Fic: The Hollow - Part 7 (Gunn/Lindsey hustler!verse) NC17
Title: The Hollow Part 7
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
A/N: So totally and utterly A/U that this shouldn't even be considered fanfic. Loosely set in S2 since Gunn's canon remains in tact, but Lindsey's does not.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
*
Lindsey doesn't show up. It's the first time in the weeks they've been meeting that it's happened, and it doesn't make sense. Gunn goes looking for him, finds him on his corner, looking worse for the wear. Getting Lindsey to talk is almost impossible so Gunn doesn't bother asking questions. Just walks up to him, ignores his bent head, averted eyes, and slides his fingers between the waistband of Lindsey's jeans and his skin, tugs him down the block to the truck.
"Not your place," Lindsey says when Gunn starts the engine, and Gunn nods without question, but he winces at the raw sound of Lindsey's voice, sees the handprints around his neck again, and his own hands clench on the steering wheel.
They go back to the motel and Gunn stops at the office, adds another night to the tab, then drives around the building, parks the truck in front of their room. He doesn't help Lindsey out of the truck, even though he wants to, even though Lindsey needs the assistance. He watches Lindsey limp, move stiffly, wince and flinch, and Gunn has to take a deep breath before he follows, because there's a rage in him, black and dense, and he wants to rip someone apart.
Inside the room he steps up behind Lindsey, touches the back of his neck, strokes it lightly with his fingers. Soothing, gentling. Says, "Strip down for me."
Lindsey does, and his hands shake, and Gunn notices the scrapes on his knuckles, knows Lindsey fought whoever beat the shit out of him. Clothes are gone and Lindsey stands there naked, shivering lightly, and Gunn goes to the thermostat, turns the heat on a low setting, then comes back to Lindsey.
His head is down, hands clenching into fists, body shaking with what Gunn knows is rage. Not shame, never that for Lindsey who does what he has to, without apologies, with as much challenge as he can.
Gunn lets him stay adrift for the moment and takes stock of the damage. Dark purple bruises on his torso, nail marks and fingerprints on his thighs that match the ones around his throat, and more scrapes and faint bruising on his forearms. Yeah, Lindsey fought back, because that's what Lindsey does, and just because he's a whore doesn't mean he's open to anyone.
"Turn around," Gunn says quietly. There are more bruises, probably from being kicked. "Pissing blood?"
"Kidneys are fine," Lindsey rasps.
Gunn touches the curve of Lindsey's ass, leaves his hand there, and he has to swallow hard before he can speak again without sounding as upset as he is. "You torn up at all?"
"Hell no. Bastard didn't even get close to what he wanted."
The relief is overwhelming, almost knocks Gunn over with its intensity. "You steady enough to shower on your own?" Lindsey nods and Gunn gives him a small push. "Go on, then."
Lindsey turns, looks up at him with narrowed eyes, assessing the moment, Gunn's mood, the situation. Always on alert, always on edge, always on guard.
"Hot water'll help ease those bruises a bit," Gunn says easily. "Relax, okay? Nothing to worry about here."
On his way to the bathroom, Lindsey looks back suspiciously more times than Gunn would like, less than he might have a few weeks ago. It's not ideal, but looking for something ideal here, between them, is ridiculous.
The door closes behind Lindsey, the water comes on, and Gunn sinks onto the bed, slumps forward and tries to get himself situated, sorted. He doesn't know if it'll happen. He remembers when Lindsey was busted up from a vamp attack, and the way those bruises turned him on. These ones tonight, though, are different. They're making Gunn sick to his stomach, making him tense with the helplessness at Lindsey's situation, at his place in it, at the way he adds to it.
Gunn doesn't think less of Lindsey for what he does. Yeah, he thinks there are options Lindsey could take, but he understands how those options aren't really options for people like Lindsey, for people sucked dry and empty and bitter by circumstances and life.
The thing is, Gunn can make himself forget that it goes on, that other people touch Lindsey. When it's the two of them, it's *just* the two of them, and no one else exists, and reality only bleeds in as much as they let it, which isn't all that much. Lindsey never comes to Gunn looking or smelling of someone else, Gunn never asks about business, and all that they think about is the here and now.
He loses track of time turning it over in his head, thinking about ways to kill the son of a bitch who did that to Lindsey, and he's startled when Lindsey's voice sounds.
"Don't." Gunn looks up. Lindsey's standing in front of him, towel around his waist, and wet hair slicked back from his face. There's a moment right before Lindsey lowers his lids when Gunn gets a look at his eyes: sharp and cutting and all sorts of other things guaranteed to keep a person out. "I don't want this from you. Pity."
The word is spit out, like a curse, and Gunn shakes his head, sits up straight. "That's not what I'm feeling. Murderous, yeah. Feeling that plenty. Nauseous? Check. Also got a truckload of helpless and useless going on, too."
