Fic: you don't have to put on the red light, part 12
Title: you don't have to put on the red light
Part 12: night
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: NC17
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not own the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them
Notes: SEX!...with a side of band meeting…and then more sex.
Back to: Part 11, Part 10, Part 9, Part 8, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
To say Bret and Jemaine’s relationship had changed was something of an understatement.
On the surface, everything appeared relatively normal. They still had breakfast together, still had band practice, still went to meetings with Murray, still visited Dave and still resolutely avoided Mel. They talked dryly about various topics, watched television, exercised…true, the heat wave was still in place, making things unbearable for everyone in New York City but past that, all seemed to be natural and in order.
But once night descended, once it was dark and quiet and they were all alone in their apartment, things were entirely and, irrevocably, different for Bret and Jemaine. They hadn’t spoken of that day, when Jemaine had had Bret pressed up against the wall, they hadn’t needed to. Because since that day, at night, every night, they had come together again.
Technically, Jemaine had started it.
Right after leaving Bret to go to the restroom and wash up, he had emerged to find the apartment empty. Bret had left some hastily scribbled message on a sheet of blank paper on the kitchen table. All it had said was ‘walk’ and Jemaine had taken that as answer enough.
After everything that had happened, his body still aching with want and need, he had found himself restless and pent up at first, but over time it had given way to an almost debilitating exhaustion that had led to him to collapse on his bed, falling into a deep and heavy sleep.
When he had awoken it was pitch black. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on, so it had been easy to simply turn his head and fumble for the clock. A shaft of light from outside came through the blinds and illuminated the clock’s face enough for him to get a sense of the time. It was well past midnight.
He had looked over to Bret’s bed and could just barely make out his slim form in the dark. Bret lay on his back above the sheets, arms resting on either side, his entire demeanor totally relaxed in sleep.
Jemaine had wondered if the walk Bret had taken had helped him get some perspective on what had happened between them. No doubt he had been torn with a variety of feelings and thoughts. Jemaine would have been as well, had he not just been so confounded by the whole thing.
Even remembering it now, it seemed to come to mind through a haze, as if nothing more real and substantial than a dream. But, he knew with grave certainty that it had indeed happened. That it had been real.
He and Bret had…well…essentially…they had had sex.
True, only Bret had really had any sort of release, but that was beside the point. Jemaine had…touched him. He had touched him and pleased him and in his mind he could still hear Bret’s breathing, those rough, plaintive sounds. Thinking of them caused his earlier feelings of arousal to stir to life and he had found himself sitting up, heart pounding, a heavy weight resting in the center of his stomach.
Those sounds Bret had made…the way his body had felt in Jemaine’s arms…
Jemaine had found himself wanting it all again. Wanting it so badly he had felt almost insane with the need of it, which must have explained how he had gotten to his feet and moved towards Bret’s bed to stand over it, his loud breathing breaking the silence of the room.
Bret, who had indeed been fast asleep, had come to consciousness slowly and with some confusion as he had felt his bed dip beneath someone’s extra mass. He had blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the dark and was about to open his mouth when a gentle hand had pressed over his lips and he had felt soft lips rubbing against the side of his neck.
A tiny, unidentifiable sound had escaped Bret, caught in the palm of the hand covering his mouth as Jemaine continued to kiss Bret’s neck. Jemaine had just had to know, had just had to be sure. Just a few hours ago, when they had been together…it had all happened so fast. And there had been that whole scene across the street…maybe it all had been some kind of fluke, a strange transcendence…
Surely Bret couldn’t be…aroused by Jemaine. Not Jemaine. Jemaine was just his friend, just his companion. Still, maybe, maybe it was possible…Jemaine had just had to know for sure.
He had removed his hand from Bret’s mouth once he was assured Bret was awake and wouldn’t make a sound. He had kissed Bret’s neck one more time before working his way up, his lips tracing the outline of Bret’s jaw and he sort of flinched as he came in contact with Bret’s coarse beard.
Part of him had been turned off by the facial hair. After all, it wasn’t something he was used to. The wiry hairs under his mouth had felt abrasive and unappealing but he had kept brushing kisses there because as unpleasant as it was, he had felt Bret suck in a breath when he did it.
Once Jemaine had gotten past the beard he had found Bret’s lips and his breath had come out a little shaky. The shape of Bret’s lips, the feel of them, had been familiar and that had caused a fission of electricity to go through his system.
Even more so when Bret had lifted his head up just that little bit, revealing that he wanted it just as much as Jemaine. Their mouths had met, curving together perfectly as Jemaine’s tongue tentatively licked at his friend’s. Bret had breathed in loudly through his nose as he kissed Jemaine back, his hands balling into fists on the sheets.
Jemaine’s fingers combed through Bret’s hair a moment before going down his sides, edging up under his shirt so he could touch hot skin, thumbs tracing lazy circles as he titled his head to one side, deepening the kiss.
Bret couldn’t help it; the actions were so perfect and so inexplicably sexy that a groan escaped him. Jemaine had cursed then, voice almost silent under his breath and his hands had gone hungrily to Bret’s hips, squeezing them roughly as he had drawn his mouth away for a moment, adjusting himself until he was in a better position to straddle the form beneath him, lining up their crotches before he had moved experimentally, thrusting slightly.
The feeling had been almost otherworldly but not unpleasant and so he had done it again, the second time effectively grinding his hips closer to the set beneath his own and he had felt something beneath him, an answering hardness.
Bret whimpered and twisted, fingers clawing at the sheets as his body had bucked upwards, reacting to the friction and heat. Jemaine had gasped and lowered the upper half of his body, forehead resting against Bret’s as they had started gracelessly rocking against one another.
Bret had let out another moan and Jemaine covered his mouth in a sloppy kiss, hands running down Bret’s arms to find his wrists, lifting them up and pinning them above his head, as they started moving faster and harder.
The raw intensity of what they were doing was more than either of them had expected and Jemaine had felt himself tittering on the edge of losing control. But somehow, through his own haze of lust, all he had been able to think of was Bret. Of wanting Bret to come first, of wanting Bret to come hard, of wanting Bret to come because of him.
Jemaine had released one of Bret’s wrists and edged one of his hands between their bodies. He had pushed down the waistband of Bret’s pajamas and found his hard length again, just as he had done earlier. He had stroked more firmly this time than he had the first, his movements more sure as he ran the palm of his hand over the tip to spread the precome, making his grip slicker. Bret had gasped at the feeling and felt mindless as he had begun thrusting hard into his friend’s fist.
