rina (relentlessfire) wrote in m8n_slash,

Fic - Whiskey and Aspirin Chapter 8

Title - Pleasure and Pain
Author - Rina
Rating - NC-17
Warning - This chapter deals with non-consensual sex (non-con). That means that someone has sex with somebody else WITHOUT their permission; i.e. by force. Not a good thing. A very bad thing, in fact, and if you are of a sensitive nature, perhaps you should avoid this chapter.
Archived: AFF.net
Usual disclaimers apply.

Chapter 8.

It takes a few more days for all the blisters and red lumps to completely disappear from Richard’s body. He is left with some scars and pock marks, including a couple on his face from the ones he busted but he is so incredibly overjoyed to have his old skin back, he doesn’t even care if he has a few craters here and there. The soreness inside his throat disappears and his appetite returns with a vengeance. He eats that much that he gains back all the weight he lost in record time. The only things he misses about his debilitating illness are those fantastic back rubs. He doesn’t have an excuse to get them anymore. Little does he know that Justin would do it again if Richard would only ask.

They move from town to town, driving at night and sleeping during the day, avoiding people, trying to be seen as little as possible, following a zig-zag route that Richard marked out on the map, a deliberate ploy to confuse anybody who might be tracking them, making it so the destination is unclear. It is taking them a little longer to get where they want to go but their chances of remaining out of sight increase by sticking to the back roads and avoiding main highways or big towns. It is in another of these small townships that the two boys find a motel and attain cheap accommodation, Richard paying for it with cash, as usual. It had been Justin’s turn to drive and he pulls up in the parking spot outside the room, puts the handbrake on and kills the engine, his ears not used to the sudden absence of sound. It’s so quiet without the constant noise of the droning motor.

“Aw, shit. They gave us a double,” Richard remarks in irritation as they unlock the door and see the double bed in the middle of the room. “I specifically said we wanted two singles. I’m gonna go back and see if there’s anything else.”

“Don’t bother,” Justin says, walking inside, throwing his bag onto the bed and sinking wearily onto the mattress, his bones and muscles aching. “After doing all that driving, I’m too damn tired to care. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”

“Well, you don’t have to do that. I don’t mind sharing with you,” Richard suggests. “It’s plenty big enough and I promise I’ll stay on my side.” He hesitates, not wanting to make Justin do something he’s uncomfortable with. “You know, but only if that’s okay with you. If not, I’ll go and ask for another room.”

“This room will do fine,” Justin mumbles, taking off his shoes and socks. “I don’t think it’s going to kill me to share a bed with you, Richard. I’ve been stuck in the car with you all night, haven’t I?” He flashes Richard a slightly humorous glance.

“Yeah, that’s kinda my point. You must be sick to death of me by now,” Richard comments wryly, stripping off his jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. He kicks off his own shoes, leaving them untidily in the middle of the floor. “You haven’t said much to me all night.”

“Don’t take it personally. I’m not sick of you; I’m just exhausted,” Justin tells him, yawning and covering his mouth politely. “God, I feel like I could sleep for a week. Who knew road trips could be so tiring?”

Justin starts unbuttoning his shirt, showing glimpses of his pale chest. As he’s been spending so much time alone with Richard, Justin’s shyness has dwindled and he regularly takes off clothes in front of the other boy but not to the point of complete nakedness. In regards to modesty, he’s come a long way lately but not that far, always keeping his boxer shorts on. Richard unashamedly strips right off every night, right down to his bare ass before hopping in bed. Justin had initially been startled to discover that his friend sleeps in his birthday suit, thanks to that night he saw Richard’s silhouette in the light coming though the curtains, but he’s gotten used to it and now he averts his eyes in the morning when Richard gets up in case he sees something he’s not prepared for. Once, he accidentally caught a glimpse of Richard’s magnificent morning erection and could hardly speak to Richard that day out of embarrassment. Richard, typically, found that quite amusing and explained that he just could not sleep comfortably with clothes on; they got all twisted up and annoyed the shit out of him. When they get dressed or undressed, both of them try not to stare but they can’t help sneaking a few admiring looks in the other one’s direction every now and again.

