[This is a mid-late 80s kinky-sexy oneshot. there's eroticizing injuries and light bdsm stuff but everything's quite eagerly consensual outside of a couple bumps in the road]
"someone presses their teeth
to your skin and shows
just how needed you are."
-Alex Dimitrov
Julian brushed his fingers against the deepest of Nate’s bruises-- a rose blooming up his hip, something that he knew would deepen to a violet in time-- and almost forgot to breathe. He felt his dick nudge against his jeans, swallowed thickly, shifted a little on his seated perch against the wall of his bath tub, tried to ignore it otherwise.
“I did good this time, didn’t I?”, Nate said with a cheerful laugh up at him. Jules opened his mouth to answer for a moment before pausing and rolling his eyes with a heaving sigh. “There are safer ways to bruise yourself for me.” He finally, tersely, replied. Nate snorted, spread his legs out wider, jutted his hips forward until most of his dick was out of the water. “Ahhh, you love it, man-- AGH!” --The motion was too much to achieve comfortably with the bruising and road-burn blotting the left side of his body. Jules closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. “Are you going to let me wash you, then?”, he decided to ask. A grin reappeared on Nate’s lips. “I figured you’d be into that, yeah.”
Jules hesitated, didn’t like how Nate was already acting like he knew him, didn’t like that he was more than correct in this instance. ...And yet, there was a small crack of light somewhere in him that allowed him to take in the slightest warmth of relief from the idea that he could be understood, and on some level, maybe, accepted.
The washcloth was more a pretense for feeling Nathan’s body, sweeping it thin and unfolded around his pecs, down his chest to his abs. His breath caught again as he inched closer to the bruises that started at Nate’s hip; as he slid cloth and hand over them he pressed deep, scrubbed hard. He could tell Nate didn’t want to react too strongly to it, but he reacted all the same-- hissing, tensing, growling quietly-- and it made a smile push up Jules’s lips. His dick throbbed again, longer, more insistently.
“So… let me get this straight. You crashed your bike. Again—”
“-- I mean calling it a CRASH is blowing it a little outta proportion, the bike’s fine; I bailed out, that’s all—”
“—You “bailed out”. Fine. And your first thought, instead of getting yourself patched up or checked out at an urgent care or something, was to show off your injuries to me?”
Nate shrugged sheepishly. Jules stared at him blankly for a moment before digging the washcloth into a patch of roadburn above his pelvic bone. Nate gave him a bigger reaction that time, and it filled Jules with a swell of pleasure he nevertheless barely let show on his face beyond a slight, momentary twitch of his upper lip.
“You frustrate me in so many ways.”
He scrubbed his way harshly further down Nate’s thigh and Nate let out a short, harsh laugh. “I can’t say I really get all this, man, but I fuckin’ love how horny it makes you.”
Jules casually dug his fingers into one of Nate’s bruises. He wanted to keep a level expression for it all, but it was still all a little too exciting; his lips twitched into another small smile at Nate’s yelping and flinching anyway. “...I think you get it more than you give yourself credit for, Nathan.”
Jules hadn’t truly expected Nate to humor his more...unusual preferences-- he hadn’t accepted them himself for the longest time. He hadn’t dared entertain his interest in Nathan more generally, either. Both bad ideas, and now there they were, entwined, and it was so thrilling that he was fully erect in his jeans before he could breathe himself into a state of more relative calm; seeing Nate halfway there himself fully broke his resolve. Even then, he was exceedingly careful. He slid his free hand carefully towards Nate’s dick, cupped his balls in a gentle grip, ran a thumb up the base of his shaft. Nathan yielded himself to his touch, tilted his head to bare his throat; Jules left Nate’s bruises behind for the moment to support the other side of Nate’s neck, ran his tongue up the side presented to him, slid his lips down it, sunk his teeth between neck and shoulder. The surge of pleasure he felt at Nathan’s body first tensing in shock, then relaxing in a mix of that shock and an equal amount of pleasure of his own (Nate wrapping his strong arms around him, digging his fingers into his back), made him bite down even harder, hum a laugh into him.