Bret had sobbed as he felt his body grow tenser and then, with a sharp cry his orgasm overtook him. Jemaine felt Bret throb in his hand, spilling wetly over his fingers. He groaned deep in his chest but kept his hand moving until Bret rode out the last waves of his climax.
Once he was sure it was finished, Bret shivering beneath him, he had stopped, removing his hand to rub it clean against the sheets. Then Jemaine had begun raining gentle kisses all over Bret’s face tenderly. Bret had felt Jemaine’s own unappeased hardness spearing into him and he had wanted to reach for it, had wanted to help him. But he had been so awash in his own pleasure, lost in his own afterglow, that he had just laid there, helpless as he had caught his breath and found himself tumbling into a deep sleep.
The next thing Bret knew it was daylight and he had found himself in his bed alone. There was no evidence from last night other than his sheets being hideously rumpled. He had exited the bedroom to find Jemaine eating in the kitchen and Jemaine had spoken to him as if today was no different than any other day, as if they had not just had two previous sexual encounters.
Bret had pushed it out of his mind until later that night, when, in the dark of their bedroom, he had awoken once more to Jemaine climbing into his bed. To Jemaine touching him.
Somehow this strange new layer to their relationship had settled in and neither one chose to address it. By day they were platonic friends and band mates. By night they were secret lovers, meeting only in the darkness, locked together in heated need.
Sometimes when Jemaine climbed into Bret’s bed he brought him to completion using just his hands or the movement of his hips. Other times it was not at all sexual as much as it was just something physical, Jemaine snuggling up against Bret, running his hands through his hair and along his body. But each time they always kissed, finding a comfort in the meeting of their lips. A fulfillment that neither words nor other actions could express.
Bret did find it a bit troubling that he had had yet to touch Jemaine. Every time they were together he kept his hands to himself. Mostly out of fear that somehow, if he did touch Jemaine, it would either a, turn out not to be real or b, that he would lose control of himself. The latter was a strange prospect for him, as he had never had such an issue with the girls he had had sex with.
Then again, while Bret certainly had sex with girls before, the list wasn’t necessarily all that extensive and most of those outings had not been anything to write home about. In fact, for the most part, they involved the girl doing far more work than he ever did - not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t really know where to start. He had always felt a bit of a loss as to what to do when it came to sex, and, while he felt he was pretty good at it, he didn’t feel overly confident in his abilities as a lover either.
This was not something Bret broadcasted, but something that did come to his mind now and again and currently was a rather dominating factor as this new lover was one that he actually found himself wanting to please very desperately.
But all he kept seeing, all he kept imagining, was being too rough or being too…just, well, terrible. Jemaine was critical of him on a regular basis. He didn’t need him to be critical when he was…when he wanted so much to be good.
And then there was just that, that this was Jemaine he wanted to touch, Jemaine he wanted to please, which brought him back to the former fear of touching Jemaine, which was that, if he did so, it would somehow prove how unreal all of this was.
Maybe he’d touch Jemaine and Jemaine would just dissipate and Bret would wake up to find he’d been in a coma for five years and this was all a dream. A crazy, heated, unbelievable dream. And if this was a dream, god, he didn’t want to wake up…
He wanted, he needed…
God, Jemaine in his bed every night had become a blessing.
Though Jemaine, poor, poor, Jemaine had come to him every night and had yet to find his own release. Not once had Bret heard or (even as dark as it was) seen him climax.
Instead, more often than not, Bret had fallen asleep to the now familiar feeling of Jemaine’s neglected hard on pressed against him. Bret wasn’t sure why Jemaine did it, why he allowed it. He wondered if maybe Jemaine got off on withholding from himself.
Or maybe, Jemaine got himself off later, where Bret couldn’t see. And this realization had actually caused Bret to have to take care of himself one morning in the shower, because the mere thought of Jemaine touching himself was enough to get Bret going now and-and…
And they were fucked.
So, so fucked.
Sure, things had settled into this weird void that sort of worked but, for how long? It was only a matter of time before things came to some sort of head. Some sort of conclusion. They couldn’t just keep avoiding it; they couldn’t just keep things up like this.
Eventually, for good or bad, things would have to be resolved one way or the other. Though Bret had no idea how that would come about. What the catalyst would be. All he knew was that it was coming.
And that it was coming soon.
88888888888
“Band meeting, Bret?”
“Present.”
“Jemaine.”
“Present.”
“And Murray…present. All right, guys, I’ve got to be a bit quick today. A crew is coming in to clean the carpets. Great news, eh? I don’t know about you all, but it is certainly good to have a nice, clean shag now and again isn’t it?”
Bret blinked, blushing, “Um, pardon?”
“You know, a shag? The carpet, you turkey!” Murray chuckled, then leaned closer to Bret, winking, “But by the by, Bret, I know I’ve thanked you quite a bit lately, but, you know, just wanted to thank you again for the poker game. It certainly meant a lot.”
Jemaine’s eyes narrowed, a crooked grin taking his face, “Yeah, Murray, about that. Bret won’t tell me exactly what happened at this poker game, so…if you want to fill me in…”
Murray leaned back, swiveling about in his chair, “Oh well, Jemaine, you know that’s…that’s sort of personal business. Not something we should really be discussing at a band meeting. As it is, I’ve let this meeting linger too far off course, really need to be getting on to item one-”
“Yeah, well,” Jemaine tossed out dryly, “I imagine item one is how we have no gigs, so how about you tell me about the poker game-”
“Well, Jemaine, I hope you like eating words, because you’re wrong about item one! Ha ha! How’d you like that then? Your words taste good and…salty?”
Jemaine’s head reared back a bit as he tried to grasp what Murray had just said, “Salty?”
“Or…fruity. Nutty, perhaps. I can’t-can’t say what words taste like, exactly, but, I’m sure they’re…tasty. In the face of your being wrong and all.”
“If I’m wrong, shouldn’t they be bittersweet?”
“Ah, yes, well, how do you like eating your own bittersweet words then!” Murray said smartly.
Jemaine sighed, “So item one is a gig, then?”
“Oh, ah, um, no. No. Actually, it’s not, but, you know, it’s-it’s not that you don’t have a gig. It’s,” Murray consulted his notes, “Ah yes, here, item one. New fans. You have actually garnered two new fans! Fancy that!”
“Oh? Really?” Bret asked hopefully.
“Yes!”
“Who?”
“Well, one of them…I don’t…I don’t have her name here, but, apparently, she’s a friend of Mel’s. Yes! Said she’d be very interested in attending your next gig…she-she did seem a bit preoccupied asking about Mel and if-if Mel would be there and if your next venue had…what did she call it?…good concealed locations or some such thing but, um, well she did want a shirt. Same-same one as Mel, actually, but still, progress!”