"Don't!" Lindsey says again, desperately, and gestures in the direction of the door. "Leave that out there. This is the one fucking place it ain't and you're the one damn person I can usually count on to let it be."
"Get on the bed," Gunn says abruptly and Lindsey jerks, stares at him for a moment. Gunn arches a brow, points to the bed. "Move."
Tension arcs like lightning around Lindsey, then jumps to Gunn, who sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut painfully hard for a moment.
"Make me, Gunn," Lindsey says hoarsely, and it sounds like he's vibrating in place, shaking without visibly shaking.
It doesn't always go like this, with Lindsey forcing Gunn to make him. That first time, yeah, and maybe twice more. When it happens, Gunn usually chalks it up to Lindsey getting off on pushing Gunn to get harder, more intense. Which, fine. This time feels different and Gunn doesn't like it. Not one fucking bit.
But Lindsey's eyes are--shit, Gunn doesn't even have words for what he's seeing. He just knows that it makes him want to bring Lindsey in close and touch him. That's the last damn thing *Lindsey* wants, though, and Gunn's not sure what the fuck to do, honestly. His way, Lindsey's way, another way entirely.
"Please."
Gunn almost falls over. He doesn't think he's ever heard Lindsey say that word. Not even when Gunn's pushed him long and hard. And he's damn sure he's never heard Lindsey sound like he's begging.
That's what makes up Gunn's mind. Whether or not Gunn likes it, or even wants it, Lindsey *needs* it. Lindsey senses the surrender and tenses even as he vibrates more, noticeably, so that it looks like he's trembling, or something like that.
Gunn ignores the tight feeling in his stomach and lets everything but *this* fall away. Lindsey's ready for him, and Gunn doesn't dodge fast enough to entirely avoid the right hook aimed for his jaw when he lunges.
It brings a quick burst of pain, a short wave of dizziness, both of which Gunn ignore, because he's taken harder and more direct hits over the years, and a glancing punch from a human is nothing, really.
The fight is rougher than any they've ever had before, and Gunn can feel bruises coming up on his face, his ribs. He can't bring himself to inflect anything new on Lindsey, but he takes advantage of what's already there. Jabs an elbow against the black and blue patches on Lindsey back, digs the palm of his hand into the ones on Lindsey's abdomen. And Lindsey makes this desperate wailing sound, leans against Gunn's hard hands with this look on his face that's euphoric.
By the time Gunn pins Lindsey face-down on the floor, both their dicks are hard as hell. Gunn's lips are curled into a snarl as he forces Lindsey's hands to the back of his neck, then holds them there with both of his own. Lindsey has no leverage with his upper body, but when Gunn moves between his legs, Lindsey spreads them wide and thrusts his ass up.
"Come on, do it, Gunn, do it, do it, do it."
Gunn's jeans are undone--torn open by Lindsey's eager hands, even as Gunn tried to keep them buttoned and zipped because it's up *him* when they come off, not Lindsey--and he warily takes one hand away from Lindsey's. All Lindsey does is groan, thrust his hips against the scratchy carpet, and snarl and curse at Gunn to just fucking do it, already.
Jeans and boxers down around his knees, Gunn looks at Lindsey under him. Naked and restrained by Gunn's hand, at Gunn's mercy, begging with every upwards shove of his ass for Gunn's cock to pound him into the floor. The bruises stand out on his lower back and right now Gunn doesn't care how they got there, where they came from, who put them there.
His free hand ghosts over them, then his fingers push down, slow inevitable pressure; Lindsey's gasp of pain sounds like a hiss of pleasure and Gunn's mouth falls open a bit at how fucking hot it is to do this, to see this, to cause this. His body gets a little slack, and Lindsey immediately tries to pull his hands free. Gunn tightens his fingers around Lindsey's so hard that he can feel the bones of Lindsey's hands grinding together under his hand, presses them against the back of Lindsey's neck until Lindsey's spine seems to be digging into the back of Gunn's fingers.
Lindsey flails under him and Gunn pushes down one last hard time against the bruises before scrambling in the pocket of his jeans for a condom and lube. But the lube isn't there, and when Gunn looks around he sees it on the floor across the room; damn tube must have fallen out when they were fighting. Shit.
He eyes the condom packet, then looks down at Lindsey's eager ass, thinks about how fucking hard his own dick is.
"Lindsey," he says sharply and shakes the hand holding Lindsey's hands behind his neck. "Lube's across the room."
Lindsey freezes. "Son of a bitch. Ain't no way I'm taking you dry, so don't even think it."
Gunn tilts his head, thinks about Lindsey's words versus his tone, and curls his lips because Lindsey's lying like a rug right now. He would, and he wants to, but Gunn's not going there. At least not tonight; he's learned not to think "never" when it comes to Lindsey or anything Lindsey wants him to do.
"Lubed condom," Gunn tells him and Lindsey is quiet for a moment before he relaxes again. Gunn smirks, slaps his ass hard, and Lindsey growls. "Such a little slut for my cock, yeah."