He gave Nate’s neck one last suck before pulling away with a smile. “...I couldn’t help noticing you’re missing bruises on the left side.”, He stroked the circle of deep tooth-marks he’d dug into Nate’s shoulder as he spoke (his voice hushed, breathy), “And I do love symmetry." Jules wanted to draw things out even further, but he was running up against his own patience, and long before Nate's, even. He relented to his own desires. "...I’m sure all the dirt and gravel’s out of those abrasions by now; do you need any help getting up to towel off?”
Nate gave him a friendly hand and Jules kept him steady as he carefully stood from the tub. Jules was far more gentle with the towel than he was with the washcloth (but equally thorough), and seemed excited that Nate had let him fuss over him like that to begin with.
“...What d’you think would make good abrasions to match those there?”, Jules asked casually, cheerfully, on their way out of the bathroom towards the bedroom, “Rope, maybe? Whip? Crop might be a little too blunt, you need that sharpness, that friction... The bruises are easier, logistically, but just as fun to make. It has to feel right, though.”
For a moment, Nate was transported back inside the studio, Jules incessently fiddling with the boards, nitpicking over every second of tape. He shook it off with a slight grimace. He was less and less sure what he was getting into. He’d admitted to Jules, earlier, that getting choked by him during sex made him feel the same as the split second before hitting the ground before crashing his bike. Both were good feelings; the bruising after a reminder, a physical memory, of that moment. At the time he remembered Jules smiling at him, eyes bright, telling him he’d make a “wonderful masochist” (this, of course, darkened to a frown near immediately, with Jules adding: "and you're also a moron").
DID he crash his bike on purpose? Well, maybe. Did he do it, this time, for HIM? --Dammit, he didn’t know. Did he enjoy, a surprising amount, being bound up by the wrists (Jules kissing them all the while) and tied up to a hook on Jules’s bedroom door? ...Well… yeah. Outside of everything else, even the earnest, inexplicable enjoyment of getting his formerly-unbruised side whipped and bludgeoned with various things (somewhere between personal science experiment and art project, but another collaboration of a kind, regardless), he just loved seeing the guy who’d become so buttoned up over the years, the guy that could perform delicate angelics on stage so well, who’d always call his mother on tours every week at the same day at the same time (and admonished Nate for neglecting to do such a thing for his mother), finally let loose– having that letting loose be as crazy as it turned out to be was simply a cherry on top. He knew Jules was crazy already– and he liked him so much more when he didn’t bother pretending otherwise (alongside which was the even stronger, arousing thought: he did that, he drove him that crazy).
There had always been something of a wall between the two of them personally, even as they projected chemistry professionally. It wasn’t something Nate had noticed at first-- he wasn’t interested in getting to know him all that seriously, then. The wall only appeared whenever Nate did something that inadvertently threatened to breach it, and it only got icier the more attempts were made. Eventually, Jules became seemingly impossible to please. Nate hadn’t expected to be bothered by it. He was, and he could barely hide it-- on good days. If Jules wasn’t going to allow Nate in musically anymore, or on a friendship basis, there was only one avenue left for Nate to try. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he tried it, outside of a gut-level certainty that it would work. He hadn’t thought about what to do after it had.
But that barely mattered anymore: he was awash in various physical sensations of varying intensity, an experience that started as pure pain but shifted, imperceptibly at first, into something strangely pleasurable, until both were made just as obvious; Jules was pressing his fingers into Nate’s bruises again, rubbing their cocks together, kissing and sucking on his neck, licking at the toothmarks he’d made earlier, nursing sharp bright pain into something deeper, darker, sensous. --Fuck, he was so hard, and even that was like a sharpness giving way to a warmth that crawled upwards and outwards, budded, was on the cusp of blooming into something so strong, so heavy--
He felt Jules smile into his neck. “I can tell you’re close.”, He murmured in his ear, nipped at the lobe, “Do you wanna cum, Nathan?” Nate nodded in a daze that was cut short by the feeling of Jules suddenly grasping at his hair. Jules stared into Nathan’s eyes. “Ask me for it.” Nate sighed. “Fuck, man, just lemme—” He let out a little yelp as the grip around his hair tightened. Jules didn’t blink, but a corner of his lips did turn up into a slight smirk. “Manners. --’Please let me cum, Jules.’ Say it for me.”