As he’s taking his long-sleeved shirt off, Justin looks up and catches Richard watching him. Richard quickly glances away and strolls over to check out the bathroom. It is as big as a closet but at least it is mould-free.

“Uh, so, do you wanna shower first?” he asks Justin. “There’s even a bath in here if you prefer that.”

“No, you can go. I’ll have one in the morning. I’m going straight to bed.” Justin slips on a clean t-shirt to sleep in, yawning once more. “I’m too lethargic to care if I smell. What time do we have to check out?”

“Whenever we want. I told the guy not to disturb us,” Richard answers, removing his own shirt. His lips twist. “He probably thinks we’re a gay couple. Not that I care what some front-desk dweeb thinks.”

ARE we a couple? Justin automatically thinks, covertly sweeping his tired eyes over Richard’s chest and stomach, noting the chickenpox scars dotting his torso. Richard had such smooth golden skin before he got sick and now it’s marred with pock marks but in spite of them, Justin still thinks the other teenager is beautiful. Justin is not shallow enough to think such imperfections are ugly. He may be scarred and bearded and his hair may be shorn off but Richard still has the same tall, lean body, the same magnetic blue eyes, the same seductive smile, the same cheeky, charming personality. All long as he has those last three things, Richard will always be beautiful. However, Justin is still not sure if they are a couple - gay, straight or somewhere in between. In a lot of ways they are similar to romantic partners – they have a very close friendship, they support, comfort and share emotions - but in the most important way, they are not. There has been no intimate physical closeness yet and as the days go by, he wonders if there ever will be. He wonders if he’s the only one with non-platonic feelings here. Some days he’s so sure that Richard wants him and yet...nothing’s happened. It’s perplexing. If he were a girl, Richard would have well and truly bedded him on the first night of the road trip and every other night after that. Not that Justin is particularly desperate to be bedded but hell, even a kiss would be nice. Preferably one where’s he’s not semi-unconscious from a bullet wound. He did it then so what’s stopping Richard from doing it now? Too weary to think about the subject in-depth, Justin sighs and stands up, turning around to take his pants off.

Hovering in the doorway of the bathroom, Richard watches as Justin folds all his clothes neatly, a peculiar habit of his. The ebony-haired boy is only wearing a white t-shirt and boxer shorts slung low on his lean hips. All the revealed creamy flesh of his slim legs is very enticing to Richard and he wets his lips at the sight, nowhere near as tired as Justin is. With the way his eyes rove up and down Justin’s calves and thighs, you’d think he’d never seen a pair of legs before. Shaking his head, he concludes that he must really need to get laid. He could probably go find a bar somewhere in this town and pick up a waitress or some drunken slut and fix that problem. Trouble is, he doesn’t feel like doing that. Chicks may be nice to look at but they are pretty much all the same and don’t really excite him anymore. They’re predictable and boring. Plus Justin probably wouldn’t appreciate it if he brought a girl back to their room and screwed her in front of him.

“You don’t, you know,” Richard says.

Justin turns around and frowns at him in sleepy bemusement, drowsiness clouding his eyes. “Don’t what?”

“Smell. In fact, you smell pretty damn good considering you’ve been wearing second-hand clothes from a charity store.” Richard grins rakishly. “You better watch yourself tonight, dude.”

Justin stares at his friend for a moment. Richard is always yanking his chain like this, teasing him, trying to stir him up, make him blush. It is his favourite hobby. Most of the time it has the desired effect but Justin is too worn out to react the way he normally does. The thought of sharing a bed with Richard would have been tremendously exciting any other time but after hours and hours behind the wheel, watching miles of monotonous road rolling under them and stretching out before them in an endless path, Justin is beat. He shoots Richard an exasperated look, not even in the mood for flirting.

“Go take your shower, Richard.”