Bret and Jemaine looked a bit bewildered by this for a moment, then, once it settled in, they both sort of shrugged and nodded, deciding overall that this was, indeed, progress.
Murray continued, “As to your other fan, it’s none of than, drum roll please, Jim!”
“Jim?” Jemaine asked, surprised.
“Yes! Well…actually, he’s…he said he’s just a fan of Bret’s now. But, that’s-well-that’s one half of the band so, I just sort of rounded him up as a full fan. He was really impressed by Bret’s…well…by Bret.”
Bret slinked down into his seat, looking very chagrined as Murray leaned close to him again, whispering, “You know, Bret, again thanks for…you know. Everything. I know it…I know it got a bit dicey back there. What with Jim’s mum showing up, and well, I mean the whole thing with that goat was-was a bit much, but-”
“Okay, this is just mean now, what happened at this poker game?!” Jemaine whined.
“Jemaine! Please! I’m trying to have a private conversation with Bret here!” Murray waved a hand at the wall, “Look away, go over there! Don’t listen!”
Jemaine pouted, annoyed, but eventually turned his face to the wall and pretended not to listen as Murray continued to talk to Bret.
“Seriously, Bret, I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.”
“Its okay, Murray. Really.” Bret pressed, eager to finish this conversation.
“You sure? I mean, honestly, if you hadn’t put out that fire…”
“It’s all right, Murray.”
“…and then when One-Eyed Pete called, I mean, whoa! Situation got a bit severe. Didn’t know you knew how to handle a phone that way-”
“It was nothing.”
“You were like…you know, Bruce Willis or something. Hostage negotiator.”
“Murray, can we - can we just not…talk about it?”
“You sure?”
“It’s…I’d just like to not speak of it…again. Ever again.”
“…Jim…he, um…he still has your socks by the way…sort of…he’s…well...he’s trying to get them back to you, but the goat, has quite a grip-”
“I’m sure, Murray, look, really, never ever again.”
“Right. Okay. Jemaine, you can come back.” Murray said, rolling away from Bret and looking back to his notepad, “Okay then, on to item two. Item two, book cover. Ah, yes, Mel and I are still working on the title for your autobiographical novella but, we are in need of a cover. Mel has some ideas. You know, photographs…modeling. She, um, has some poses she thought you could do-”
Both Bret and Jemaine blanched at this when suddenly Murray frowned, eyes narrowing as he looked at Bret, “Bret? What is that?”
“What is what?”
“That,” Murray said pointing directly at Bret.
“My…face?”
“No, Bret, on your neck there,” Murray said, jabbing his finger at him repeatedly, “Right there on the left, just a bit above your collar…a bit above, oy! Hey! There’s another one there on the other side…and…my goodness! Bret! Come over here!”
Bret swallowed as a realization began to sink in but he still rose to his feet, as did Murray, who came over frowning as he inspected Bret all over, “Bret! My word they’re…they’re every where! What-what are these?! You’ve got…little black and blue marks all over your neck…and your wrists! Looks like bruises! What happened?”
Bret’s mind immediately flashed to last night, Jemaine holding his wrists down to the bed, his teeth biting at the cords of his neck. Bret flushed, heat coursing through his veins, “It’s…nothing, Murray.”
“Nothing! You look like you’ve been brutalized! Jemaine! Did you-”
“It wasn’t me!” Jemaine squeaked, his voice going higher than he thought possible.
“Oh?! Then what was it then?! Was…oh lord, Bret! Was it One Eyed Pete! Did he find out where you live! Did he come for some sort of revenge for your phone skills!”
“No, no Murray it was, it was,” Bret wracked his brains for a solution, “It was…bugs.”
“Bugs?”
Bret nodded repeatedly, “Yes, yes, bugs. It was bugs. Just bugs. Bug bites.”
“Bug bites? Really?”
“Yes.”
“This time of year?”
“It…it is summer, Murray. Hot. Mosquitoes.”
Murray pressed a finger to his lips in thought, “Hmm, yes, well, I know mosquitoes can get pretty aggressive. Just…just didn’t think they got this aggressive. You may have an infestation. Still…why do you have bites and-and not Jemaine.”
“He’s sweeter.” Jemaine heard himself say and his eyes widened. That had been a thought. It had been a thought that was not supposed to have come out aloud in words.
Bret blushed again, another shaft of lust moving through him and he tried to cover before Murray could say anything, “They bit Jemaine too just…just not where you can see.”
“Oh really? Did they?” Jemaine wasn’t sure who had taken over his mouth and was making him say these things, but for some reason they kept coming out.
Bret looked at him with desperation, “Yes!”
Murray, however, didn’t catch any of the hidden messages and just shrugged, “Well, you all should get that looked at! And, Jemaine, you know I always tell Bret to keep a look out for you but, well, you need to return the favor. All right? It’s a two way street. Can’t just have it one way. Can’t have bugs crawling all over the place…especially if they’re giving you bites like that! They look almost human!”
A sound escaped Jemaine that sounded dangerously close to a laugh.
A tiny ding rang out and Murray brightened, “Oh! My microwave is done!”
Murray opened the microwave and pulled out the same pair of knitted underwear he had previously tried to pawn off on Dave. Seeing it signaled both Bret and Jemaine to the end of the meeting.
They got up and made a move to the door when suddenly Murray called out, “Hey now! Guys! I didn’t dismiss you!”
They both halted a moment, looking eagerly at the door. Murray licked his lips as he retook his seat, tossing his toasty undies from one hand to the other, “You both are dismissed until next band meeting. Oh! But Bret, hold up a moment, would you? I have something for you. Jemaine, you can, you know,” Murray waved a hand.
Jemaine shrugged again and left. He waited by the elevator until Bret joined him.
“What did he want?”
“Nothing,” Bret said unconvincingly as he tried his best to casually shove a pair of knitted underwear with his name on it into one of his jeans’ pockets.
88888888888
They never talked when they were together.
That was just one of the unspoken rules, but one strictly enforced. It was okay to let loose the occasional sound of pleasure, but even those were kept to a minimum.
However, as time dragged on and the situation between them became more permanent, Jemaine found himself wanting to test the barriers of the rules. See how much Bret would let him get away with.
For example, one of the unspoken rules was how their sexual encounters started.
Usually the way it worked was that either one or both of them would decide to go to bed. Normally Bret went to bed first and Jemaine waited about ten to fifteen minutes to follow him. Once they were both in bed and the lights were out, there would be another ten to fifteen minute wait before Jemaine would rise from his bed to crawl into Bret’s and initiate whatever they were doing that evening.