When Gunn rips the packet open with his teeth, Lindsey starts struggling under him again, like he's trying to get away. They both know better and Gunn leans more of his weight on the back of Lindsey's neck while he rolls the condom on himself. Lindsey's twisting and kicking and pulling, but it all stops when the head of Gunn's dick shoves against his hole: Lindsey goes still and tense, anticipating the thrust.
Gunn braces his weight on his knees, goes back to holding Lindsey's hands in place with both of his own again, and this huge tremor that's like a convulsion tears through Lindsey.
"Oh, yeah," Gunn hisses. He works his hips the tiniest bit forward and finds Lindsey tight and closed. "Open up. Suck my dick into that sweet ass of yours." Lindsey shakes his head, awkwardly, makes a noise of refusal and Gunn tightens his hold on Lindsey's hands. "Got your own way enough tonight, Lindsey. Now it's my way. Take it in or you ain't getting it."
"Fucking bastard," Lindsey snaps. "Just do it. Fuck me."
"No."
"Jesus Christ, Gunn."
Lindsey sounds upset now, truly upset, and Gunn hardens his heart to it, because no fucking way is he going to force his way into Lindsey like this. That isn't something that's ever been part of this, not even in the fucked up dreams Gunn's had about Lindsey, about this, about them.
"I need it--" Lindsey starts again, and his voice is low and raw and angry, and Gunn cuts him off.
"You don't need it, and you're not getting it. This isn't a fucking discussion. You got five seconds to open that pretty little hole for me, or I'm walking the hell out of here. You understand me?"
Gunn doesn't count out loud, but when five seconds passes and Lindsey's still closed tight, Gunn looses his hold on Lindsey's hands, starts to pull his hips back, and Lindsey sags under him.
"Okay," Lindsey says, bitterness and resignation coming through loud and clear. "Fine. Your way."
This isn't Gunn's way, this isn't how Gunn wants it, and he knows why Lindsey is making it like this but he's not going to play. It's too fucked up for him, and he can't. Just fucking can't.
"Listen to me," Gunn grinds out. "You walked into this room and you made a choice. Got your control back just by choosing to give it to me. So let the other shit go, right now, because I think I've probably only got one limit when it comes to you and this is it."
Gunn waits him out, for long seconds that drag on into minutes, and it feels like a year or two passes before Lindsey makes a choked-off noise and then takes a huge breath. When he exhales, he opens for Gunn, brings Gunn's dick in an inch and squirms for more.
"We good to go, Lindsey?" Gunn isn't moving, and he won't until he hears the words from Lindsey's mouth.
"Yeah," Lindsey grunts-sighs, "Yeahyeahyeahyeah."
And Lindsey can hide his eyes just fine, usually, but he can't ever keep shit out of his voice. Most he can ever do is make it empty, which says something on its own, so Gunn knows that they really are good to go, because Lindsey sounds hot and eager and needy and growly all at once.
The first thrust is so hard, so deep, that it lifts Lindsey's lower body off the floor, and the lube on the condom doesn't help enough to make it a smooth and easy glide. Instead, it's harsh and jagged and it'd probably hurt Gunn's dick if the condom wasn't there, and it probably hurts Lindsey even though he's being so good and keeping himself open around Gunn.
Gunn stays buried in him, keeps him raised like that, and Lindsey screams, raspy and edgy. "That's the way I like it, you taking it like a good little slut," Gunn gasps and tries to push himself even deeper, even though it's not possible, because he's in Lindsey as far as he can go. "Fuck, yeah."
He's still got Lindsey pinned down and he likes that, too. Likes the way Lindsey struggles against the hold, not because he wants to get away, but because he wants to be able to get some leverage and shove back.
"Does it hurt?" Gunn asks breathlessly.
"Oh, yeah," Lindsey slurs and it's not a complaint.
Gunn hips push forward on their own, and he takes a breath, gets a hold of himself. It's not easy, and he's not going to be able to hold back long. Between the long ass fight it took to get Lindsey like this, and then the standoff, Gunn's been ready to go for a while now.
"Gunn!" Lindsey shouts, and there's this devastation laced through Gunn's name that hurts Gunn more than Lindsey's swinging fists did earlier.
They're two fucked up people in one fucked up situation and the only thing Gunn can do for either of them is *fuck*: slam into Lindsey, hard as he can, with every bit of strength he has.
Lindsey is practically *yowling* at every thrust of Gunn's hips, damn near *sobbing* at every withdrawal, and Gunn fights for breath so he can give Lindsey what he needs.
"My pretty little cock hungry slut," Gunn groans, working a swivel into his hips that scrapes his dick against Lindsey's prostate. Lindsey goes crazy under him and Gunn keeps on fucking him, doesn't let him up, finds more words. "Filthy bitch, taking my cock damn near dry. Loving how much it hurts. Bet you wish it hurt more, don't you?"
