InsaneJournal

WHO: Gareth
WHAT: Uh, having anonymous sex... >.>
WHEN: Around One thirty AM 6-18-09
WHERE: It starts at the Aut Bar, but ends in Ypsilanti MI (city just outside A2)
Note: NC-17 for sex. GAY sex btw. LOL


Gareth was still holding Dusty's feather when he left the house. The whole scene had left him feeling guilty and frustrated. He had wanted to help Dusty... had wanted to do as he always had and simply... fix things. That was what their friendship was composed of -- him helping soothe, if not fix, Dusty's problems. Climbing into the pick-up truck now, he reflected that even their first encounter had consisted of comfort. First grade. Gareth had begged out of class, claiming to need to use the bathroom. His actual intention had been to steal chocolate milk from the lunch room and skip out on the painful process of learning vowels (the written word had never clicked with him). On his way back from pocketing a couple of the cardboard cartons from the cafeteria, the blonde had stopped by the first floor lavatory, thinking he'd take a long piss and miss as much of Math as he could too -- and he had encountered a small boy curled into the farthest corner of the tiled bathroom. The boy had been crying -- loud, hitching sobs that seemed to shake the entire school. Gareth had stared for a long time, wondering what to do, and when the boy noticed him, he scrambled to his feet. An instant later a tiny, angry fist had connected with Gareth's chin, sending him stumbling back. There had been a brief scuffle, which ended in Gareth offering the boy a chocolate milk.

That was almost the sum of their friendship. Dusty would show up with wounds and Gareth would treat them. And now the blonde found himself in a place where he could only irritate -- offer nonsense advice -- and hope for the best.

He pulled himself from his thoughts, starting the truck, and pulling it out of the driveway. He watched the bedroom light turn off through the window, and hoped his friend would get some sleep.

What started out as aimless driving quickly became a mission. He hadn't been laid in... months. They'd been too busy, and while Dusty liked to find himself a girl every few days or weeks, Gareth was content to go without for the most part. Sex wasn't foremost on his mind. Tonight however... nothing would relieve stress like a long session of getting his rocks off. Following Jackson Road until it became Huron River, he found himself cursing. If this were Arlington, he would know just where to go to find a girl... or a guy. He didn't often go for males, but the more he thought about it, the better it sounded. Someone strong and... aggressive. Someone who would white out his mind for a while. More driving found him in downtown Ann Arbor -- a part of the city that was bright with lights. It was almost sickening, seeing how many stores were still open, how many people were still out. The streets weren't exactly teeming with townies, but back in Arlington everything seemed to go dark at nine PM or so. Taking an indiscriminate right turn, Gareth found himself on a cobblestone road -- and as coincidence had it, outside a seemingly thriving bar. It was semi-hidden in a courtyard -- decorated with bright Christmas lights -- but there were dozens of people sitting at the outdoor tables, seemingly taking advantage of the warm night. He parked the pickup at a meter, not bothering to check if he needed to pay anything, and climbed out of the vehicle, strolling towards the bar with his thumbs hooked into the belt-loops of his jeans.

Approaching the bar with caution, it took the blonde man only a few moments to realize just what kind of drinking establishment he was at. Women held hands, men slow danced together to cooing music under the stars. The part of his mind that had been raised God-Fearing wanted to cringe, but this was nothing he hadn't seen before, and he walked up the steps to the bar with considerable nonchalance, even smiling at a couple guys who glanced over at him.

The downstairs of the place seemed to be attuned to finer dining. Tables with candles, warm lighting and a wet bar all decorated the lower floor. A few couples sat, sharing food and drinks, smiling and kissing... from upstairs he could hear heavy bass and laughter. He could smell smoke drifting down the stairs and he decided to venture that way.

On one level he was appalled at himself... creeping into this place to find a one night stand, creeping into a gay bar to find a one night stand. The dominant part of his mind -- the part that refused to even acknowledge what he was about to do -- silenced this lower level quickly, and he reached the top floor, still smiling. The upstairs more closely resembled bars he was used to. Smokey and loud, dark and a little more dingy than downstairs... he felt almost at home. He approached the bar, quiet, a little less sure of himself, and ordered a beer.

