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He hates . Always has, always will. The feeling, slipping and following him everywhere he turns. Right now, that hate is directed towards the pale trembling but slow hand tracing up the side of his thigh, inching like a worm, towards something. He hates that he shivers and leans down into sheets, into him, Curly , like his own limbs defy his very conscious. No longer in control of his body, only his thoughts under the other man’s touch.
“Is this ok?” he hears Curly ask above him - always above, always, always, always - timid, almost shy. It sickens and softens him in the same breath, stomach swirling with the pitch of tone. Hand now resting on the blooming curve of his hip like a hibernating bear, waiting for a response, waiting for anything to continue his descent on Jimmy’s body. Curly’s eyes are low lidded and heavy but not wandering, not swimming, despite all the alcohol they drank earlier, his eyes locked and blue and everlasting as the ocean.
“Yeah, sure, whatever you want,“ croaks out from his mouth and into the space around them, a lame and dull response but a response nonetheless - not like he can resist him anyway, even if he really tried. Always running, running back to him like a loyal and submissive dog. And it doesn’t help that, right now, it feels that he’s running in two completely different directions, opposite of one another. And, it definitely doesn’t help that his voice is slurred and a total mess, under him, under him, under him.
The cheap hotel sheets under him wrinkle and shift as Curly moves above, tossing a leg over both of his own, straddling him in place. The smile on his face not once wavering with his movements, it makes Jimmy want to scowl. There’s no way there's this much goodness inside you, especially when you're with me, especially when you're looking at me. Something in him wishes he would frown, that his lips would curl all the way down to his neck, that he would hate him, just as much as he hates himself, just as much as he hates everything.
After high school, they’d gone their separate ways. Curly had a plan, he didn’t, simple as that, he’d left him behind but it’s not like he’d had much of a choice, people without goals, without dreams weigh and shackle you down, and it’s human nature to want to spread your wings and fly, isn’t it? Human nature to want and desire more than what’s in front of you - he supposes, in that way, they were similar. They’re both greedy, hungry . Jimmy however, is and always has been starving, not a new feeling but an ancient one, one that had been wrapped around his bones like ribbons and tied tight around his heart, and he’s never let anyone close enough to unravel it.
But maybe that hunger keeps him fed too, keeps him warm, keeps him company, keeps him alive. Keeps him breathing and keeps him hating.
He’s stripped bare beneath him, completely naked, arms laying limp at his sides. Legs flush against legs, skin on skin, and he’s never felt warmer in his entire life.
Curly bends at the waist, a simple movement, like he’s done this before. Been on top, straddled all kinds of men and women, like a whore. He bends at the waist in earnest, a quick movement, one that Jimmy almost doesn’t even comprehend; one second he’s looking down at him from high above, a mountain against a blade of grass and then, Jimmy blinks, and he’s in his face. Both hands pressing down into the mattress below them, in between the space his arms gapped away from his upper torso, Curly’s touch lingering on his hip still.
He’s close now, so close, impossibly close. Suffocatingly close, his heart thumps against his ribcage, he can feel the blood swell in his ears. His body reacting like he’s being attacked, not like he’s being loved - he’s being seen , and really, isn’t that both? Curly’s always seen him, not in the grotesque and ugly way he should be though. He saw him as a person, as a real, living, breathing individual. And maybe, maybe, that was his first mistake. He’s never been human, just a monster, just a shadow, always pretending to be something else, something easier to swallow - something people wanted to look for. Something Curly wanted to look for.
Reuniting with him hadn’t been on his bucket list, and fucking him hadn’t been either (both lies, bitter and ugly lies). It sort of just happened: A bar, alcohol, two lonely men looking for something they would never find at the bottom of a glass, searching for something to fill the hole, just for the night. Just for the night before Curly was up and out of his hair again and something in him aches , yearns for something even though he has everything right in front of him. What more could he possibly want?
Foreheads centimeters apart and lips inches away, he thinks about leaning up, moving, doing something, anything, to show the man above him that he’s just as alive as he is. Closing the gap between their lips and locking them, his chapped lips rubbing and pressing against Curly’s soft ones. He thinks about the sound that Curly would make, a surprised squeak and a twitch before melting down like honey, predictable . But he doesn’t kiss him, the ribbon on his bones pull him down and hold him in place, keep him steady and keep him below, where he belongs.
He cranes his neck up and bumps foreheads with him instead before letting his head fall back into the cushion under him, claiming the space again.