Jemaine decided this was the first rule he wanted to break.
Later that night, after the band meeting, they both decided simultaneously to go to bed and, once all the lights were out, Jemaine sprang into action. Instead of waiting to get into bed, he found Bret’s body in the dark, grabbing him by the shoulders and knocking him somewhat off-balance as he pressed his back into the doorframe of the bedroom.
Bret didn’t even have time to register what was happening before Jemaine was sucking on his bottom lip, and it wasn't quite the bed, but Bret could handle being pushed up against the doorframe as long as Jemaine kept up with the hip-pressure and, oh god, Jemaine’s mouth was so hot, and he gave the tiniest nip of teeth.
"Ungh." It was the best response Bret could give as he grasped unmercifully at the frame of the door. Jemaine grunted, frustrated by that, and his hands rose into Bret’s curls, tugging, as he started to ease Bret into the bedroom with him.
Jemaine guided him backwards towards the bed and once the back of Bret’s knees hit the edge of the bed, Jemaine grabbed at his shirt, nearly frantic. He had to have this. He had to have this now. He had to have nakedness and skin and once Bret’s shirt was off and thrown away from them like a bad memory, Jemaine’s lips were all over him.
He licked at Bret’s neck, tongue outlining the very marks Murray had pointed out, the very marks he had made as his fingers fumbled with Bret’s pants, feeling incompetent. Bret reached up, wanting to help and their fingers slid against one another, intertwining momentarily and Jemaine couldn’t help the moan that left him.
Oh god, Bret, touching him…if only…
But Bret seemed to ignore the invitation, his trembling fingers instead focusing on his pants, which he helped remove before Jemaine pushed him down to the bed, eager for more.
Bret tried not to think about the fact that it was a Wednesday and that he still had his socks on as Jemaine focused his attention on Bret’s chest and, while this wasn’t quite a rule that he was breaking, this was new.
Jemaine had never really paid all that much attention to Bret’s chest before. Sure he had touched it in passing but not like he was now, hands sweaty and eager, fingers rubbing over sensitive nipples and then his mouth there, hungry and feasting, teeth nibbling and Bret was definitely breaking one of the rules as mewls kept pouring out of him and Jemaine’s mouth kept going…
It moved down Bret’s chest, hovering over Bret’s stomach, making him break out in goose bumps and Jemaine’s tongue dipped playfully into his bellybutton before…
Bret’s eyes widened in the darkness and he was positive he was going to poke holes through the mattress with his fingers as Jemaine’s breath wafted over the most sensitive part of him.
Jemaine had not once, ever, brought his mouth any where close to this point.
There was something about it, an intimacy to do this that neither of them expected the other to cross. Not to mention all the negative connotations that were assorted with the action - at least, in regards to a man performing this and this…well, everything they had been doing lately up to this point had been gay but this…this was…this was…
And Jemaine’s hot breath just bathed his aching length and Bret felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin. He wanted this so badly he was almost afraid of the intensity of his want. It had been so long and, god, he couldn’t even remember the last time someone had done this for him and then everything was wiped away in a wall of white as Jemaine took him in hand and carefully took him into his mouth.
And it was a little clumsy, a little rough and experimental, with a disconcerting scrape of teeth and maybe not enough saliva, but, hell, Bret shattered one of the rules as the sounds he made were loud enough to alert the neighbors and he hoped he didn’t, he prayed he didn’t but, fuck, he was in Jemaine’s mouth.
Jemaine wasn’t sure he liked it and, in another situation, he probably would have stopped but the desperate noises escaping Bret just made him hotter and hotter so he kept at it, hoping it would eventually get better.
He pulled his mouth off a bit, just licking the length of it and then focused his attention on the head and he was still annoyed that Bret wouldn’t even touch him. He thought of asking for it, but he was not prepared to break that rule just yet, wanting to dismantle them one at a time.
He had all ready made some pretty big leaps tonight but still, it couldn’t hurt to push a little more and he found Bret’s wrists, tugging at them. Bret had shaken his head, eyes squeezed shut. No, no, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.
But Jemaine was insistent and Bret wanted his mouth on him again so badly that he relented a little and Jemaine pressed them to his hair and Bret moaned with the unspoken realization of what Jemaine wanted him to do.
He threaded his fingers through Jemaine’s soft hair and, okay, this was okay, he wouldn’t loose control this way, he wouldn’t…this was still real and Jemaine’s head was going back between his legs and fuck…
Jemaine took Bret’s shaft into his mouth again and this time he tasted something bitter and salty and he sort of winced at it but continued his ministrations, licking inexpertly and Bret’s fingers tightened almost painfully in his hair as his hips suddenly moved.
Jemaine wasn’t expecting that and he almost gagged. He stopped, startled, and Bret was embarrassed, because, honestly, he could have just choked his friend now and suddenly an air of awkwardness settled in and Bret just wanted to shoo it away, just wanted to get back to what Jemaine was doing before his stupid hips had reacted instinctively.
Jemaine took in a shaky breath and started again and then, to Bret’s utter astonishment, Jemaine grabbed his hips and urged him to move, urged him to, oh god, he couldn’t…he couldn’t do that…couldn’t…
But he was breaking and for some reason one tear rolled out of the corner of one of his eyes as his hips slowly started to move again, his cock moving in and out of Jemaine’s mouth.
Bret couldn’t believe this was happening, he couldn’t believe he was doing this, he couldn’t believe Jemaine was letting him do this and then, as if he couldn’t be any more surprised, Jemaine just moaned around the length of him, sucking more eagerly, as if he was getting used to it, as if he was enjoying it and it was too much, too much and he was going to…going to…
And Bret wanted to say something, wanted to speak but…too many rules broken…he couldn’t go that far and he let go of Jemaine’s hair, tried to pull himself away, tried to signal to Jemaine that if he kept this up…
Jemaine’s hands tightened on Bret’s hips, pushing them down almost violently, as he took in as much as could, sinking deeper onto his length and Bret lost it, crying out as he came and Jemaine gasped, trying to swallow what he could and it was sticky and wet and wonderful and Bret shivered and trembled with the force of it.
Jemaine drew his mouth away from Bret, rubbing the back of his hand along his mouth before moving up and kissing Bret on the lips and Bret could taste himself and Jemaine and it was all mixed together and he felt as if he had gone to heaven or to hell or some other plane because it was too unbelievably good to be real, to be true.
And even though Bret had been sodden with pleasure, reeling with it - he had also been terrified. Because he reminded himself silently that, surely, there was no way this could end well.
