FIC: Hardly a Substitute
Jan. 1st, 2009 05:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Hardly a Substitute
Author: Alex(splix1971@msn.com)
Fandom: TRAINSPOTTING (working my way through the Ewan oeuvre)
Rating: NC-17
Category: BDSM
Warnings: Drug use
Disclaimer: Miramax, Irvine Welsh
Feedback: is treasured.
Summary: Sick Boy introduces Renton to something new.
******************************
The problem with being clean is that it forces you to re-prioritize.
Which is part of the reason that I'm lying in Sick Boy's bedsit, only
moderately hazy on codeine and beer. If I can get through a night of
talking to the punter without running screaming to the Mother
Superior, then I will well and truly be on my way.
Sick Boy looks at me. "It's said in certain circles that he is
possessed of one of the biggest cocks in Hollywood."
I squint to make him out in the darkness. The cunt hasn't paid the
electrical bill in months, so he's got candles scattered on the floor,
some near stacks of magazines. I decide to ignore the threat to my
safety and take a hit off the monster joint he's rolled for me.
"Do you think that's true?"
"Undoubtedly. Thousands of women can't be wrong."
I lie back, starting to feel the effects of the hash. It's pitiful,
but it'll have to do for the moment. The moment, which is all I have,
since to look back would be stupid and to look ahead to the unknown is
too frightening to contemplate with any seriousness.
Sick Boy takes the joint from my hand and draws deeply on it. "Take
ROBIN AND MARIAN, for example. Now you're not going to tell me that
Audrey Hepburn didn't look deeply satisfied throughout the film. And
she is a woman not noted for overwhelming sexuality."
"Are you saying that he was shagging Audrey Hepburn?"
"I'm only asking you to consider the possibility, Rents."
He continues to talk, and I respond in the appropriate places until I
grow bored and stop responding altogether. Sick Boy's monologue flows
over me, comfortable and familiar, until I feel a peculiar sensation,
one I haven't felt for many months.
Sick Boy's hand is on my thigh. I pick my head up, confused, and he
gives me the trademark Sick Boy smile, the one that's tumbled dozens
of birds onto their backs. I laugh. "What are you doing, man?"
He looks down, then up at me again. The Shy Sick Boy. I'm too familiar
with his repertoire not to know exactly what he's doing. The truth is,
I'd copied those same looks with far less success.
"You have to admit that he has certainly had his share of beautiful
women..." Now his hand is moving up, and closes on my belt buckle. He
unfastens it with one hand, and a distant part of me admires his speed
and skill. I sit up, and he pushes me back down again.
"There's no proof that he actually slept with his co-stars," I say,
stunned at myself. I have no urge to resist him. None at all.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Mark, don't be so naive," he tells me,
unbuttoning my jeans.
"Hey..." I am a little scared now. Sick Boy slides my belt off
and pulls me up to a sitting position. He kisses me, holding the back
of my head firmly. I struggle for a moment, but he doesn't relent, and
I eventually relax, accepting his tongue in my mouth. It's been so
fucking long since I've kissed anyone that it's actually sort
of...fuck it, it's amazing. He guides me back to the mattress and I
feel my cock start to twitch. He presses me into the mattress, and I
tighten my thighs around his leg and start to dry-hump him.
Sick Boy breaks off the kiss and looks into my eyes. "He's got power,
Rents. The sort of power that you and I can only dream about." He
takes my wrists and pulls them above my head. He grabs my belt and
wraps it around my wrists, tying it off loosely. I could get free if
I wanted to, but I don't want to, not at the moment. I'm dizzy and
faint from more than the substances I've ingested.
He tugs my jeans and keks down around my hips and pulls up my shirt.
He is humming softly, and it takes me a moment to recognize the tune.
It's Tom Jones..."Thunderball". I start to laugh, and bury my face in
my arm. I stop when I feel his mouth on one nipple, then another. My
cock starts to twitch again, and one of his hands finds it and begins
to stroke it. I moan and clamp my legs around him again.
"Jesus..." He puts a finger to my lips, and takes a candle
from atop a stack of videos. He holds it above me and smiles.
"What are you doing?"
He tips the candle and I shriek as the hot wax dribbles onto my chest,
not hot enough to burn, but certainly not terribly fucking pleasant.
"Ow! You radge fuck!" I bring my hands up and he pins them back down
and lies atop me, kissing me again, silencing my protests. I am
highly, highly pissed off, and I squirm beneath him, feeling his
erection pressing into my leg. He drops the candle, and it goes out,
fortunately not igniting the mattress that we're lying on.
Sick Boy slithers down my body until his mouth is directly over my
still-hard cock. His tongue slides out and over me, and I squirm more,
though not precisely in defiance. Fuck me, he's really got an amazing
capacity, hasn't he? I think to myself, as I pick my head up and see
my entire prick disappear into his mouth.
"Oh, fuck..."
I start to heave and he matches my rhythm, and soon I can't take it
anymore and I'm over the edge and I come, shouting hoarsely and
shooting into his mouth. I lie back on the mattress, gasping for
breath.
"What about THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER?" he asks me.
"But there weren't any women in that...were there?"
He gives me the Sick Boy smile.
