Sid sleeps like a little kid. He curls on his side and twitches when he dreams and although he doesn't actually stuff his thumb into his mouth, it's always hovering around his lips, forgotten comfort. Johnny likes to watch him, likes the change that sleep brings. There's no more posturing, no more curled lip. He's just a fucking kid with a spotty angel face that drools on the pillow.
Johnny's grimy finger traces the line of Sid's jaw, ragged nail scratching gently at marred skin. Poor Sid is the best looking out of all of them, at least in Johnny's opinion, but he's so fucking careless. Cuts everywhere, bruises blossoming all over his white skin. Johnny knows that most of them are from when he's high. Sid never knows which way is up after he sticks himself, and Johnny once saw him run into the same table four times before he figured out how to walk around it.
Biting his lower lip, Johnny reaches down and tugs Sid's arm out. The track marks on his elbow are old, fading. He hasn't had any heroin in nearly two weeks now. Staying clean, he says, clean for Johnny, and then he smiles that stupid fucking smile and holds his arms up and Johnny can't say no. He's sure everyone else knows about them, sure that everyone else calls him and Sid nancy boys behind their backs. It doesn't matter. They can't know.
It's the way Sid looks at him, the way he opens his eyes so wide when Johnny's fingers push up inside him. It's the little sounds he makes, and the way he clings, and the way his lips move against Johnny's neck, spelling out nonsense words against his skin with every gasping breath. It's the sleepy, content way Sid stares at him when they're done, and the way he doesn't ever say that he loves Johnny.
Johnny chews at a chapped lip, then nudges Sid none too gently. Sid grunts and tries to roll over, but Johnny tangles a hand in his hair, shakes him. "Wake up, bastard," he whispers. Sid's eyes slowly peel open, confused and petulant.
"What?"
Johnny doesn't answer in words. His fingers slip beneath the sheets, tickling across Sid's hollow belly, scraping along the sharp ridge of his hip. Sid squirms against the sheets, a grimace twisting his face as he scrubs at his eyes.
"Johnny, no," he whines, thumping his fists back against the pillow. Johnny stares at him, shivering at the picture he presents, pale and tousled, arms up by his head. So fucking pretty, his Vicious. So fucking perfect. "You already fucked me tonight."
"I don't care," Johnny purrs, crouching over him. His hands slip under Sid's hips, lifting them easily. He's not a big guy, but Sid barely weighs as much as a kitten. He squirms in Johnny's grip, little noises of protest guttering in his throat. "You looked so fuckin' pretty lying there..."
And Sid preens, arching and twisting, a shy, triumphant little smile blooming on his face. He likes it when Johnny talks like that, likes knowing that he's wanted. It's how Johnny has kept him away from that bitch for the past couple of weeks. All he has to do is pay attention, stroke Sid's ego. Poor sod doesn't need heroin, he just needs a good fucking every night and a warm body to curl up next to.
"If you want..." Sid's coyness ends with a gasp as Johnny's middle finger pushes brutally inside him. It doesn't take much; Sid is still slick and open from earlier, enough to take what Johnny is dishing out. His finger crooks inside Sid, stroking and flicking, and Sid's eyes glaze over in rapt pleasure. His body vibrates finely, twisting and twitching against the sheets, and Johnny watches, fascinated. He likes sex as well as the next fellow, but Sid... Sid is something else. Sid transforms during sex, becomes a creature of absolute sensation. Johnny's never seen anything like it.
A second finger slips in alongside the first, and Johnny leans over Sid, biting at his neck, licking the sweat off of his skin. Sid keens in response, arching into Johnny's caresses. Already, half-formed words fall from his lips, slurred and unrecognizable. Johnny can hear the emotion in them, need and lust and desperate affection. A shiver crawls down his spine and he closes his eyes, wanting to pull away. He always wants to pull away when Sid starts talking. Those garbled words make him feel guilty somehow.
His fingers slip out and he shifts, knocking Sid's legs out of the way, settling himself against Sid's hips. Sid's eyes roll sightlessly, lost in sensation, and Johnny is glad for it. After the fact, when they're curled together on the bed and Johnny is reliving the act in his mind, he'll dwell on Sid's eyes, on the way they focus on his face and stay locked there, and he'll enjoy it. Right now, though, caught in the moment, he wants Sid's eyes anywhere but his face.