When he gets out of the bathroom, Justin is fast asleep, curled on his side on the left half of the double bed, the blankets pulled up over him, his hands tucked under his cheek in an endearing, boyish way. Richard climbs in and switches the lamp off, making sure no part of his body connects with Justin’s because he’s fully naked and he doesn’t want to give the poor kid a fright by jabbing him in the back with a dangerous and loaded weapon. He lays there for a while, thinking, hearing Justin breathing softly next to him. Including the delay caused by Richard’s illness, they’ve been on the run for over a week now, chewing up the miles in the beat-up, unremarkable, inconspicuous-looking car they’d bought for five hundred bucks, eating in greasy-spoon diners and sleeping in crappy motel rooms like this. This is their life and it couldn’t be any more different to the one they’d left behind in Wilmont - which consisted mainly of school, studying and getting wasted at the Bluff - but Richard likes this alternate existence. He likes being fugitives with Justin. A lot. Staying in a different town every night and keeping one step ahead of the law. It is the biggest buzz. And the really great thing is; it’s working. They are getting away with it. Even though there is an element of spine-tingling fear, the fear of getting caught, he’s never had so much fun in his life. It is so cool, like something out of a movie. It wouldn’t be half as cool if he wasn’t doing it with his best friend in the whole world.

Gingerly feeling around in the dark, Richard finds Justin’s head on the pillow. He leans over, plants a fond, impulsive kiss on the slumbering boy’s temple, and whispers, “G’night, Justin.” Justin is out like a light and doesn’t even stir. Feeling happy Richard lays there on his back imagining all the crazy, wonderful stuff they are gonna do once they get over the border, mostly involving tequila, cigars and spicy food. Then off to who knows where? With a whole new set of identification and passports, they don’t have to stay in Mexico. They can go anywhere they want. Jamaica sounds pretty attractive. Great weather, miles of beaches, unpolluted air and all the weed you can smoke. Maybe he can teach Justin how to surf... Richard drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face.

Later, Richard wakes up with a jolt, eyes popping open in the darkness. For a second he doesn’t know where he is or what’s going on but then it all comes back to him in a rush. He is in this flea-ridden motel room, sharing a lumpy bed with Justin. And Justin is the reason he woke up. The other boy is snuggled up against his back, an arm draped around Richard’s waist. But that’s not all.

Justin’s hand is on his dick!

Richard swears out loud, both shocked and aroused. Justin’s long fingers have caressed him into an impressive hard-on and are slowly stroking his shaft. Justin’s body is warm, supple and inviting against his naked skin and Richard groans, instantly horny, his cock throbbing with a burning, primal desire. It has been ages since he’s gotten any sex and this, Justin brazenly touching his prick, is too much stimulation for him to ignore. Drugged, electric heat sluices along his veins, screaming for satiation.

He wants sex. He needs it. He craves it. So fucking BAD.

Without even thinking about what he is doing, he rolls over and tears Justin’s boxer shorts off, fumbling around in the dark, his mind a bright orange flare of unadulterated lust. He dimly hears Justin murmuring his name but all that fills his thoughts in upper case letters is:

WANT. NEED. TAKE. FUCK. NOW. RIGHT NOW. Impatiently, he knees Justin’s legs apart and tries to enter him. The place that Richard is trying to push into is extremely tight, dry and uncomfortable, but he has never fucked a guy before so he forgot about the whole lubrication issue. Justin’s exclamation of alarm reminds him. He stops long enough to spit into his hand and rub the saliva between Justin’s legs. As Richard pushes his swollen, demanding cock into him, Justin gasps and arches off the bed. Knowing that Justin is a virgin, Richard expects the tightness but with the help of the spit, the other boy’s opening is not too difficult to penetrate and it feels hot and slippery down there, like a girl.

Only better. So much better.

This is something Richard has been dying to do with every fibre in his being. He’s wanted this. He’s wanted to fuck Justin. For so long. And now he is. He plunges his hard dick into the second male’s deliciously gripping entrance, wondering why he hasn’t taken Justin before. All this time he’s spent with Justin, in the car, sleeping in the same room together, so close and available and right THERE, and he hadn’t even had the guts to make a move.

But to his astonishment, Justin had. And going by the impassioned way the shy boy is reacting, it seems like he’s wanted this just as much. Richard can hear Justin calling his name over and over and making sexy little whimpering noises high in his throat. Like a wildcat, Justin writhes underneath him, bucking his hips upward, scratching at Richard’s back. His frenzied response makes the young man on top even more aflame with sexual sensation. Richard had not expected quiet, calm Justin to be such a firecracker in bed, not at all, but the discovery is thrilling and exciting.