"Rents, we really have to expand your horizons."
end.
Author: Alex(splix1971@msn.com)
Fandom: TRAINSPOTTING (working my way through the Ewan oeuvre)
Rating: NC-17
Category: BDSM
Warnings: Drug use
Disclaimer: Miramax, Irvine Welsh
Feedback: is treasured.
Summary: Sick Boy introduces Renton to something new.
******************************
The problem with being clean is that it forces you to re-prioritize.
Which is part of the reason that I'm lying in Sick Boy's bedsit, only
moderately hazy on codeine and beer. If I can get through a night of
talking to the punter without running screaming to the Mother
Superior, then I will well and truly be on my way.
Sick Boy looks at me. "It's said in certain circles that he is
possessed of one of the biggest cocks in Hollywood."
I squint to make him out in the darkness. The cunt hasn't paid the
electrical bill in months, so he's got candles scattered on the floor,
some near stacks of magazines. I decide to ignore the threat to my
safety and take a hit off the monster joint he's rolled for me.
"Do you think that's true?"
"Undoubtedly. Thousands of women can't be wrong."
I lie back, starting to feel the effects of the hash. It's pitiful,
but it'll have to do for the moment. The moment, which is all I have,
since to look back would be stupid and to look ahead to the unknown is
too frightening to contemplate with any seriousness.
Sick Boy takes the joint from my hand and draws deeply on it. "Take
ROBIN AND MARIAN, for example. Now you're not going to tell me that
Audrey Hepburn didn't look deeply satisfied throughout the film. And
she is a woman not noted for overwhelming sexuality."
"Are you saying that he was shagging Audrey Hepburn?"
"I'm only asking you to consider the possibility, Rents."
He continues to talk, and I respond in the appropriate places until I
grow bored and stop responding altogether. Sick Boy's monologue flows
over me, comfortable and familiar, until I feel a peculiar sensation,
one I haven't felt for many months.
Sick Boy's hand is on my thigh. I pick my head up, confused, and he
gives me the trademark Sick Boy smile, the one that's tumbled dozens
of birds onto their backs. I laugh. "What are you doing, man?"
He looks down, then up at me again. The Shy Sick Boy. I'm too familiar
with his repertoire not to know exactly what he's doing. The truth is,
I'd copied those same looks with far less success.
"You have to admit that he has certainly had his share of beautiful
women..." Now his hand is moving up, and closes on my belt buckle. He
unfastens it with one hand, and a distant part of me admires his speed
and skill. I sit up, and he pushes me back down again.
"There's no proof that he actually slept with his co-stars," I say,
stunned at myself. I have no urge to resist him. None at all.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Mark, don't be so naive," he tells me,
unbuttoning my jeans.
"Hey..." I am a little scared now. Sick Boy slides my belt off
and pulls me up to a sitting position. He kisses me, holding the back
of my head firmly. I struggle for a moment, but he doesn't relent, and
I eventually relax, accepting his tongue in my mouth. It's been so
fucking long since I've kissed anyone that it's actually sort
of...fuck it, it's amazing. He guides me back to the mattress and I
feel my cock start to twitch. He presses me into the mattress, and I
tighten my thighs around his leg and start to dry-hump him.
Sick Boy breaks off the kiss and looks into my eyes. "He's got power,
Rents. The sort of power that you and I can only dream about." He
takes my wrists and pulls them above my head. He grabs my belt and
wraps it around my wrists, tying it off loosely. I could get free if
I wanted to, but I don't want to, not at the moment. I'm dizzy and
faint from more than the substances I've ingested.
He tugs my jeans and keks down around my hips and pulls up my shirt.
He is humming softly, and it takes me a moment to recognize the tune.
It's Tom Jones..."Thunderball". I start to laugh, and bury my face in
my arm. I stop when I feel his mouth on one nipple, then another. My
cock starts to twitch again, and one of his hands finds it and begins
to stroke it. I moan and clamp my legs around him again.
"Jesus..." He puts a finger to my lips, and takes a candle
from atop a stack of videos. He holds it above me and smiles.
"What are you doing?"
He tips the candle and I shriek as the hot wax dribbles onto my chest,
not hot enough to burn, but certainly not terribly fucking pleasant.
"Ow! You radge fuck!" I bring my hands up and he pins them back down
and lies atop me, kissing me again, silencing my protests. I am
highly, highly pissed off, and I squirm beneath him, feeling his
erection pressing into my leg. He drops the candle, and it goes out,
fortunately not igniting the mattress that we're lying on.
Sick Boy slithers down my body until his mouth is directly over my
still-hard cock. His tongue slides out and over me, and I squirm more,
though not precisely in defiance. Fuck me, he's really got an amazing
capacity, hasn't he? I think to myself, as I pick my head up and see
my entire prick disappear into his mouth.
"Oh, fuck..."
I start to heave and he matches my rhythm, and soon I can't take it
anymore and I'm over the edge and I come, shouting hoarsely and
shooting into his mouth. I lie back on the mattress, gasping for
breath.
"What about THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER?" he asks me.
"But there weren't any women in that...were there?"
He gives me the Sick Boy smile.
"Rents, we really have to expand your horizons."
end.
