Fic: The Sound of Wrong
Title: The Sound of Wrong
Pairing: Luke/Noah
Rating: R
Word Count: 780
Disclaimer: These characters? Not mine. Just borrowing to play with, thank you.
Summary: Noah learns what the right touch can silence.
Author's Notes: Written for nukeminibang 2013. Thanks for letting me throw this in.
---
"Stop being such a little weakling, Noah. You need to learn to be a man."
He had been scared his whole life. This unending knot in the pit of his stomach that never quite went away, no matter what he did. Wound so tightly he would bring nervous fingers to his lips. Slowly start to chew away at the nail bed to focus on anything else but that sound.
That horrible silent sound underneath his skin. Mocking beats that would play constantly again and again.
You are wrong. You are wrong. You are wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
He hated that word. That word meant everything he felt wasn't the way he should be and all his insides were fucked up, damaged goods. Disgusting. Who would want him? This scared child that was always there, always trying to pull him back to that place where his self-worth was commanded by a Colonel and hard smack.
Hit the deck.
Boom.
Thud.
On the floor, red blooming across his ten year old cheeks. He had stop crying at the age of two, there was nothing left to water his eyes with. Just that sound that, that word, that would play louder as he silently sat there on the ground hoping those boots would start to pound back down the hallway.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Gone. Deep breath.
Rinse, repeat. Age eleven, age twelve, age thirteen. So many times, Noah lost count.
So he let them touch him. Sweet, simple young girls that were trying to figure out their own bodies, their own desires. They would kiss, tongues colliding, exploring each other in ways that was right.
Except it never was.
He still felt weak, still felt unsettled.
He still felt wrong.
Sitting on Emma's old Victorian sofa at the farmhouse he feels different. Their weights begin to shift into one another, the space between them balanced and equal. There is nothing small and dainty about the body that is leaning to his. Nothing soft, nothing supple like when his skin would brush theirs.
This is the same. He feels just like him. There is a hardness there, even with legs that are weak and a body in the process of new healing. Thigh muscles that feel like river rock, all smooth. Solid. Luke takes Noah's hand in his and places it on top of the denim. He squeezes and can feel his heart in his throat because this is a guy and he's touching him. A guy with the same thighs. And the same skin. Luke leans in to start sucking on the delicate paper tendons down Noah's neck. He can feel his face flush at the first scrape of stubble.
Scraping against his own.
Sounds of the same.
Pouty lips that he has studied for weeks, greedily kissed in exposed places, latch themselves to his throat as Noah's body floods in warmth. He's trying so hard to be quiet, so hard to keep the guttural notes all inside.
He never had to try hard with the others before. Being quiet was all that would come out.
Luke starts to whisper in his ear. The type of things that only Luke can which surely Noah thinks coming out of his lips would sound ridiculous. But out of Luke Snyder's sound as breathlessly hot as he has imagined they would. Noah can feel the fucking smirk that accompanies the words and his toes start to curl against the inside leather of his shoes.
"Bastard," he thinks.
Luke moves his hand down Noah's shirt, slowly teasing the journey as Noah beings to squirm against the crushed velvet on his back. Luke has stopped talking, his eyes fixated on task at hand, copper zipper struggling to pull open against the hard strain. The only noise in the room the heavy breathing of nervous lungs going up and down.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
Sounds in his chest fighting against the sounds in his head. Loud, searing, heavy thumps pounding away in all parts of his body. Crushing the worthless, the nothing of before. Every touch that was wrong, every bellow of an angry man that scared a little boy silent.
It's just them now, two young men on this sofa. The same. Luke wraps Noah's heavy cock in his calloused hands, the roughness sending a chill up Noah's spine. He bucks up a little off the couch wanting, needing to get more. Everything is starting to burn, slickness sliding between them. They fit together like only the same could.
Perfect.
And the sounds that begin to pour out are nothing but right.
---
Pairing: Luke/Noah
Rating: R
Word Count: 780
Disclaimer: These characters? Not mine. Just borrowing to play with, thank you.
Summary: Noah learns what the right touch can silence.
Author's Notes: Written for nukeminibang 2013. Thanks for letting me throw this in.
---
"Stop being such a little weakling, Noah. You need to learn to be a man."
He had been scared his whole life. This unending knot in the pit of his stomach that never quite went away, no matter what he did. Wound so tightly he would bring nervous fingers to his lips. Slowly start to chew away at the nail bed to focus on anything else but that sound.
That horrible silent sound underneath his skin. Mocking beats that would play constantly again and again.
You are wrong. You are wrong. You are wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
He hated that word. That word meant everything he felt wasn't the way he should be and all his insides were fucked up, damaged goods. Disgusting. Who would want him? This scared child that was always there, always trying to pull him back to that place where his self-worth was commanded by a Colonel and hard smack.
Hit the deck.
Boom.
Thud.
On the floor, red blooming across his ten year old cheeks. He had stop crying at the age of two, there was nothing left to water his eyes with. Just that sound that, that word, that would play louder as he silently sat there on the ground hoping those boots would start to pound back down the hallway.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Gone. Deep breath.
Rinse, repeat. Age eleven, age twelve, age thirteen. So many times, Noah lost count.
So he let them touch him. Sweet, simple young girls that were trying to figure out their own bodies, their own desires. They would kiss, tongues colliding, exploring each other in ways that was right.
Except it never was.
He still felt weak, still felt unsettled.
He still felt wrong.
Sitting on Emma's old Victorian sofa at the farmhouse he feels different. Their weights begin to shift into one another, the space between them balanced and equal. There is nothing small and dainty about the body that is leaning to his. Nothing soft, nothing supple like when his skin would brush theirs.
This is the same. He feels just like him. There is a hardness there, even with legs that are weak and a body in the process of new healing. Thigh muscles that feel like river rock, all smooth. Solid. Luke takes Noah's hand in his and places it on top of the denim. He squeezes and can feel his heart in his throat because this is a guy and he's touching him. A guy with the same thighs. And the same skin. Luke leans in to start sucking on the delicate paper tendons down Noah's neck. He can feel his face flush at the first scrape of stubble.
Scraping against his own.
Sounds of the same.
Pouty lips that he has studied for weeks, greedily kissed in exposed places, latch themselves to his throat as Noah's body floods in warmth. He's trying so hard to be quiet, so hard to keep the guttural notes all inside.
He never had to try hard with the others before. Being quiet was all that would come out.
Luke starts to whisper in his ear. The type of things that only Luke can which surely Noah thinks coming out of his lips would sound ridiculous. But out of Luke Snyder's sound as breathlessly hot as he has imagined they would. Noah can feel the fucking smirk that accompanies the words and his toes start to curl against the inside leather of his shoes.
"Bastard," he thinks.
Luke moves his hand down Noah's shirt, slowly teasing the journey as Noah beings to squirm against the crushed velvet on his back. Luke has stopped talking, his eyes fixated on task at hand, copper zipper struggling to pull open against the hard strain. The only noise in the room the heavy breathing of nervous lungs going up and down.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
Sounds in his chest fighting against the sounds in his head. Loud, searing, heavy thumps pounding away in all parts of his body. Crushing the worthless, the nothing of before. Every touch that was wrong, every bellow of an angry man that scared a little boy silent.
It's just them now, two young men on this sofa. The same. Luke wraps Noah's heavy cock in his calloused hands, the roughness sending a chill up Noah's spine. He bucks up a little off the couch wanting, needing to get more. Everything is starting to burn, slickness sliding between them. They fit together like only the same could.
Perfect.
And the sounds that begin to pour out are nothing but right.
---