Johnny's prick slices up into Sid's body, and Sid utters a high, thin scream of pain. Instantly, Johnny's hand slaps down over his mouth, muffling any further noises, but Sid seems content now to gasp and shiver and stare up at Johnny. His eyes are wide above Johnny's dirty hand, his breath warm. Johnny stares for a long second, then shifts his hand, covering Sid's nose, cutting off his air.
A moment, then an expression of terror flickers across Sid's features. He twitches, struggles, hands rising up to push back against Johnny's shoulders, but even as he pushes away, his hips slam up and his legs wrap around Johnny's waist, pulling him in hard and deep. Johnny groans, closes his eyes. Sid is so tight around him that it almost hurts, his struggles growing more frantic by the second.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Johnny shifts his hand to Sid's throat, squeezing gently. He doesn't want to actually kill the poor bastard - although sometimes he thinks he'd be doing Sid a favor if he did - but he does like the expression on Sid's face, the unspoken and unavoidable knowledge that Johnny is in control. He always has been, and he always will be, and it's good to see that reflected in Sid's panicky eyes.
Johnny's hips begin to move, slow and grinding, pressing Sid down into the bed. He wants to take his time, but from the way Sid is shaking, he knows he isn't going to get the chance. Once Sid comes, he lays on the bed like a dead fish and all the fun goes out of it. From the way his eyes are rolling, it doesn't look like he's going to last more than a few minutes. Johnny's fingers flex against his neck and he purrs low in his throat.
"Pretty baby," he coos, and Sid's eyes snap to his face, wide and shocked. Johnny never talks during sex, never. A confused whimper slips out of Sid's mouth and he shivers against the bed, arching up to push his neck harder against Johnny's hand. "I ever told you how good you are, Sid? I ever told you how much I like this?" Sid twitches and moans. His eyes are big and glassy and befuddled. Johnny laughs softly and continues.
"I like this especially," he sighs. His hips snap harder against Sid's, faster and deeper. Sid's breath hitches and Johnny feels it against his fingers. A flood of delicious pleasure shivers through his body and he grits his teeth. Focus... "I like it when you're all mine."
Sid screams suddenly, his back snapping up into a violent arch, nearly throwing Johnny off the bed. Johnny laughs, sinks his teeth into Sid's shoulder. It will be the first mark he's ever left, the first bruise he's ever put on Sid and probably the last. It's not really his thing, all the bruising and the choking and the controlling. He's doing it for Sid, because it makes Sid happy.
It's easiest when he tells himself that. It's all for Sid.
With a strangled cry, Johnny slams his prick deep, coming hard inside Sid's twitching body. It's a slow sort of pleasure, honey dripping down his spine, rolling through his limbs, tingling across his skin. The best kind of climax, the kind he always gets with Sid. His fingers relax on Sid's throat and he turns his eyes away from the red marks there. Fingerprints fade. There's no sense worrying over them.
He starts to roll off when Sid's arms wrap tight around him, clutching him close. He grimaces but stays where he is, sticky and spent, ready to sleep. Sid's breath gusts against his shoulder. Johnny closes his eyes, hopes that Sid doesn't say anything stupid. It's a vain hope.
"I... I really am all yours, Johnny..."
Johnny makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat which Sid mistakes for emotion. No one ever told the poor sod not to take a man seriously when he's got his dick in some warm, tight space. Idiot. Fucking bloody idiot.
"I know you are. Get some sleep," he answers. Sid squeezes him again, hard, then lets go and curls up beside him. His thumb hovers close around his lips and Johnny smiles down at him, fond in spite of himself. "Don't suck your thumb either, or else everyone will think you're queer."
Sid laughs softly at that and Johnny kisses the corner of his mouth. It's all settled again, all taken care of. Sid is happy, Johnny is satisfied. Sighing, Johnny closes his eyes and nestles up against Sid's lanky frame. There's a moment's silence, then Sid whispers against the back of Johnny's neck and, just like every other time Sid has said 'I love you', Johnny pretends not to hear.
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