Ficlet: The Span of His Arch (Gunn/Lindsey) Hollow 'verse - NC17
I knew there was another ficlet I wanted to post on its own. This was for moosesal. Set in my G/L 'verse The Hollow. You know, the one with hustler!lindsey. Kinda in some vague future place.
Title: The Span of His Arch
Lindsey is on his knees, naked, and so damn beautiful that Gunn just wants to crush him. But not--not really. He doesn't want to destroy Lindsey, just maybe desecrate him, make him give up everything, lay it out and let Gunn see it. All the pretty stuff, sure, but all the ugly twisted things, too, the dark things, the shameful things, the things that scare him, touch him, and the things that bring him to tears. Gunn wants to break apart all that Lindsey thinks he is until all Lindsey is is...well, what he really is.
"Back," Gunn whispers and reaches out, pushes at Lindsey shoulder so that Lindsey bends backwards, over his calves, and his shoulders meet the mattress they're on. Already Lindsey's thigh muscles are shuddering so hard Gunn can see them doing it. He slides his hand under Lindsey, to the small of Lindsey's back, pushes up until only the front of Lindsey's calves, and the top of his shoulders are touching the bed, and his spine is curved into an arch, spanning the distance between thought and reality.
Gunn sits next to him, brushes his fingers along Lindsey's chest, up his sides, down his thighs, and by the time he gets to Lindsey's cock, Lindsey is vibrating. Tension twisting like a helix under his skin as he forces himself to keep the position.
"Gunn," he rasps, and there's the first hint of desperation there.
"Hold it," Gunn coaxes him, drags his palm from base to tip on Lindsey's cock. "Hold it, Lindsey. Stay like this."
Lindsey holds it, and Gunn's palm continues moving, stroking, barely touching Lindsey, and sweat springs up on Lindsey's skin in small dots, then gathers together to slide against sensitized flesh. Gunn's eyes narrow and his gaze darts between the shaking arch of Lindsey's spanning form, to Lindsey's face, where self-made layers are cracking apart, falling away, sliding away like sweat.
A layer here, another there, and Gunn could put names to them, label them neatly with aspects of Lindsey's personality, but he doesn't because they're not important. Instead he milks Lindsey's cock with a warm firm grip, until Lindsey's breath stutters and he arches higher, shoulders pulling in tighter towards his heels, his neck making another arch of its own when his head falls back.
Lindsey comes--orgasm and arrival all at once. His muscles ripple under his skin, tension melting away, and he gasps as he rides the last wave of it, and Gunn watches him forget himself, watches him crumple, drop the position, and he leans over Lindsey. Touches his lips softly with a come coated finger.
"I said to hold it," Gunn reminds him and Lindsey lowers his eyes in contrition, smiles quietly in want. He spills upwards, like liquid, and marshals slack muscles into structured form. He holds it easily now, effortlessly, and when Gunn brings the belt down across his chest, he absorbs the blow with a sigh, with tensile strength.
And this is where Gunn wants to be, this place where Lindsey exists for real, where Gunn himself exists for real because Lindsey's arch spans more than just the difference between his own created layers and reality.
*
And now I go partay.
Title: The Span of His Arch
Lindsey is on his knees, naked, and so damn beautiful that Gunn just wants to crush him. But not--not really. He doesn't want to destroy Lindsey, just maybe desecrate him, make him give up everything, lay it out and let Gunn see it. All the pretty stuff, sure, but all the ugly twisted things, too, the dark things, the shameful things, the things that scare him, touch him, and the things that bring him to tears. Gunn wants to break apart all that Lindsey thinks he is until all Lindsey is is...well, what he really is.
"Back," Gunn whispers and reaches out, pushes at Lindsey shoulder so that Lindsey bends backwards, over his calves, and his shoulders meet the mattress they're on. Already Lindsey's thigh muscles are shuddering so hard Gunn can see them doing it. He slides his hand under Lindsey, to the small of Lindsey's back, pushes up until only the front of Lindsey's calves, and the top of his shoulders are touching the bed, and his spine is curved into an arch, spanning the distance between thought and reality.
Gunn sits next to him, brushes his fingers along Lindsey's chest, up his sides, down his thighs, and by the time he gets to Lindsey's cock, Lindsey is vibrating. Tension twisting like a helix under his skin as he forces himself to keep the position.
"Gunn," he rasps, and there's the first hint of desperation there.
"Hold it," Gunn coaxes him, drags his palm from base to tip on Lindsey's cock. "Hold it, Lindsey. Stay like this."
Lindsey holds it, and Gunn's palm continues moving, stroking, barely touching Lindsey, and sweat springs up on Lindsey's skin in small dots, then gathers together to slide against sensitized flesh. Gunn's eyes narrow and his gaze darts between the shaking arch of Lindsey's spanning form, to Lindsey's face, where self-made layers are cracking apart, falling away, sliding away like sweat.
A layer here, another there, and Gunn could put names to them, label them neatly with aspects of Lindsey's personality, but he doesn't because they're not important. Instead he milks Lindsey's cock with a warm firm grip, until Lindsey's breath stutters and he arches higher, shoulders pulling in tighter towards his heels, his neck making another arch of its own when his head falls back.
Lindsey comes--orgasm and arrival all at once. His muscles ripple under his skin, tension melting away, and he gasps as he rides the last wave of it, and Gunn watches him forget himself, watches him crumple, drop the position, and he leans over Lindsey. Touches his lips softly with a come coated finger.
"I said to hold it," Gunn reminds him and Lindsey lowers his eyes in contrition, smiles quietly in want. He spills upwards, like liquid, and marshals slack muscles into structured form. He holds it easily now, effortlessly, and when Gunn brings the belt down across his chest, he absorbs the blow with a sigh, with tensile strength.
And this is where Gunn wants to be, this place where Lindsey exists for real, where Gunn himself exists for real because Lindsey's arch spans more than just the difference between his own created layers and reality.
*
And now I go partay.