"Yeah, oh, fuck, god, yes," Lindsey rasps, and his voice is starting to give out. Gunn thinks about the handprints around his throat and his stomach rolls, and he pushes it away because the feeling's too much like pity and Lindsey doesn't want, doesn't need, that.
"Next time," Gunn whispers faintly. "Next time I'll make you ride me dry." There are only sounds from Lindsey now, and Gunn knows he's close, knows he just needs a little more before he'll come. "Make you bounce on my dick, and you'll fucking scream every time. Yeah, you'll scream like a pretty little bitch for me."
Lindsey comes with a garbled noise that's so harsh and scratchy that Gunn's own throat gets raw with sympathy, and in another five or so thrusts Gunn lets go of his own control and comes, too, his hands tightening so hard on Lindsey's that Lindsey flinches in real, true pain under him.
Gunn jerks his hands to the side, plants them on the floor on either side of Lindsey's body and rides the final jerking waves of his orgasm with his eyes rolled back in his head, his forehead pressed between Lindsey's shoulder blades.
"Fuck," Gunn breathes when his body settles. Lindsey mutters something similar and tries to moves his hands from behind his neck, but doesn't have much success. "Hold on, I'll help you in a second."
Being Lindsey, he still tries, and Gunn shakes his head at the obstinacy. Lindsey winces and sighs simultaneously when Gunn pulls out of him, and Gunn almost tips to the floor when he crawls over one of Lindsey's legs.
"Can't ever give me enough time to recover, can you?" Gunn drawls and lies on his side next to Lindsey.
Lindsey's head turns to the side even as he tries, still, to move arms that are probably numb. He gives Gunn a wry smile, and Gunn returns it before reaching out and maneuvering his hands from behind his neck. He stretches Lindsey's arms straight down alongside his body, then shifts so that he can rub feeling back into them.
"Better?" he asks a few minutes later.
Lindsey licks his lips, tries to speak, but only manages a croak. He nods sedately, instead, and Gunn looks away from his face, concentrates entirely on chaffing Lindsey's arms with his own hands until Lindsey twitches them away impatiently. Gunn's learned he hates anything that remotely resembles fussing, and takes that to mean that Lindsey's got feeling and maneuverability back.
They stay there for a bit, getting their breath back, waiting for their hearts to slow down to normal, and when Lindsey starts to fidget restlessly, Gunn sits up. He tosses the condom into a corner, then strips off his clothes entirely. Lindsey is getting to his knees shakily when Gunn's done, and he glares ill-temperedly when Gunn helps him to his feet, but Gunn ignores him and helps him to the bed.
"Shower," Lindsey says painfully and Gunn arches his brows, shakes his head. "Messy," Lindsey insists and waves at his come-covered stomach with a clumsy hand.
"Give your throat a break, will you?" Gunn says easily. "I'll get a washcloth. Hold on."
When Gunn comes back from the bathroom, Lindsey's eyes jerk open and he blinks them like he wasn't just on the verge of falling asleep. Gunn keeps his movements soft and easy when he wipes Lindsey clean, then he helps him sit up and hands him a plastic cup of hot tap water. Lindsey grimaces but Gunn pushes the cup insistently against Lindsey's lips.
"It'll help your throat. Drink it."
Lindsey make a face but drinks the water down, and Gunn smiles slightly. "We'll get some sleep, then head out for something to eat. Think I'm gonna be starving when I'm not ready to pass out."
Gunn tracks down the used condom and tosses it into the trash when he brings the washcloth back into the bathroom. He expects Lindsey to be on the verge of sleep again when he returns. Instead, he's staring at his hands, flexing his fingers and rotating his wrists, and Gunn sees that his fingers are swollen, and his wrists and the back of his hands are already starting to bruise.
"Okay?" Gunn asks and sits next to him, touches one of Lindsey's hands lightly.
Lindsey lifts his eyes, looks at Gunn, and smiles a bit. "Very."
"I should get some ice for them." Gunn starts to stand, but Lindsey takes hold of his arm, shakes his head, and Gunn studies him for a moment--still flexing and rotating--and lifts a brow. "Gonna be sore as hell if we don't ice them."
Lindsey nods sharply, and Gunn realizes that's the point. He wonders if Lindsey will flex and rotate a lot over the next few days, a stronger and more recent and more agreeable pain that'll take his mind off the aches in his back and ribs.
"All right, no ice," Gunn agrees quietly and nudges Lindsey. "Under the covers. I'll get the light."
In the dark of the room, under the scratchy motel sheets, Lindsey crosses the expanse of the bed between them so that he's touching Gunn from shoulder to toe, and Gunn takes the offer, extends his own when he curls an arm around Lindsey's back and pulls him onto his chest.
"What's going to happen when I can't do it no more? Leave it out there, I mean?" Gunn asks flatly.
Lindsey shakes his head against Gunn's chest, flexes his hand on Gunn's stomach, and doesn't answer.