On to Part 13
Part 12: night
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: NC17
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not own the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them
Notes: SEX!...with a side of band meeting…and then more sex.
Back to: Part 11, Part 10, Part 9, Part 8, Part 7, Part 6, Part 5, Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
To say Bret and Jemaine’s relationship had changed was something of an understatement.
On the surface, everything appeared relatively normal. They still had breakfast together, still had band practice, still went to meetings with Murray, still visited Dave and still resolutely avoided Mel. They talked dryly about various topics, watched television, exercised…true, the heat wave was still in place, making things unbearable for everyone in New York City but past that, all seemed to be natural and in order.
But once night descended, once it was dark and quiet and they were all alone in their apartment, things were entirely and, irrevocably, different for Bret and Jemaine. They hadn’t spoken of that day, when Jemaine had had Bret pressed up against the wall, they hadn’t needed to. Because since that day, at night, every night, they had come together again.
Technically, Jemaine had started it.
Right after leaving Bret to go to the restroom and wash up, he had emerged to find the apartment empty. Bret had left some hastily scribbled message on a sheet of blank paper on the kitchen table. All it had said was ‘walk’ and Jemaine had taken that as answer enough.
After everything that had happened, his body still aching with want and need, he had found himself restless and pent up at first, but over time it had given way to an almost debilitating exhaustion that had led to him to collapse on his bed, falling into a deep and heavy sleep.
When he had awoken it was pitch black. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on, so it had been easy to simply turn his head and fumble for the clock. A shaft of light from outside came through the blinds and illuminated the clock’s face enough for him to get a sense of the time. It was well past midnight.
He had looked over to Bret’s bed and could just barely make out his slim form in the dark. Bret lay on his back above the sheets, arms resting on either side, his entire demeanor totally relaxed in sleep.
Jemaine had wondered if the walk Bret had taken had helped him get some perspective on what had happened between them. No doubt he had been torn with a variety of feelings and thoughts. Jemaine would have been as well, had he not just been so confounded by the whole thing.
Even remembering it now, it seemed to come to mind through a haze, as if nothing more real and substantial than a dream. But, he knew with grave certainty that it had indeed happened. That it had been real.
He and Bret had…well…essentially…they had had sex.
True, only Bret had really had any sort of release, but that was beside the point. Jemaine had…touched him. He had touched him and pleased him and in his mind he could still hear Bret’s breathing, those rough, plaintive sounds. Thinking of them caused his earlier feelings of arousal to stir to life and he had found himself sitting up, heart pounding, a heavy weight resting in the center of his stomach.
Those sounds Bret had made…the way his body had felt in Jemaine’s arms…
Jemaine had found himself wanting it all again. Wanting it so badly he had felt almost insane with the need of it, which must have explained how he had gotten to his feet and moved towards Bret’s bed to stand over it, his loud breathing breaking the silence of the room.
Bret, who had indeed been fast asleep, had come to consciousness slowly and with some confusion as he had felt his bed dip beneath someone’s extra mass. He had blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the dark and was about to open his mouth when a gentle hand had pressed over his lips and he had felt soft lips rubbing against the side of his neck.
A tiny, unidentifiable sound had escaped Bret, caught in the palm of the hand covering his mouth as Jemaine continued to kiss Bret’s neck. Jemaine had just had to know, had just had to be sure. Just a few hours ago, when they had been together…it had all happened so fast. And there had been that whole scene across the street…maybe it all had been some kind of fluke, a strange transcendence…
Surely Bret couldn’t be…aroused by Jemaine. Not Jemaine. Jemaine was just his friend, just his companion. Still, maybe, maybe it was possible…Jemaine had just had to know for sure.
He had removed his hand from Bret’s mouth once he was assured Bret was awake and wouldn’t make a sound. He had kissed Bret’s neck one more time before working his way up, his lips tracing the outline of Bret’s jaw and he sort of flinched as he came in contact with Bret’s coarse beard.
Part of him had been turned off by the facial hair. After all, it wasn’t something he was used to. The wiry hairs under his mouth had felt abrasive and unappealing but he had kept brushing kisses there because as unpleasant as it was, he had felt Bret suck in a breath when he did it.
Once Jemaine had gotten past the beard he had found Bret’s lips and his breath had come out a little shaky. The shape of Bret’s lips, the feel of them, had been familiar and that had caused a fission of electricity to go through his system.
Even more so when Bret had lifted his head up just that little bit, revealing that he wanted it just as much as Jemaine. Their mouths had met, curving together perfectly as Jemaine’s tongue tentatively licked at his friend’s. Bret had breathed in loudly through his nose as he kissed Jemaine back, his hands balling into fists on the sheets.
Jemaine’s fingers combed through Bret’s hair a moment before going down his sides, edging up under his shirt so he could touch hot skin, thumbs tracing lazy circles as he titled his head to one side, deepening the kiss.
Bret couldn’t help it; the actions were so perfect and so inexplicably sexy that a groan escaped him. Jemaine had cursed then, voice almost silent under his breath and his hands had gone hungrily to Bret’s hips, squeezing them roughly as he had drawn his mouth away for a moment, adjusting himself until he was in a better position to straddle the form beneath him, lining up their crotches before he had moved experimentally, thrusting slightly.
The feeling had been almost otherworldly but not unpleasant and so he had done it again, the second time effectively grinding his hips closer to the set beneath his own and he had felt something beneath him, an answering hardness.
Bret whimpered and twisted, fingers clawing at the sheets as his body had bucked upwards, reacting to the friction and heat. Jemaine had gasped and lowered the upper half of his body, forehead resting against Bret’s as they had started gracelessly rocking against one another.
Bret had let out another moan and Jemaine covered his mouth in a sloppy kiss, hands running down Bret’s arms to find his wrists, lifting them up and pinning them above his head, as they started moving faster and harder.
The raw intensity of what they were doing was more than either of them had expected and Jemaine had felt himself tittering on the edge of losing control. But somehow, through his own haze of lust, all he had been able to think of was Bret. Of wanting Bret to come first, of wanting Bret to come hard, of wanting Bret to come because of him.
Jemaine had released one of Bret’s wrists and edged one of his hands between their bodies. He had pushed down the waistband of Bret’s pajamas and found his hard length again, just as he had done earlier. He had stroked more firmly this time than he had the first, his movements more sure as he ran the palm of his hand over the tip to spread the precome, making his grip slicker. Bret had gasped at the feeling and felt mindless as he had begun thrusting hard into his friend’s fist.