Curly glistens, even under the dim hotel lighting, he’s so beautiful that it physically hurts to look at him, but he looks anyway. Every hot shallow breath that leaves the blonde's mouth ricochets off his face and makes him sweat, each breath makes him squirm and shiver. And it’s embarrassing, being like this, not having the control he wants but he’s too tired and too drunk to wrestle for it, so he’ll lay here and let Curly give whatever he wants to and he’ll take it, take it, take it. Fill the hole, fill the hole that you tore in me when you left just for the night. Make me whole again. Fix me .
Curly tilts his head and all his hair falls with it, he wants to reach up and yank it all off, rip it off chunk by chunk, so he won’t think about it anymore, so it won’t plaque his mind and cloud his thoughts and ruin him even more, God knows he’s broken down enough.
Curly’s hand lifts and comes into view, resting on his spot in between his protruding collar bones before trailing down, slowly, painfully slow. He trails down his torso, past the patch of hair sprouting from the middle of his chest, past the softness of his belly, inching closer and closer to the patch of hair that leads down to his dick. He goes so slow, teasing him, his hips twitch up in short quick movements and Curly laughs at how desperate he is. A loud hearty noise that echoes and resounds through his brain like a howl, a noise that reminds him just how human Curly really is.
His own skin screams at him, he did always flush red when he was overwhelmed, he could only imagine what looked like right now, probably ridiculous, foolish.
“You nervous?” Of course, Curly can smell the emotion swirling around him, like a shark sniffing and searching for blood with its nose. It makes his already hot skin sear and bubble, he hates being a spectacle. I’m not weaker than you; yes I am.
He gulps, swallowing dry: “Why would I be?” He adds a twist of accusation with his words, not wanting to give himself away, though he fears it’s already too late for that. He knows Curly like the back of his hand, and, naturally, Curly knows him like he knows his palm, knows him back ; he can’t hide, even if he tries to.
He watches Curly’s face stretch into a frown, not a deep and cutting one, it still manages to sit pretty and light on his face and Jimmy can’t stand it, he doesn’t understand it. How such a ugly face can be worn so beautifully, why Curly gets to wear it, why he’s beaming it down at him like a star falling from orbit, blinding him. Not fair, not fair, not fair.
“It’s just that… you’ve been quiet,” And you’re never quiet, is left unsaid. It doesn’t need to leave his lips, it’s written all over his face. He puffs out a sigh as if he’s wasting his time, Jimmy’s fingers curl into themselves, his nails dig into his palm. “If you want this, if you want me, say it.”
“I did. Earlier, didn’t I?” How pathetic, God, use your brain, I know you're not nearly as stupid as you look.
It’s obvious he’s not letting this go, he can be… stubborn like that, the only thing reassuring him is coaxing and reaffirming words. Good thing they don’t have to be honest.
So he digs deep, pushes past all the garbage and clutter inside him, past all the darkness and disorder and sees it. What he’s looking for. The one and only thing he has that will console and pacify the man above him: that spike of sugar in his heart. He reaches out and grabs it, allows it to rest at the base of his throat and travel upstream with his words. He ignores the sickness that tinges in the back of his mind and in his chest and smiles , lips trembling as they curl upward, eyes creasing and closing with the strain of his cheeks, he tries to appear as docile as he can - which can’t possibly be hard, not when he’s already stark and exposed, willingly. Under him. Willingly.
“Fuck, Curl, and you think I’m nervous,” he chuckles and shakes his head, and watches as Curly visibly softens above him, just like he knew he would, “I wouldn’t be under you if I didn’t want you, huh? ” The aftertaste of his sentence is putrid and vile and sweet in his mouth but it settles the beast. It calms the bear on top of him.
Curly’s frown has long passed, a smile peeking out from the dark of the room like the rising morning sun, and Jimmy can almost say he missed it. Almost.
This time Curly meets him, bends at the elbow and presses their foreheads together. He flutters his eyes shut and the tip of his nose bumps the tip of his, something like a kiss, something far more intimate than what he did minutes ago - though, under him it felt like hours had passed, staring into his eyes, drowning in the ocean of them. And they stay like this for a few more moments, neither of them moving an inch besides the inflating and deflating of their lungs.
“You know, Jim,” and he stops, stale breath rushing into his nose. He breathes it in.
“Yeah?”
“You never stopped being my best friend, even after I - we moved, went our own ways. I’m sure you met new people, forgotten all about me, us,” he lifts away from Jimmy and Jimmy takes in a breath he didn’t know he needed. His smile is sad now, it irks him, all he wants to do is turn his face into the pillow and look away. Curly looks like a kicked puppy, one that’s about to start whining and crying and huffing, he looks pathetic.
He’s never been one for emotional reunions. Never been one for tears, didn’t even cry when his dad passed (but he mourned, has been mourning ever since).