*
.End
Part 8
Series Listing in Memories here.
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
A/N: So totally and utterly A/U that this shouldn't even be considered fanfic. Loosely set in S2 since Gunn's canon remains in tact, but Lindsey's does not.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
*
Lindsey doesn't show up. It's the first time in the weeks they've been meeting that it's happened, and it doesn't make sense. Gunn goes looking for him, finds him on his corner, looking worse for the wear. Getting Lindsey to talk is almost impossible so Gunn doesn't bother asking questions. Just walks up to him, ignores his bent head, averted eyes, and slides his fingers between the waistband of Lindsey's jeans and his skin, tugs him down the block to the truck.
"Not your place," Lindsey says when Gunn starts the engine, and Gunn nods without question, but he winces at the raw sound of Lindsey's voice, sees the handprints around his neck again, and his own hands clench on the steering wheel.
They go back to the motel and Gunn stops at the office, adds another night to the tab, then drives around the building, parks the truck in front of their room. He doesn't help Lindsey out of the truck, even though he wants to, even though Lindsey needs the assistance. He watches Lindsey limp, move stiffly, wince and flinch, and Gunn has to take a deep breath before he follows, because there's a rage in him, black and dense, and he wants to rip someone apart.
Inside the room he steps up behind Lindsey, touches the back of his neck, strokes it lightly with his fingers. Soothing, gentling. Says, "Strip down for me."
Lindsey does, and his hands shake, and Gunn notices the scrapes on his knuckles, knows Lindsey fought whoever beat the shit out of him. Clothes are gone and Lindsey stands there naked, shivering lightly, and Gunn goes to the thermostat, turns the heat on a low setting, then comes back to Lindsey.
His head is down, hands clenching into fists, body shaking with what Gunn knows is rage. Not shame, never that for Lindsey who does what he has to, without apologies, with as much challenge as he can.
Gunn lets him stay adrift for the moment and takes stock of the damage. Dark purple bruises on his torso, nail marks and fingerprints on his thighs that match the ones around his throat, and more scrapes and faint bruising on his forearms. Yeah, Lindsey fought back, because that's what Lindsey does, and just because he's a whore doesn't mean he's open to anyone.
"Turn around," Gunn says quietly. There are more bruises, probably from being kicked. "Pissing blood?"
"Kidneys are fine," Lindsey rasps.
Gunn touches the curve of Lindsey's ass, leaves his hand there, and he has to swallow hard before he can speak again without sounding as upset as he is. "You torn up at all?"
"Hell no. Bastard didn't even get close to what he wanted."
The relief is overwhelming, almost knocks Gunn over with its intensity. "You steady enough to shower on your own?" Lindsey nods and Gunn gives him a small push. "Go on, then."
Lindsey turns, looks up at him with narrowed eyes, assessing the moment, Gunn's mood, the situation. Always on alert, always on edge, always on guard.
"Hot water'll help ease those bruises a bit," Gunn says easily. "Relax, okay? Nothing to worry about here."
On his way to the bathroom, Lindsey looks back suspiciously more times than Gunn would like, less than he might have a few weeks ago. It's not ideal, but looking for something ideal here, between them, is ridiculous.
The door closes behind Lindsey, the water comes on, and Gunn sinks onto the bed, slumps forward and tries to get himself situated, sorted. He doesn't know if it'll happen. He remembers when Lindsey was busted up from a vamp attack, and the way those bruises turned him on. These ones tonight, though, are different. They're making Gunn sick to his stomach, making him tense with the helplessness at Lindsey's situation, at his place in it, at the way he adds to it.
Gunn doesn't think less of Lindsey for what he does. Yeah, he thinks there are options Lindsey could take, but he understands how those options aren't really options for people like Lindsey, for people sucked dry and empty and bitter by circumstances and life.
The thing is, Gunn can make himself forget that it goes on, that other people touch Lindsey. When it's the two of them, it's *just* the two of them, and no one else exists, and reality only bleeds in as much as they let it, which isn't all that much. Lindsey never comes to Gunn looking or smelling of someone else, Gunn never asks about business, and all that they think about is the here and now.
He loses track of time turning it over in his head, thinking about ways to kill the son of a bitch who did that to Lindsey, and he's startled when Lindsey's voice sounds.
"Don't." Gunn looks up. Lindsey's standing in front of him, towel around his waist, and wet hair slicked back from his face. There's a moment right before Lindsey lowers his lids when Gunn gets a look at his eyes: sharp and cutting and all sorts of other things guaranteed to keep a person out. "I don't want this from you. Pity."
The word is spit out, like a curse, and Gunn shakes his head, sits up straight. "That's not what I'm feeling. Murderous, yeah. Feeling that plenty. Nauseous? Check. Also got a truckload of helpless and useless going on, too."
"Don't!" Lindsey says again, desperately, and gestures in the direction of the door. "Leave that out there. This is the one fucking place it ain't and you're the one damn person I can usually count on to let it be."