Bret had sobbed as he felt his body grow tenser and then, with a sharp cry his orgasm overtook him. Jemaine felt Bret throb in his hand, spilling wetly over his fingers. He groaned deep in his chest but kept his hand moving until Bret rode out the last waves of his climax.
Once he was sure it was finished, Bret shivering beneath him, he had stopped, removing his hand to rub it clean against the sheets. Then Jemaine had begun raining gentle kisses all over Bret’s face tenderly. Bret had felt Jemaine’s own unappeased hardness spearing into him and he had wanted to reach for it, had wanted to help him. But he had been so awash in his own pleasure, lost in his own afterglow, that he had just laid there, helpless as he had caught his breath and found himself tumbling into a deep sleep.
The next thing Bret knew it was daylight and he had found himself in his bed alone. There was no evidence from last night other than his sheets being hideously rumpled. He had exited the bedroom to find Jemaine eating in the kitchen and Jemaine had spoken to him as if today was no different than any other day, as if they had not just had two previous sexual encounters.
Bret had pushed it out of his mind until later that night, when, in the dark of their bedroom, he had awoken once more to Jemaine climbing into his bed. To Jemaine touching him.
Somehow this strange new layer to their relationship had settled in and neither one chose to address it. By day they were platonic friends and band mates. By night they were secret lovers, meeting only in the darkness, locked together in heated need.
Sometimes when Jemaine climbed into Bret’s bed he brought him to completion using just his hands or the movement of his hips. Other times it was not at all sexual as much as it was just something physical, Jemaine snuggling up against Bret, running his hands through his hair and along his body. But each time they always kissed, finding a comfort in the meeting of their lips. A fulfillment that neither words nor other actions could express.
Bret did find it a bit troubling that he had had yet to touch Jemaine. Every time they were together he kept his hands to himself. Mostly out of fear that somehow, if he did touch Jemaine, it would either a, turn out not to be real or b, that he would lose control of himself. The latter was a strange prospect for him, as he had never had such an issue with the girls he had had sex with.
Then again, while Bret certainly had sex with girls before, the list wasn’t necessarily all that extensive and most of those outings had not been anything to write home about. In fact, for the most part, they involved the girl doing far more work than he ever did - not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t really know where to start. He had always felt a bit of a loss as to what to do when it came to sex, and, while he felt he was pretty good at it, he didn’t feel overly confident in his abilities as a lover either.
This was not something Bret broadcasted, but something that did come to his mind now and again and currently was a rather dominating factor as this new lover was one that he actually found himself wanting to please very desperately.
But all he kept seeing, all he kept imagining, was being too rough or being too…just, well, terrible. Jemaine was critical of him on a regular basis. He didn’t need him to be critical when he was…when he wanted so much to be good.
And then there was just that, that this was Jemaine he wanted to touch, Jemaine he wanted to please, which brought him back to the former fear of touching Jemaine, which was that, if he did so, it would somehow prove how unreal all of this was.
Maybe he’d touch Jemaine and Jemaine would just dissipate and Bret would wake up to find he’d been in a coma for five years and this was all a dream. A crazy, heated, unbelievable dream. And if this was a dream, god, he didn’t want to wake up…
He wanted, he needed…
God, Jemaine in his bed every night had become a blessing.
Though Jemaine, poor, poor, Jemaine had come to him every night and had yet to find his own release. Not once had Bret heard or (even as dark as it was) seen him climax.
Instead, more often than not, Bret had fallen asleep to the now familiar feeling of Jemaine’s neglected hard on pressed against him. Bret wasn’t sure why Jemaine did it, why he allowed it. He wondered if maybe Jemaine got off on withholding from himself.
Or maybe, Jemaine got himself off later, where Bret couldn’t see. And this realization had actually caused Bret to have to take care of himself one morning in the shower, because the mere thought of Jemaine touching himself was enough to get Bret going now and-and…
And they were fucked.
So, so fucked.
Sure, things had settled into this weird void that sort of worked but, for how long? It was only a matter of time before things came to some sort of head. Some sort of conclusion. They couldn’t just keep avoiding it; they couldn’t just keep things up like this.
Eventually, for good or bad, things would have to be resolved one way or the other. Though Bret had no idea how that would come about. What the catalyst would be. All he knew was that it was coming.
And that it was coming soon.
88888888888
“Band meeting, Bret?”
“Present.”
“Jemaine.”
“Present.”
“And Murray…present. All right, guys, I’ve got to be a bit quick today. A crew is coming in to clean the carpets. Great news, eh? I don’t know about you all, but it is certainly good to have a nice, clean shag now and again isn’t it?”
Bret blinked, blushing, “Um, pardon?”
“You know, a shag? The carpet, you turkey!” Murray chuckled, then leaned closer to Bret, winking, “But by the by, Bret, I know I’ve thanked you quite a bit lately, but, you know, just wanted to thank you again for the poker game. It certainly meant a lot.”
Jemaine’s eyes narrowed, a crooked grin taking his face, “Yeah, Murray, about that. Bret won’t tell me exactly what happened at this poker game, so…if you want to fill me in…”
Murray leaned back, swiveling about in his chair, “Oh well, Jemaine, you know that’s…that’s sort of personal business. Not something we should really be discussing at a band meeting. As it is, I’ve let this meeting linger too far off course, really need to be getting on to item one-”
“Yeah, well,” Jemaine tossed out dryly, “I imagine item one is how we have no gigs, so how about you tell me about the poker game-”
“Well, Jemaine, I hope you like eating words, because you’re wrong about item one! Ha ha! How’d you like that then? Your words taste good and…salty?”
Jemaine’s head reared back a bit as he tried to grasp what Murray had just said, “Salty?”
“Or…fruity. Nutty, perhaps. I can’t-can’t say what words taste like, exactly, but, I’m sure they’re…tasty. In the face of your being wrong and all.”
“If I’m wrong, shouldn’t they be bittersweet?”
“Ah, yes, well, how do you like eating your own bittersweet words then!” Murray said smartly.
Jemaine sighed, “So item one is a gig, then?”
“Oh, ah, um, no. No. Actually, it’s not, but, you know, it’s-it’s not that you don’t have a gig. It’s,” Murray consulted his notes, “Ah yes, here, item one. New fans. You have actually garnered two new fans! Fancy that!”
“Oh? Really?” Bret asked hopefully.
“Yes!”
“Who?”
“Well, one of them…I don’t…I don’t have her name here, but, apparently, she’s a friend of Mel’s. Yes! Said she’d be very interested in attending your next gig…she-she did seem a bit preoccupied asking about Mel and if-if Mel would be there and if your next venue had…what did she call it?…good concealed locations or some such thing but, um, well she did want a shirt. Same-same one as Mel, actually, but still, progress!”