“You always did like to talk,” Curly’s eyes go wide, the way they go whenever he’s listening to someone, “How ‘bout we save the catching up for later, yeah?”
The blonde above him nods, smile becoming more serene than sad. Good, he really did look so ugly like that.
“Just touch me, Curly,” touch me and pretend I’m the first.
Curly’s smile brightens almost immediately, as if he was waiting for those words to come out his mouth, his smile shows confirmation too. Jimmy watches as the words seep and sink into his thick skull but it’s all worth it when soft lips nibble and move along his collar bones. He jolts, cold wet kisses grace his neckline, heavy, like a necklace and Jimmy can’t contain the gasp that leaves his lips, it chokes out his throat far too fast for him to catch and reign back in.
Curly kisses down, all over his chest, not missing anything. He kisses every mole, every scar, every freckle, every mark like it’s a substitute for air, like it's a substitute for breathing, like it is breathing. And something bubbles up in him, something starts to bloom. Something hot: a fire now burning in the pit of his stomach, each kiss, each inch down adding more fuel to the flame.
He open kisses right above his navel, a longer kiss than the others; possessive .
He kisses down, down, down, knees and legs shifting down with his body on the bed, sheets crinkling softly with the movements. It’s all one simple, single, fluid movement, one that makes him realize just how many times he’s done this, really confirms that he isn’t the only one, that he isn’t the first. All that talk earlier about how I’ve met new people, bullshit, you’ve met new people, it’s you that’s changed. You, you, you. And, God , I can’t change, anger and hate took that away from me long ago, long before I even knew what it was. It’s him who's gone and grown up, grown up away from me and came back with this twinkle, this glint in your eye that makes my hands want to ball up into fists. Came back happy. Came back happy but still looking for more.
He kisses at his hips and gropes at the meat of his thigh, his kisses now more like licks, each embrace wetter and sloppier than the last, desperate. Jimmy’s hips buck and twitch slightly, he squirms under him, boiling with emotions, all of them steaming over, his head spinning and swimming fast as a fish in shallow water. Fast, fast, fast, almost too fast, as if this isn’t what he wanted, as if this wasn’t what he prompted Curly to do. He never knows what he wants, just knows that he wants, that's always how it’s been.
His dick half hard with anticipation and wanting, right there for Curly to see. The blonde sits up, lips leaving skin and Jimmy becomes cold, cold like he’s outside again. Waiting for something that will never come to him, waiting for something he can’t reach out and grasp, something he won’t reach out and grasp. Something he shouldn’t have to reach out and grasp, because it should stay . Everything leaves, everything does, when it should just stay. Don’t stop touching me, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. I can’t take being cold under you, please, share your warmth with me.
Hands leave too, just for a moment - just for a moment, he has to remind himself - to dig and plunge into his hair to push back the overgrown bangs out of his eyes. He tilts his head back as he glides his hand through his hair too, taming his hair the best he can, not like it does much; he looks right back at him and strands fall right back and cover some of his eye, yet he still looks at him, yet he still sees him. He always does.
Curly taps his thigh, wicked warmth blooms there, “Flip over, all fours.”
“I can’t,” he snarls back, “you're sitting on my legs.”
“Oh, right, ” and he stumbles to the side, mattress dipping with his weight.
He obeys like a dog, as soon as his legs are free he flips on his stomach ignoring the way his head reels just for a few moments and props himself up on his elbows and knees. He puts his face in the pillow below to muffle any noises he might make.
Curly laughs behind him, it’s not taunting but fond, not cruel but princely, kind, everything he is, everything Jimmy isn’t. Maybe that's why they fit, why they work, like puzzle pieces. He rests his hands on the dip in his lower back and slips his hands down, his movements gentle as he trails and dances his fingertips down to the swell of his ass. He squeezes for a moment, nails digging into fat and skin and meat, he jerks and grunts into the cushion below him happy that it’s there to soak up his patheticness, happy that Curly doesn’t have to hear it. He doesn’t want him to.
He feels Curly’s hands leave, them ghosting above his skin before his presence goes away completely. His weight on the bed disappears and Jimmy hears his feet on the carpet floor, walking somewhere, towards something. He hears a door open and close and open again; the bathroom. Feet on the carpet and his weight right back on the bed. He missed it. Almost.
The bed dips behind him where Curly is on his knees. He hears something pop open, like a bottle cap, and liquid spilling out. “This will be a little cold, I’m sorry for that,” A dry hand spreads his ass open without any warning.