"Get on the bed," Gunn says abruptly and Lindsey jerks, stares at him for a moment. Gunn arches a brow, points to the bed. "Move."
Tension arcs like lightning around Lindsey, then jumps to Gunn, who sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut painfully hard for a moment.
"Make me, Gunn," Lindsey says hoarsely, and it sounds like he's vibrating in place, shaking without visibly shaking.
It doesn't always go like this, with Lindsey forcing Gunn to make him. That first time, yeah, and maybe twice more. When it happens, Gunn usually chalks it up to Lindsey getting off on pushing Gunn to get harder, more intense. Which, fine. This time feels different and Gunn doesn't like it. Not one fucking bit.
But Lindsey's eyes are--shit, Gunn doesn't even have words for what he's seeing. He just knows that it makes him want to bring Lindsey in close and touch him. That's the last damn thing *Lindsey* wants, though, and Gunn's not sure what the fuck to do, honestly. His way, Lindsey's way, another way entirely.
"Please."
Gunn almost falls over. He doesn't think he's ever heard Lindsey say that word. Not even when Gunn's pushed him long and hard. And he's damn sure he's never heard Lindsey sound like he's begging.
That's what makes up Gunn's mind. Whether or not Gunn likes it, or even wants it, Lindsey *needs* it. Lindsey senses the surrender and tenses even as he vibrates more, noticeably, so that it looks like he's trembling, or something like that.
Gunn ignores the tight feeling in his stomach and lets everything but *this* fall away. Lindsey's ready for him, and Gunn doesn't dodge fast enough to entirely avoid the right hook aimed for his jaw when he lunges.
It brings a quick burst of pain, a short wave of dizziness, both of which Gunn ignore, because he's taken harder and more direct hits over the years, and a glancing punch from a human is nothing, really.
The fight is rougher than any they've ever had before, and Gunn can feel bruises coming up on his face, his ribs. He can't bring himself to inflect anything new on Lindsey, but he takes advantage of what's already there. Jabs an elbow against the black and blue patches on Lindsey back, digs the palm of his hand into the ones on Lindsey's abdomen. And Lindsey makes this desperate wailing sound, leans against Gunn's hard hands with this look on his face that's euphoric.
By the time Gunn pins Lindsey face-down on the floor, both their dicks are hard as hell. Gunn's lips are curled into a snarl as he forces Lindsey's hands to the back of his neck, then holds them there with both of his own. Lindsey has no leverage with his upper body, but when Gunn moves between his legs, Lindsey spreads them wide and thrusts his ass up.
"Come on, do it, Gunn, do it, do it, do it."
Gunn's jeans are undone--torn open by Lindsey's eager hands, even as Gunn tried to keep them buttoned and zipped because it's up *him* when they come off, not Lindsey--and he warily takes one hand away from Lindsey's. All Lindsey does is groan, thrust his hips against the scratchy carpet, and snarl and curse at Gunn to just fucking do it, already.
Jeans and boxers down around his knees, Gunn looks at Lindsey under him. Naked and restrained by Gunn's hand, at Gunn's mercy, begging with every upwards shove of his ass for Gunn's cock to pound him into the floor. The bruises stand out on his lower back and right now Gunn doesn't care how they got there, where they came from, who put them there.
His free hand ghosts over them, then his fingers push down, slow inevitable pressure; Lindsey's gasp of pain sounds like a hiss of pleasure and Gunn's mouth falls open a bit at how fucking hot it is to do this, to see this, to cause this. His body gets a little slack, and Lindsey immediately tries to pull his hands free. Gunn tightens his fingers around Lindsey's so hard that he can feel the bones of Lindsey's hands grinding together under his hand, presses them against the back of Lindsey's neck until Lindsey's spine seems to be digging into the back of Gunn's fingers.
Lindsey flails under him and Gunn pushes down one last hard time against the bruises before scrambling in the pocket of his jeans for a condom and lube. But the lube isn't there, and when Gunn looks around he sees it on the floor across the room; damn tube must have fallen out when they were fighting. Shit.
He eyes the condom packet, then looks down at Lindsey's eager ass, thinks about how fucking hard his own dick is.
"Lindsey," he says sharply and shakes the hand holding Lindsey's hands behind his neck. "Lube's across the room."
Lindsey freezes. "Son of a bitch. Ain't no way I'm taking you dry, so don't even think it."
Gunn tilts his head, thinks about Lindsey's words versus his tone, and curls his lips because Lindsey's lying like a rug right now. He would, and he wants to, but Gunn's not going there. At least not tonight; he's learned not to think "never" when it comes to Lindsey or anything Lindsey wants him to do.
"Lubed condom," Gunn tells him and Lindsey is quiet for a moment before he relaxes again. Gunn smirks, slaps his ass hard, and Lindsey growls. "Such a little slut for my cock, yeah."
