snuck naked into the bathroom after him, stepped into the shower, pushed him back away from the stream of water and fell to my knees as I grabbed his cock. His jaw had dropped in shock, a growled “What the hell you think you’re doing?” managing to escape before I licked a stripe up his shaft and popped the head into my mouth. And then it was just a groan and a thunk as his head rolled back against the tile and his hands griped my hair.
So content I could have purred.
He should have known better than to take me home. We’ve been here before, done this before. But I think he might have known what was going to happen. Maybe even kind of wanted it. Or at least knew I needed it. I need him to take away that illusion of choice sometimes. I need him to hold me down and keep me in place. Keep me from drifting away. And the blowjob, well, that’s just my odd way of saying thank you, I guess. I’m grateful to him for all that he does but fuck if I’d actually come out and say that. Instead I just suck his cock. It’s so much easier and…I think he knows.
I’m not gay but I’ll suck Rube’s cock any day of the week. I chase after girls all day long but none of them can blank my mind quite like he does. None of them force me down, hold me still, use me as they want. Is it sick that I crave that? And he only lets me do this once in a while. I need this.
He’d known what he was doing when he invited me back to his place. Had to have known. And I think he needs this too. But he doesn’t think I know. Doesn’t think I know just how much the isolation gets to him. He likes to pretend that he’s happy living on the fucking “periphery.” But really, who’s really ever fucking happy there? At least I realize that this is our pathetic way of finding a connection in this world, to stop us from growing crazy and that’s okay. We understand each other. Mostly. Because I’m not just taking it-I can’t even help myself-I’m sucking on him like there’s no tomorrow. And before I can stop myself, I’m reaching down with my right hand and giving myself a stroke. I moan around him, the sound bouncing off the tile like the gushing water. Damn but that feels good and I need this.
I need to know that I’m not alone in the world, that I’m not a complete screw-up, that at the very least, I’m good for something. Even if it is just sucking him off in the shower. I swirl my tongue and shiver at his groan, at the way his hands stiffen their grip warningly.
It’s easier in the shower. ‘Cause no muss, no fuss and I’ll leave as soon as we’re done here, all evidence washed neatly down the drain. Just how he likes it. He likes how neat and clean shower sex is-a way of getting down and dirty without actually getting down and dirty. Bit of a neat freak, I guess. He fucked me on the bed once. Spread a towel over his fancy-dancy sheets for me and fucked me like a dog in heat, leaning over me, forcing me down as his hands gripped my hips and he slammed into me. Sometimes I still think I’m feeling the aftershocks of that one. Maybe we’ll do that again one day. If I’m lucky.
He grunts, his hands tightening their knots as he thrusts one last time, shoving my head back a bit as pulses down my throat. I shudder, tighten my hand, and come. Spilling all over myself, I suck him dry, riding out the tiny jerks of his aftershocks. With one last pant, he yanks my head back and removes himself from my mouth. ‘Cause he knows I sure as hell won’t-I’d suck on him all night if he gave me the chance. Gotta make it last and all. He pulls my head to the side a bit, leaving one hand in my hair as he stares down at me, unreadable as always. I grin and lick my lips. ‘Cause when it’s just us, I can’t even pretend that I mind.
Can't Even Pretend
Fandom: Dead Like Me
Pairing: Rube/Mason
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1000!
I’m on my knees and my legs are growing numb against the slick tiled floor. But I just don’t care. Water’s streaming over my head and beating down on my back, steam rising slightly as the liquid pools around my body before it slides down the shower drain. But I can’t be bothered. Because his hands are knotted in my wet hair and my mouth is full of his dick and for once, I’m content. Just living in the moment, my mind blank, my needs fulfilled. I don’t need to score, I don’t need any money; I just need to stay right here, sucking on his cock. I’ve been staring straight ahead at his hips and I glance up, wanting to catch him watching me. Fucking drives me nuts. But he’s leaning back against the shower wall, his eyes closed, and his breath is coming in measured pants as he shallowly thrusts into me, using me. And I can’t even pretend that I mind.
I’ve got a cocktail of drugs zinging through my system but nothing’s giving me as big a thrill as feeling him shove into my mouth, forcing me open. He’s thick and hard and his big hands are holding my head completely still at just the angle that he wants, thrusting in and out without even a so much as by your leave. And I fucking love it. He feels that everything is just due to him no questions asked and that’s just fucking fine. Let him be Lord of the Castle. ‘Cause I was the one that snuck naked into the bathroom after him, stepped into the shower, pushed him back away from the stream of water and fell to my knees as I grabbed his cock. His jaw had dropped in shock, a growled “What the hell you think you’re doing?” managing to escape before I licked a stripe up his shaft and popped the head into my mouth. And then it was just a groan and a thunk as his head rolled back against the tile and his hands griped my hair.
So content I could have purred.
He should have known better than to take me home. We’ve been here before, done this before. But I think he might have known what was going to happen. Maybe even kind of wanted it. Or at least knew I needed it. I need him to take away that illusion of choice sometimes. I need him to hold me down and keep me in place. Keep me from drifting away. And the blowjob, well, that’s just my odd way of saying thank you, I guess. I’m grateful to him for all that he does but fuck if I’d actually come out and say that. Instead I just suck his cock. It’s so much easier and…I think he knows.
I’m not gay but I’ll suck Rube’s cock any day of the week. I chase after girls all day long but none of them can blank my mind quite like he does. None of them force me down, hold me still, use me as they want. Is it sick that I crave that? And he only lets me do this once in a while. I need this.
He’d known what he was doing when he invited me back to his place. Had to have known. And I think he needs this too. But he doesn’t think I know. Doesn’t think I know just how much the isolation gets to him. He likes to pretend that he’s happy living on the fucking “periphery.” But really, who’s really ever fucking happy there? At least I realize that this is our pathetic way of finding a connection in this world, to stop us from growing crazy and that’s okay. We understand each other. Mostly. Because I’m not just taking it-I can’t even help myself-I’m sucking on him like there’s no tomorrow. And before I can stop myself, I’m reaching down with my right hand and giving myself a stroke. I moan around him, the sound bouncing off the tile like the gushing water. Damn but that feels good and I need this.
I need to know that I’m not alone in the world, that I’m not a complete screw-up, that at the very least, I’m good for something. Even if it is just sucking him off in the shower. I swirl my tongue and shiver at his groan, at the way his hands stiffen their grip warningly.
It’s easier in the shower. ‘Cause no muss, no fuss and I’ll leave as soon as we’re done here, all evidence washed neatly down the drain. Just how he likes it. He likes how neat and clean shower sex is-a way of getting down and dirty without actually getting down and dirty. Bit of a neat freak, I guess. He fucked me on the bed once. Spread a towel over his fancy-dancy sheets for me and fucked me like a dog in heat, leaning over me, forcing me down as his hands gripped my hips and he slammed into me. Sometimes I still think I’m feeling the aftershocks of that one. Maybe we’ll do that again one day. If I’m lucky.
He grunts, his hands tightening their knots as he thrusts one last time, shoving my head back a bit as pulses down my throat. I shudder, tighten my hand, and come. Spilling all over myself, I suck him dry, riding out the tiny jerks of his aftershocks. With one last pant, he yanks my head back and removes himself from my mouth. ‘Cause he knows I sure as hell won’t-I’d suck on him all night if he gave me the chance. Gotta make it last and all. He pulls my head to the side a bit, leaving one hand in my hair as he stares down at me, unreadable as always. I grin and lick my lips. ‘Cause when it’s just us, I can’t even pretend that I mind.