“Wha-” he cuts himself off with a wince and a shiver that comes deep from his bones, Curly fingers around his hole, spreading the slick or whatever he gathered in his hand prior. And it’s more than cold, it’s biting, his whole body spasms with every stroke.
“ Fuck, Curl,” and his voice is already trembling. He needs to get a grip. He moves his hands under his pillow and scratches at the sheets.
“I know, I know, but I have to prepare you. I’ll hurt you if I don’t Jim,” He wonders how many people he’s said that to before, to calm them down, to soothe them, to keep them quiet . “I’m putting a finger in.” And he does.
The intrusion feels strange, foreign, it hurts ; he tenses immediately, his whole body slumping down. Curly is quick though, he curls a hand over his dick and pumps, slowly, not wanting to overstimulate Jimmy guesses. It does little to ease the pain. He’s tried butt stuff on his own when he was younger and stupid and horny, but it never went very far, his nails too unruly, too sharp to initiate any pleasure at all.
Curly fucks in and out of him with his finger, each exit and entrance burns a little less than the last. The hand on his dick something of a pacifier, soothing him, small whines and moans bubble up and surface and slip out into the room.
He doesn’t pull out the first finger when he glides another in, he wails out at the stretch and turns his head to the side, breathing hard. He can hear the snot gathering in the back of his throat, can feel the mist in his eyes welling up. He feels even more pathetic than he usually is.
“You doin’ ok?” Curly asks, his voice softer than before, Jimmy didn’t know someone's voice could be so… saccharine. His hands don’t stop but he bends down when he asks the question, paying attention to Jimmy’s movements.
He closes his mouth and gulps down the flem in his throat before answering, “Sure- ah,” his body jolts up at the sound that came out of his mouth, at the feeling he just felt, “What - what the fuck was that.” He tries to sound as calm as possible, as if his whole body wasn’t melting without him. Curly lets go of Jimmy’s dick and he suppresses a whine, he hates not being in control of his body, if this was what sex was then he hated it too.
“Found your G-spot,” and Jimmy can practically hear the smirk lacing his words, “What? Never fucked yourself before?”
Jimmy doesn’t answer. Though, for Curly, that’s answer enough.
“This is all new to you, isn’t it?” Curly asks the question but Jimmy doesn’t answer, he furrows back into the pillow, face hot with anger and humiliation. Face so hot he thinks he might burn a hole in the cushion. Hating that Curly can read him so easily, hating that he gave himself away so easily. But he doesn’t need to answer, Curly just keeps talking, keeps spewing the sugar on his tongue at him and it burns his skin like acid.
“You’ve never been with anyone, have you?” He hears Curly say, his fingers hit that spot inside him again and his whole body convulses, he moans out loud, louder than he’s been the whole time they’ve been in bed together. He can’t even try to hide, not anymore. And he’s right, of course he is, who would want to be with him, bitter and loathing, difficult and always dirty, nothing about him appealing. Who would ever seek him out, willingly? Nobody. Except Curly. Except Curly.
He laughs again and it’s fond, though it hit’s Jimmy like poison as most things tend to.
He slips another finger in and Jimmy yells out, panting like a dehydrated dog that's been running around in the summer sun.
Everytime he hits that spot inside him his whole body becomes light, just for a second and then it becomes heavy once again, then he hits that spot again and he becomes sheer once again. Like his body is fighting against its own pleasure, pushing it away.
Curly pulls all three of his fingers out and Jimmy deflates down like a balloon with a hole, melting down into the mattress, just for a moment before he feels a hand grab at his arm and flip him over on his back. His whole world spinning for a few moments and settling right under him. He’s always been able to do that, move him, control him, force him like that, just pick him up and throw him down like he’s weightless. Like he’s not a man, but a boy .
Jimmy looks up at him when his vision clears - he wants to turn his head into the pillow, he wants to hide his face in his hands so Curly can’t see him. Wants to dig his nails into Curlys pupils, permanently blind him, so he won’t see anything, anyone, ever again, wants to ruin his life - and holds his bottom lip in his front teeth, bites down hard. Curly looks back, looks down, and winks; it’s playful, it makes the heat burning in Jimmy’s stomach rise like the ocean's tide.
Curly takes the hand covered in lube and spreads it on himself, Jimmy can feel his heart beating against his chest, the melody loud in his ear as Curly presses the tip of his dick against his entrance.
And, without warning, he slides in. Jimmy grips down at the sheets, balling the cloth up in his fists at the intrusion; quick, shallow breaths coming out his mouth, trying to stop the tears welling up in his eyes from streaming down his cheeks. His face is red hot with strain.
He hears Curly grunt and moan above him, his hands grabbing tenderly at his hips, “Shit, shit, shit, Jim, you’re so tight. This really is your first time,” and he slides in a bit more and they both whimper.