If asked later, he wouldn't be able to recall how long he'd sat at the bar, drinking beer after beer. He wanted to get decently drunk before trying to pick up a fellow male. He'd never done the gay thing well -- on the occasion that he did do it. His mind wandered as he sat. He thought of Dusty, of how amazing and... beautiful those wings had looked... how he hated knowing that his friend had changed permanently. He was on his seventh drink when someone tapped his shoulder. He turned, blue eyes a little blood-shot, and almost shouted in surprise. For a moment he'd thought it was Dusty getting his attention. The man who stood behind him wasn't too tall, trim and a little wiry in a muscular way, and had a shiningly bald head. His jaw was squared, lower lip jutting forward with the same sort of underbite that Dusty had. What corrected Gareth's alcohol muddled mind was the brown eyes that stared out of the eerily similar face. Dusty's eyes where a sharp, piercing blue. He swallowed his shock and raised an eyebrow, raising his beer bottle in a salute.

"What can I do fer you my good man?" He slurred, tilting his head a little. The bald man smiled, and the resemblence was almost entirely broken. Dusty had an incredibly attractive smile, even with his bad teeth and crooked way of grinning. This man had flawless teeth, but his smile almost looked like a grimace.

"I've been watching you since you got here. Either you're really thirsty, or you've got some serious sorrows to drown." His smile faded a little and Gareth laughed, pleased by the joke. Leaning back on the barstool, his feet hooked in the rungs, the blonde man tipped his hat back, getting a better look at the bald man.

"Maybe a little bit of both." He returned and finished off his beer. "Name's Gareth. What d'you go by?" It was forward, but he was just drunk enough not to care.

"I'm known as Rich. You aren't from around here, are you?" The bald man -- Rich Gareth ammended mentally -- pulled up a stool of his own and perched on it, knees sticking awkwardly upward as he rested his feet on the rungs.
"Look... Aut's closing in about twenty minutes, and I'm sincerely doubting you're sober enough to drive..."

"You got that right." Gareth laughed, brushing blonde hair from his eyes as he watched this other man's movements. If he caught glimpses of Dusty in Rich's features or mannerisms, he ignored them steadfastly. "I'm too drunk to walk straight prob'ly... n-no pun intended a'course." He laughed again. "'S the accent that gives me away, ain't it? I'm from Texas. Good Ol' Arlington." He sneered a little at the city's name and then leaned forward. "Y'offerin' me a ride home friend?" He asked, grinning almost lecherously.

Rich seemed to flush a little, though it didn't seem bashful. "Well, I don't sit well with watching drunks drive. So..." He offered, shrugging a little, and his jaw pushed forward again, that same defiant way that Dusty's did. Gareth felt a spark in his stomach and he nodded slowly. "I gotcha. Well, my place is a little occupied at the moment." He admitted easily, and gestured with one arm. "My room-mate is takin' up the bed, and I wasn't exactly lookin' forward to sleepin on our shitty couch." He brought his hand back down, resting it on his knee. "But uh, if you got somewhere for me to sleep, I could probably go back t'your place Rich." It was brazen, thank you alcohol, and Rich's eyes sparked. Gareth took some satisfaction in that. He had never had trouble bedding anyone he set his sights on, despite his broken nose. Rich shifted on the stool, nodding a little.

"I think I could make room for you Gareth... and it saves me from calling a cab home tonight." He answered, a little awkwardly, and stood. Gareth tried to follow suit and stumbled. Rich reached out, steadying him, and Gareth mumbled an incoherent "thank you".

The walk to the car was a quick one. Rich practically carried Gareth, something the blonde normally wouldn't have taken too kindly to. When they reached the pick up, Gareth tossed Rich the keys, muttering about cops. Rich didn't pretend to know what the Texan was on about, and simply reached over to strap him into the passenger seat.