“Please... Richard... Oh, God. Please,” Justin begs, the desperate plea turning Richard on, sending him almost insane with delirious pleasure.

“Oh fuck, Justin. Fuck...” Richard curses gutturally as he drives his cock into Justin quick and hard, taking the other boy with a violent, savage appetite, with one sole purpose in mind.

Release. Sweet, sweet release.

His orgasm is fast and ferocious and he moans Justin’s name as he comes, his seed gushing far inside the second boy's body like a flash-flood, his face buried in Justin’s soft black hair. It is the most intense, earth-shaking, fierce climax he’s ever had. Panting loudly and with the blood roaring in his ears, Richard doesn’t hear what Justin is saying at first, and then the words gradually filter into his sluggish brain.

“Get off me. Get off me. Get the fuck OFF me, Richard!” Justin yells, pushing at him with all his strength.

Richard pulls out and lifts himself up, frowning in confusion and reaching for the bedside lamp. When he sees Justin’s expression in the dim yellow lamplight, he knows he’s done something awfully, awfully bad. There is a look of both rage and condemnation on Justin’s face and tears have streaked tracks down his cheeks.

With a terrible, gut-slamming punch, Richard realizes those weren’t sounds of pleasure that Justin had been making, but pain.

Justin had been trying to stop him.

Before Richard can say anything or even process what has just happened, Justin sits up and grimaces, his hands clutching his belly. He looks down at himself and his face turns as white as chalk. “Oh my God...” he whispers.

Richard follows his gaze and to his paralysing horror sees a dark, glistening patch of redness on the bed between Justin’s thighs. He glances down and discovers scarlet fluid on his own dick, too. “Shit!” he mutters in utter panic. Compelling himself to act, Richard races to the bathroom and comes back with a towel. “Here, quick, put this under you.”

When Justin keeps staring at the blood and doesn’t move, Richard starts to slip the towel underneath him, thinking frantically that this is not good. Not good at all.

“Don’t touch me,” Justin abruptly snaps, lashing out at Richard, who backs off warily, a frightened crease in his brow.

“Justin, let me-” he begins but the other boy turns and looks up at him with such wounded betrayal in his eyes that Richard’s throat closes up.

“Leave me alone,” Justin chokes out, covering his groin with the towel and attempting to mop up the spreading stain. “You’ve done enough damage already.”

“But you’re bleeding...”

“I can handle this on my own. Just give me some goddamn privacy, would you?”

At that, Richard blindly grabs his clothes and goes into the bathroom. He washes the blood off his own penis and gets dressed, his movements automatic and slow, like a somnambulist. He can hear Justin softly crying out there as he deals with his injury and the muted sound is ripping him up inside. Finally, he looks in the mirror at himself, seeing his face ashen and stunned and dazed.

He’d raped Justin. That’s what he’d done. Raped him. Hurt him. Made him cry. Made him bleed. All over the sheets...Jesus fucking Christ, how could he have done that?

Full of fury at himself, he punches the mirror. Cracks shatter through it like a cobweb. A few shiny shards fall into the sink. He takes some deep breaths, trying to calm himself, not even feeling the cuts on his knuckles. He doesn’t want to face Justin again after what he did but knows that he has to. Justin needs his help. He tentatively opens the bathroom door. Justin is sitting up in the bed, his arms wrapped around his legs protectively, his head resting on his bent knees. He has a blanket around him and is sniffling unhappily.


“Go away,” Justin replies in a small, flat voice, not raising his head. “Just go away. Please.”

Not wanting to make things worse, Richard leaves, taking the key so Justin can’t lock him out. He goes outside for a walk in the middle of the night, feeling numb, like his whole body has been shot full of Novocaine. Without any warning, he just bursts and kicks the crap out of an innocent garbage can until it is nothing but a dented, flattened bit of tin. Then he slides his back down a rough stone wall and slumps there on the cold pavement sobbing, his face in his hands.
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