When Gunn rips the packet open with his teeth, Lindsey starts struggling under him again, like he's trying to get away. They both know better and Gunn leans more of his weight on the back of Lindsey's neck while he rolls the condom on himself. Lindsey's twisting and kicking and pulling, but it all stops when the head of Gunn's dick shoves against his hole: Lindsey goes still and tense, anticipating the thrust.
Gunn braces his weight on his knees, goes back to holding Lindsey's hands in place with both of his own again, and this huge tremor that's like a convulsion tears through Lindsey.
"Oh, yeah," Gunn hisses. He works his hips the tiniest bit forward and finds Lindsey tight and closed. "Open up. Suck my dick into that sweet ass of yours." Lindsey shakes his head, awkwardly, makes a noise of refusal and Gunn tightens his hold on Lindsey's hands. "Got your own way enough tonight, Lindsey. Now it's my way. Take it in or you ain't getting it."
"Fucking bastard," Lindsey snaps. "Just do it. Fuck me."
"No."
"Jesus Christ, Gunn."
Lindsey sounds upset now, truly upset, and Gunn hardens his heart to it, because no fucking way is he going to force his way into Lindsey like this. That isn't something that's ever been part of this, not even in the fucked up dreams Gunn's had about Lindsey, about this, about them.
"I need it--" Lindsey starts again, and his voice is low and raw and angry, and Gunn cuts him off.
"You don't need it, and you're not getting it. This isn't a fucking discussion. You got five seconds to open that pretty little hole for me, or I'm walking the hell out of here. You understand me?"
Gunn doesn't count out loud, but when five seconds passes and Lindsey's still closed tight, Gunn looses his hold on Lindsey's hands, starts to pull his hips back, and Lindsey sags under him.
"Okay," Lindsey says, bitterness and resignation coming through loud and clear. "Fine. Your way."
This isn't Gunn's way, this isn't how Gunn wants it, and he knows why Lindsey is making it like this but he's not going to play. It's too fucked up for him, and he can't. Just fucking can't.
"Listen to me," Gunn grinds out. "You walked into this room and you made a choice. Got your control back just by choosing to give it to me. So let the other shit go, right now, because I think I've probably only got one limit when it comes to you and this is it."
Gunn waits him out, for long seconds that drag on into minutes, and it feels like a year or two passes before Lindsey makes a choked-off noise and then takes a huge breath. When he exhales, he opens for Gunn, brings Gunn's dick in an inch and squirms for more.
"We good to go, Lindsey?" Gunn isn't moving, and he won't until he hears the words from Lindsey's mouth.
"Yeah," Lindsey grunts-sighs, "Yeahyeahyeahyeah."
And Lindsey can hide his eyes just fine, usually, but he can't ever keep shit out of his voice. Most he can ever do is make it empty, which says something on its own, so Gunn knows that they really are good to go, because Lindsey sounds hot and eager and needy and growly all at once.
The first thrust is so hard, so deep, that it lifts Lindsey's lower body off the floor, and the lube on the condom doesn't help enough to make it a smooth and easy glide. Instead, it's harsh and jagged and it'd probably hurt Gunn's dick if the condom wasn't there, and it probably hurts Lindsey even though he's being so good and keeping himself open around Gunn.
Gunn stays buried in him, keeps him raised like that, and Lindsey screams, raspy and edgy. "That's the way I like it, you taking it like a good little slut," Gunn gasps and tries to push himself even deeper, even though it's not possible, because he's in Lindsey as far as he can go. "Fuck, yeah."
He's still got Lindsey pinned down and he likes that, too. Likes the way Lindsey struggles against the hold, not because he wants to get away, but because he wants to be able to get some leverage and shove back.
"Does it hurt?" Gunn asks breathlessly.
"Oh, yeah," Lindsey slurs and it's not a complaint.
Gunn hips push forward on their own, and he takes a breath, gets a hold of himself. It's not easy, and he's not going to be able to hold back long. Between the long ass fight it took to get Lindsey like this, and then the standoff, Gunn's been ready to go for a while now.
"Gunn!" Lindsey shouts, and there's this devastation laced through Gunn's name that hurts Gunn more than Lindsey's swinging fists did earlier.
They're two fucked up people in one fucked up situation and the only thing Gunn can do for either of them is *fuck*: slam into Lindsey, hard as he can, with every bit of strength he has.
Lindsey is practically *yowling* at every thrust of Gunn's hips, damn near *sobbing* at every withdrawal, and Gunn fights for breath so he can give Lindsey what he needs.
"My pretty little cock hungry slut," Gunn groans, working a swivel into his hips that scrapes his dick against Lindsey's prostate. Lindsey goes crazy under him and Gunn keeps on fucking him, doesn't let him up, finds more words. "Filthy bitch, taking my cock damn near dry. Loving how much it hurts. Bet you wish it hurt more, don't you?"