This is beyond humiliating, he can’t do this, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he starts to move back, to scoot off of Curly’s dick somehow, but Curly see’s him - like always - and grips at his waist harder and pulls him back. “ Curly,” his voice trembling, “I can’t . You’re too big.”
And Curly coos and tilts his head, an intoxicating sequence of movements, “Don’t run away from it, don’t run away from me. Just relax and take it, okay?” He talks to him like he’s a baby, like he’s a toddler, like he needs coddling, it makes his blood boil. Jimmy takes a deep shaking breath and relaxes reluctantly. Relaxes anyway because if he doesn’t it’ll just hurt him even more.
Curly pushes himself all the way in, bottoming out, filling him up and stretching him out, moaning with his movements. Head tossed back and his eyes fluttering shut, lashes like delicate insect wings. And they stay closed for a few moments too, mouth open, chest rising and falling like he’s catching his breath from running a marathon.
Curly takes one final deep breath and puffs it out before focusing his gaze back down to him, “Ready?”
“I guess, yeah.” And Curly smiles bigger than he’s ever seen someone smile.
Curly collapses on top of him before he can even say anything, his chin landing in the crook of his neck, lips so close to his ear that he can hear whenever he breathes, in and out, in and out, in and out. Curly rolls his hips forward, testingly, a lousy excuse of a thrust; their hips touch, Curly pushes his hips up and Jimmy pushes his hips down, like a kiss, like a bittersweet kiss.
He sets a cruel, brutal rhythm and keeps the pace consistent, digging inside him and pulling out and then plunging back in again. Jimmy can feel him in his stomach , pushing against his organs, moving them, rearranging them. He lifts his arms up, shaking and faltering, and rests them on his back, making sure his nails dig deep into the meat in his back. And that’s the only right thing he’s felt he’s done all night, and he’s been good, right? He’s been docile, patient, submissive , lamblike, he hasn’t fought or talked back, he deserves this. Deserves to hurt Curly, to make him bleed, to mark him up, so when he beds others they’ll have to see that, see how he claimed him. He can always run away and love others but he’ll never be theirs , not really.
Curly moans out in his ear, furrowing deeper into the gap between his neck, dampening the pillow with the sweat beading across his forehead. “You feel so fucking good, Jim, fuck,” he drawls the syllable, his hot breath coming out on his skin like a tongue lapping at the side of his neck.
Jimmy just digs his claws in deeper, not missing the way Curly jumps and startles, he doesn’t stop his movements though, doesn’t say a word, so Jimmy keeps on. He takes his fingers and moves them down slowly, relishing in the way Curly’s skin resists his nails' assault on his back, relishing in the way he can feel his nails going deeper and deeper into the thick skin of his back.
“Hey, Jim?” Curly asks, solemn creeping back into his voice. He digs his nails in deeper .
“What is it?”
“When I go back, when I leave again, promise you won’t forget me?” Curly doesn’t look at him this time, doesn’t look at him the way he usually does when he talks to him.
Jimmy doesn’t answer, he doesn’t want to.
“Jim, please, ” Curly pleads and it’s kind of nice, makes the flame in his stomach blaze up to his chest, “Remember me.”
“I will, Curl. I swear I will.”
Curly pulls away, his thrusting not stopping, moans and huffs becoming more erratic. He grabs hold of one of Jimmy's thighs and wraps one hand around his dick and pumps vigorously, and Jimmy squirms out of his skin. Thrashing under him, the stimulation too much for him to handle.
He can feel his orgasm building up inside his stomach, and he chases it like a horse on a race track, moans and squeals slipping out his mouth, no longer caring how loud he’s being. He can’t care, not right now, not with Curly’s hand squeezing around his dick like this. He bucks up into his hand and Curly laughs out breathlessly.
“You gonna cum?” Curly asks and Jimmy doesn’t answer, vision blurred and mind starry but Curly knows. He knows, knows, knows.
“It's ok, me too, me too, me too,” and his hips stutter once, twice, three times before he collapses down, hips still moving.
And before he knows it, Jimmy’s cumming into Curly’s palm and on his stomach, he arches his back into Curly’s still moving hand. His hips slows down a bit before rolling his hips and slamming back home. Curly comes with a shout and a whine.
They stay like this for a few more moments, just breathing, just existing, before Curly rolls off and flops down on the other side of the bed.
Jimmy waits for Curly to fall asleep before leaving him alone.
And he hopes that he drank enough, hopes that when he wakes up the next day this whole night will be like some discarded puzzle in his mind that he refuses to put together.