Bret and Jemaine looked a bit bewildered by this for a moment, then, once it settled in, they both sort of shrugged and nodded, deciding overall that this was, indeed, progress.
Murray continued, “As to your other fan, it’s none of than, drum roll please, Jim!”
“Jim?” Jemaine asked, surprised.
“Yes! Well…actually, he’s…he said he’s just a fan of Bret’s now. But, that’s-well-that’s one half of the band so, I just sort of rounded him up as a full fan. He was really impressed by Bret’s…well…by Bret.”
Bret slinked down into his seat, looking very chagrined as Murray leaned close to him again, whispering, “You know, Bret, again thanks for…you know. Everything. I know it…I know it got a bit dicey back there. What with Jim’s mum showing up, and well, I mean the whole thing with that goat was-was a bit much, but-”
“Okay, this is just mean now, what happened at this poker game?!” Jemaine whined.
“Jemaine! Please! I’m trying to have a private conversation with Bret here!” Murray waved a hand at the wall, “Look away, go over there! Don’t listen!”
Jemaine pouted, annoyed, but eventually turned his face to the wall and pretended not to listen as Murray continued to talk to Bret.
“Seriously, Bret, I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.”
“Its okay, Murray. Really.” Bret pressed, eager to finish this conversation.
“You sure? I mean, honestly, if you hadn’t put out that fire…”
“It’s all right, Murray.”
“…and then when One-Eyed Pete called, I mean, whoa! Situation got a bit severe. Didn’t know you knew how to handle a phone that way-”
“It was nothing.”
“You were like…you know, Bruce Willis or something. Hostage negotiator.”
“Murray, can we - can we just not…talk about it?”
“You sure?”
“It’s…I’d just like to not speak of it…again. Ever again.”
“…Jim…he, um…he still has your socks by the way…sort of…he’s…well...he’s trying to get them back to you, but the goat, has quite a grip-”
“I’m sure, Murray, look, really, never ever again.”
“Right. Okay. Jemaine, you can come back.” Murray said, rolling away from Bret and looking back to his notepad, “Okay then, on to item two. Item two, book cover. Ah, yes, Mel and I are still working on the title for your autobiographical novella but, we are in need of a cover. Mel has some ideas. You know, photographs…modeling. She, um, has some poses she thought you could do-”
Both Bret and Jemaine blanched at this when suddenly Murray frowned, eyes narrowing as he looked at Bret, “Bret? What is that?”
“What is what?”
“That,” Murray said pointing directly at Bret.
“My…face?”
“No, Bret, on your neck there,” Murray said, jabbing his finger at him repeatedly, “Right there on the left, just a bit above your collar…a bit above, oy! Hey! There’s another one there on the other side…and…my goodness! Bret! Come over here!”
Bret swallowed as a realization began to sink in but he still rose to his feet, as did Murray, who came over frowning as he inspected Bret all over, “Bret! My word they’re…they’re every where! What-what are these?! You’ve got…little black and blue marks all over your neck…and your wrists! Looks like bruises! What happened?”
Bret’s mind immediately flashed to last night, Jemaine holding his wrists down to the bed, his teeth biting at the cords of his neck. Bret flushed, heat coursing through his veins, “It’s…nothing, Murray.”
“Nothing! You look like you’ve been brutalized! Jemaine! Did you-”
“It wasn’t me!” Jemaine squeaked, his voice going higher than he thought possible.
“Oh?! Then what was it then?! Was…oh lord, Bret! Was it One Eyed Pete! Did he find out where you live! Did he come for some sort of revenge for your phone skills!”
“No, no Murray it was, it was,” Bret wracked his brains for a solution, “It was…bugs.”
“Bugs?”
Bret nodded repeatedly, “Yes, yes, bugs. It was bugs. Just bugs. Bug bites.”
“Bug bites? Really?”
“Yes.”
“This time of year?”
“It…it is summer, Murray. Hot. Mosquitoes.”
Murray pressed a finger to his lips in thought, “Hmm, yes, well, I know mosquitoes can get pretty aggressive. Just…just didn’t think they got this aggressive. You may have an infestation. Still…why do you have bites and-and not Jemaine.”
“He’s sweeter.” Jemaine heard himself say and his eyes widened. That had been a thought. It had been a thought that was not supposed to have come out aloud in words.
Bret blushed again, another shaft of lust moving through him and he tried to cover before Murray could say anything, “They bit Jemaine too just…just not where you can see.”
“Oh really? Did they?” Jemaine wasn’t sure who had taken over his mouth and was making him say these things, but for some reason they kept coming out.
Bret looked at him with desperation, “Yes!”
Murray, however, didn’t catch any of the hidden messages and just shrugged, “Well, you all should get that looked at! And, Jemaine, you know I always tell Bret to keep a look out for you but, well, you need to return the favor. All right? It’s a two way street. Can’t just have it one way. Can’t have bugs crawling all over the place…especially if they’re giving you bites like that! They look almost human!”
A sound escaped Jemaine that sounded dangerously close to a laugh.
A tiny ding rang out and Murray brightened, “Oh! My microwave is done!”
Murray opened the microwave and pulled out the same pair of knitted underwear he had previously tried to pawn off on Dave. Seeing it signaled both Bret and Jemaine to the end of the meeting.
They got up and made a move to the door when suddenly Murray called out, “Hey now! Guys! I didn’t dismiss you!”
They both halted a moment, looking eagerly at the door. Murray licked his lips as he retook his seat, tossing his toasty undies from one hand to the other, “You both are dismissed until next band meeting. Oh! But Bret, hold up a moment, would you? I have something for you. Jemaine, you can, you know,” Murray waved a hand.
Jemaine shrugged again and left. He waited by the elevator until Bret joined him.
“What did he want?”
“Nothing,” Bret said unconvincingly as he tried his best to casually shove a pair of knitted underwear with his name on it into one of his jeans’ pockets.
88888888888
They never talked when they were together.
That was just one of the unspoken rules, but one strictly enforced. It was okay to let loose the occasional sound of pleasure, but even those were kept to a minimum.
However, as time dragged on and the situation between them became more permanent, Jemaine found himself wanting to test the barriers of the rules. See how much Bret would let him get away with.
For example, one of the unspoken rules was how their sexual encounters started.
Usually the way it worked was that either one or both of them would decide to go to bed. Normally Bret went to bed first and Jemaine waited about ten to fifteen minutes to follow him. Once they were both in bed and the lights were out, there would be another ten to fifteen minute wait before Jemaine would rise from his bed to crawl into Bret’s and initiate whatever they were doing that evening.