He didn’t want to. Jules was bossing him around enough in the rest of their life, and there he was getting the last piece. But he did want to, or he wanted it, and of course Jules would make it difficult, and of course Jules got off on making it difficult of course he did of course he fuckin’ did-- goddamnit, of course he did. The more it echoed in Nate’s head, the less frustrating and more funny it became. Fine, you weird fuckin’ freak, I’ll give you this one.
“...Please let me cum, Jules.”
It was a mutter, through grit teeth, but he gave it to him. Jules smiled-- something still small but truly warm, almost proud, undercut with a sudden, barely-concealed swell of arousal all his own.
“Good boy.”
That-- and one last tilt and thrust of the hips, one last licked thumb up and around the tip of his cock-- was all it fucking took. If he hadn’t been forced upright he would’ve collapsed into Jules’s arms, completely undone-- he might as well have been; he kept having an almost panicked, frustrated realization that he came because of the “good boy”, something that oscillated between that and a shocked pleasure that rippled outwards from it and from the memory of how it sounded, how it looked leaving Jules’s lips, being the recipient of it.
When his father would call him a good boy-- an extremely rare occurance-- it was still never something done to make Nate feel better about himself. Still a distant, gruff utterance, a distracted squeeze of the shoulder, and then nothing again until Nate could come up with something to get his attention (for good or bad). It felt better when Walt called him that. There was a warmth to it that his father had never given him. It made him easy to like. Easy to trust.
Jules saying it-- his voice a bit lower than usual, but still higher pitched and smoother toned than a lot of guys, slightly nasal, that drawling bit of fry that trailed off of the “y” of “boy” like a distant whiff of a vintage diva’s perfume-- was sexy in a way he hadn’t expected. It pulled on something deep inside of him, made him feel warm in a whole new way.
Jules only allowed himself the release he’d granted Nate when he could tell Nate was fully lost in it all; he pulled him into a tight embrace, fingers digging into skin, face buried in his curls. He breathed them in, felt himself start cumming as he breathed out. --Nate felt it happen, felt Jules’s body shudder, felt a wet heat join his own, heard the faintest gasp, the sound of breath catching, sticking in the throat.
It all hung heavy in the air between them for a few minutes, the both of them panting, catching their breath, soaking in all of what they’d done together. “...Did I help you understand it better, Nathan?”, Jules murmured in his ear. In all honesty, Nate wasn’t sure yet. It was all still washing over him-- or maybe, the wave had already rolled him up and tossed him back on the shore. Half basking in it, half recovering. He let out a laugh in spite of himself. “All I get is that you’re fuckin’ nuts and I fuckin’ love it.” Jules blinked. Nate could see him working through that answer, trying to find an emotion to land on, before another little smile quirked up his lips. His eyes remained intense. “...Not an answer to my question, but I guess all that means is that I need to keep trying to teach it to you. Doesn’t it?” Nate grinned. “Try me.” The look in Jules’s eyes only deepened. “I certainly will.”
That, at least, satisfied Jules enough to untie Nate’s wrists (kissing them, again, all the while). Nate was physically exhausted enough that he nearly toppled over as soon as his feet hit the floor. Jules caught him at the first wobble, carefully brought him over to his bed, laid the both of them down. Nate wasn't used to feeling this way-- so weak, yet so safe within that weakness. Safety wasn't something he was used to thinking about in any context: he ran headlong against it, defied it. It was something others worried about for him. Now he was thinking about it, and the thoughts were like a sudden filling of a neglected, empty cup.
The time after sex and before washing up was always a little strange. Jules would look at Nate so sweetly-- sincerely so-- and proudly, kiss him so gentle, run his hand through his hair, stare at it with a kind of soft wonder, nuzzle his nose and cheek into it, stroke him from his torso to collarbone lightly, play with and ruffle his chest hair-- it was all how he’d expect a woman to touch him. He knew it wasn’t right to think, wasn’t fair to Jules, and it felt good enough to not really matter-- but it was still difficult to slip into and understand at first. Maybe even more than the whipping and all that. Or, maybe he still didn’t really understand it. But he liked it, in the end. Maybe it wasn’t something he had to understand. Neither of them knew exactly what to do with the other in the rest of their lives: but here, things were becoming increasingly certain.