"Yeah, oh, fuck, god, yes," Lindsey rasps, and his voice is starting to give out. Gunn thinks about the handprints around his throat and his stomach rolls, and he pushes it away because the feeling's too much like pity and Lindsey doesn't want, doesn't need, that.
"Next time," Gunn whispers faintly. "Next time I'll make you ride me dry." There are only sounds from Lindsey now, and Gunn knows he's close, knows he just needs a little more before he'll come. "Make you bounce on my dick, and you'll fucking scream every time. Yeah, you'll scream like a pretty little bitch for me."
Lindsey comes with a garbled noise that's so harsh and scratchy that Gunn's own throat gets raw with sympathy, and in another five or so thrusts Gunn lets go of his own control and comes, too, his hands tightening so hard on Lindsey's that Lindsey flinches in real, true pain under him.
Gunn jerks his hands to the side, plants them on the floor on either side of Lindsey's body and rides the final jerking waves of his orgasm with his eyes rolled back in his head, his forehead pressed between Lindsey's shoulder blades.
"Fuck," Gunn breathes when his body settles. Lindsey mutters something similar and tries to moves his hands from behind his neck, but doesn't have much success. "Hold on, I'll help you in a second."
Being Lindsey, he still tries, and Gunn shakes his head at the obstinacy. Lindsey winces and sighs simultaneously when Gunn pulls out of him, and Gunn almost tips to the floor when he crawls over one of Lindsey's legs.
"Can't ever give me enough time to recover, can you?" Gunn drawls and lies on his side next to Lindsey.
Lindsey's head turns to the side even as he tries, still, to move arms that are probably numb. He gives Gunn a wry smile, and Gunn returns it before reaching out and maneuvering his hands from behind his neck. He stretches Lindsey's arms straight down alongside his body, then shifts so that he can rub feeling back into them.
"Better?" he asks a few minutes later.
Lindsey licks his lips, tries to speak, but only manages a croak. He nods sedately, instead, and Gunn looks away from his face, concentrates entirely on chaffing Lindsey's arms with his own hands until Lindsey twitches them away impatiently. Gunn's learned he hates anything that remotely resembles fussing, and takes that to mean that Lindsey's got feeling and maneuverability back.
They stay there for a bit, getting their breath back, waiting for their hearts to slow down to normal, and when Lindsey starts to fidget restlessly, Gunn sits up. He tosses the condom into a corner, then strips off his clothes entirely. Lindsey is getting to his knees shakily when Gunn's done, and he glares ill-temperedly when Gunn helps him to his feet, but Gunn ignores him and helps him to the bed.
"Shower," Lindsey says painfully and Gunn arches his brows, shakes his head. "Messy," Lindsey insists and waves at his come-covered stomach with a clumsy hand.
"Give your throat a break, will you?" Gunn says easily. "I'll get a washcloth. Hold on."
When Gunn comes back from the bathroom, Lindsey's eyes jerk open and he blinks them like he wasn't just on the verge of falling asleep. Gunn keeps his movements soft and easy when he wipes Lindsey clean, then he helps him sit up and hands him a plastic cup of hot tap water. Lindsey grimaces but Gunn pushes the cup insistently against Lindsey's lips.
"It'll help your throat. Drink it."
Lindsey make a face but drinks the water down, and Gunn smiles slightly. "We'll get some sleep, then head out for something to eat. Think I'm gonna be starving when I'm not ready to pass out."
Gunn tracks down the used condom and tosses it into the trash when he brings the washcloth back into the bathroom. He expects Lindsey to be on the verge of sleep again when he returns. Instead, he's staring at his hands, flexing his fingers and rotating his wrists, and Gunn sees that his fingers are swollen, and his wrists and the back of his hands are already starting to bruise.
"Okay?" Gunn asks and sits next to him, touches one of Lindsey's hands lightly.
Lindsey lifts his eyes, looks at Gunn, and smiles a bit. "Very."
"I should get some ice for them." Gunn starts to stand, but Lindsey takes hold of his arm, shakes his head, and Gunn studies him for a moment--still flexing and rotating--and lifts a brow. "Gonna be sore as hell if we don't ice them."
Lindsey nods sharply, and Gunn realizes that's the point. He wonders if Lindsey will flex and rotate a lot over the next few days, a stronger and more recent and more agreeable pain that'll take his mind off the aches in his back and ribs.
"All right, no ice," Gunn agrees quietly and nudges Lindsey. "Under the covers. I'll get the light."
In the dark of the room, under the scratchy motel sheets, Lindsey crosses the expanse of the bed between them so that he's touching Gunn from shoulder to toe, and Gunn takes the offer, extends his own when he curls an arm around Lindsey's back and pulls him onto his chest.
"What's going to happen when I can't do it no more? Leave it out there, I mean?" Gunn asks flatly.
Lindsey shakes his head against Gunn's chest, flexes his hand on Gunn's stomach, and doesn't answer.
*
.End
Part 8
Series Listing in Memories here.