Jemaine decided this was the first rule he wanted to break.
Later that night, after the band meeting, they both decided simultaneously to go to bed and, once all the lights were out, Jemaine sprang into action. Instead of waiting to get into bed, he found Bret’s body in the dark, grabbing him by the shoulders and knocking him somewhat off-balance as he pressed his back into the doorframe of the bedroom.
Bret didn’t even have time to register what was happening before Jemaine was sucking on his bottom lip, and it wasn't quite the bed, but Bret could handle being pushed up against the doorframe as long as Jemaine kept up with the hip-pressure and, oh god, Jemaine’s mouth was so hot, and he gave the tiniest nip of teeth.
"Ungh." It was the best response Bret could give as he grasped unmercifully at the frame of the door. Jemaine grunted, frustrated by that, and his hands rose into Bret’s curls, tugging, as he started to ease Bret into the bedroom with him.
Jemaine guided him backwards towards the bed and once the back of Bret’s knees hit the edge of the bed, Jemaine grabbed at his shirt, nearly frantic. He had to have this. He had to have this now. He had to have nakedness and skin and once Bret’s shirt was off and thrown away from them like a bad memory, Jemaine’s lips were all over him.
He licked at Bret’s neck, tongue outlining the very marks Murray had pointed out, the very marks he had made as his fingers fumbled with Bret’s pants, feeling incompetent. Bret reached up, wanting to help and their fingers slid against one another, intertwining momentarily and Jemaine couldn’t help the moan that left him.
Oh god, Bret, touching him…if only…
But Bret seemed to ignore the invitation, his trembling fingers instead focusing on his pants, which he helped remove before Jemaine pushed him down to the bed, eager for more.
Bret tried not to think about the fact that it was a Wednesday and that he still had his socks on as Jemaine focused his attention on Bret’s chest and, while this wasn’t quite a rule that he was breaking, this was new.
Jemaine had never really paid all that much attention to Bret’s chest before. Sure he had touched it in passing but not like he was now, hands sweaty and eager, fingers rubbing over sensitive nipples and then his mouth there, hungry and feasting, teeth nibbling and Bret was definitely breaking one of the rules as mewls kept pouring out of him and Jemaine’s mouth kept going…
It moved down Bret’s chest, hovering over Bret’s stomach, making him break out in goose bumps and Jemaine’s tongue dipped playfully into his bellybutton before…
Bret’s eyes widened in the darkness and he was positive he was going to poke holes through the mattress with his fingers as Jemaine’s breath wafted over the most sensitive part of him.
Jemaine had not once, ever, brought his mouth any where close to this point.
There was something about it, an intimacy to do this that neither of them expected the other to cross. Not to mention all the negative connotations that were assorted with the action - at least, in regards to a man performing this and this…well, everything they had been doing lately up to this point had been gay but this…this was…this was…
And Jemaine’s hot breath just bathed his aching length and Bret felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin. He wanted this so badly he was almost afraid of the intensity of his want. It had been so long and, god, he couldn’t even remember the last time someone had done this for him and then everything was wiped away in a wall of white as Jemaine took him in hand and carefully took him into his mouth.
And it was a little clumsy, a little rough and experimental, with a disconcerting scrape of teeth and maybe not enough saliva, but, hell, Bret shattered one of the rules as the sounds he made were loud enough to alert the neighbors and he hoped he didn’t, he prayed he didn’t but, fuck, he was in Jemaine’s mouth.
Jemaine wasn’t sure he liked it and, in another situation, he probably would have stopped but the desperate noises escaping Bret just made him hotter and hotter so he kept at it, hoping it would eventually get better.
He pulled his mouth off a bit, just licking the length of it and then focused his attention on the head and he was still annoyed that Bret wouldn’t even touch him. He thought of asking for it, but he was not prepared to break that rule just yet, wanting to dismantle them one at a time.
He had all ready made some pretty big leaps tonight but still, it couldn’t hurt to push a little more and he found Bret’s wrists, tugging at them. Bret had shaken his head, eyes squeezed shut. No, no, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.
But Jemaine was insistent and Bret wanted his mouth on him again so badly that he relented a little and Jemaine pressed them to his hair and Bret moaned with the unspoken realization of what Jemaine wanted him to do.
He threaded his fingers through Jemaine’s soft hair and, okay, this was okay, he wouldn’t loose control this way, he wouldn’t…this was still real and Jemaine’s head was going back between his legs and fuck…
Jemaine took Bret’s shaft into his mouth again and this time he tasted something bitter and salty and he sort of winced at it but continued his ministrations, licking inexpertly and Bret’s fingers tightened almost painfully in his hair as his hips suddenly moved.
Jemaine wasn’t expecting that and he almost gagged. He stopped, startled, and Bret was embarrassed, because, honestly, he could have just choked his friend now and suddenly an air of awkwardness settled in and Bret just wanted to shoo it away, just wanted to get back to what Jemaine was doing before his stupid hips had reacted instinctively.
Jemaine took in a shaky breath and started again and then, to Bret’s utter astonishment, Jemaine grabbed his hips and urged him to move, urged him to, oh god, he couldn’t…he couldn’t do that…couldn’t…
But he was breaking and for some reason one tear rolled out of the corner of one of his eyes as his hips slowly started to move again, his cock moving in and out of Jemaine’s mouth.
Bret couldn’t believe this was happening, he couldn’t believe he was doing this, he couldn’t believe Jemaine was letting him do this and then, as if he couldn’t be any more surprised, Jemaine just moaned around the length of him, sucking more eagerly, as if he was getting used to it, as if he was enjoying it and it was too much, too much and he was going to…going to…
And Bret wanted to say something, wanted to speak but…too many rules broken…he couldn’t go that far and he let go of Jemaine’s hair, tried to pull himself away, tried to signal to Jemaine that if he kept this up…
Jemaine’s hands tightened on Bret’s hips, pushing them down almost violently, as he took in as much as could, sinking deeper onto his length and Bret lost it, crying out as he came and Jemaine gasped, trying to swallow what he could and it was sticky and wet and wonderful and Bret shivered and trembled with the force of it.
Jemaine drew his mouth away from Bret, rubbing the back of his hand along his mouth before moving up and kissing Bret on the lips and Bret could taste himself and Jemaine and it was all mixed together and he felt as if he had gone to heaven or to hell or some other plane because it was too unbelievably good to be real, to be true.
And even though Bret had been sodden with pleasure, reeling with it - he had also been terrified. Because he reminded himself silently that, surely, there was no way this could end well.
On to Part 13