It was a fifteen minute drive. They rode in relative silence, only Johnny Cash voicing his opinions over the speakers. Rich lived in a small apartment on the east side of Ypsilanti. It was dilapidated and run down, but Gareth was in no condition to notice or care. Rich unlocked the door and led the smaller man inside, commenting quietly that his room-mate -- his sister -- was gone for the weekend. He made his way over to the stereo and hit play. Immediately Led Zeppelin began to blare from the speakers.

"This music okay?" He asked without glancing at the smaller Texan. Gareth gritted his teeth. Fucking Zeppelin. It figured. Instead of replying, he shrugged noncommittally and almost immediately began to strip off his clothing.

His button down cow-boy shirt found itself in a puddle on the floor, his jeans tossed aside next. He stood in a pair of blue boxers and his cow boy hat, and gave Rich a hard, mirthless grin. "You gonna have me or what hoss?" His tone was challenging, his gaze defiant, daring the other man to try and take him. Rich didn't need anymore encouragement. The bald man was out of his clothes and standing at attention in an instant. Gareth had only a moment to notice just how... how big the bald man was, and to wonder if he could actually handle it, before Rich was pushing him over the couch, bending him over the arm of it. He felt his boxers ripped away and his own cock began to stir. This man was taller than Dusty-- almost instantly his mind put a stop to that train of thought. This guy had nothing to do with Dusty, Gareth didn't want to sleep with fucking Dusty. The idea of sleeping with his fellow hunter was a laugh. It was disgusting. He let out a soft noise and Rich pushed him down harder, burying his face against the couch cushions.

"Unless you're begging, I don't want to hear it." Gareth stifled a moan at the rough words and pushed his hips back, spreading his legs a little mindlessly. Sober, such a scene would not only have revolted him, it would have been infuriating. Currently though, all he could think was that it would be nice to come. Behind him, Rich was digging through a end table drawer. He heard the sounds distantly, but the arm of the couch was rubbing against his arousal, creating a delicious friction, and he thought if he rubbed a little more...

"God damn it hold still." He heard, and stopped immediately, his knees locking. A moment later, something cold and slippery pressed against his opening. He jerked a little, and Led Zeppelin's drums began to kick in, the music getting louder. It throbbed in his ears, overwhelming his auditory senses. He focused on that beat instead of the feeling of fingers sliding into him -- causing pain and pleasure. His teeth sunk into a pillow that tasted faintly of sweat and cigarettes, and pushed back against the fingers.

"You're fucking eager, aren't you?" Rich growled, and Gareth felt his cheeks burn, shame and arousal fighting to overwhelm him. Suddenly there was a sharp sting, the slap of a palm against his skin and he cried out.

"Answer me. You're fucking eager, aren't you?" Gareth's whole face flushed -- this was something he'd never experienced before. Being humiliated. He wondered if Rich somehow knew that he was primarily straight, and forced himself to push away the thought. Another slap came, this one harder than before, and he cried out again, his cock seeming to throb harder.
"Fucking answer me Gareth." The blonde let out a sobbing sigh into the pillow, an expulsion of air as involuntary as the spreading of his legs.
"Yeah, sure, I'm... I'm fuckin' eager as hell... I uh.. I want you to fuck me." He wasn't sure if he could pull off a pleading tone, at the best of times, but his voice came out in a soft whine. He couldn't see Richard smile, but the bald man was.

"Say it again."
"I--I want you inside me...Puh--Please man... fuck me hard." The words were embarrassing, despite their begging and lilting tone, and Gareth wiggled his hips a little subconsciously, his cock now dripping, leaking precome helplessly. That seemed to be enough for Rich, who grunted low and began to press himself into Gareth.

The pain was exquisite, immense. Gareth gasped breathlessly, spreading his legs as wide as he could, bent at the waist, his cock pressed hard against the arm of the couch. Rich was moaning low, pushing in, further, further, until he was completely buried. Tears of pain stood out in Gareth's eyes, his hands clenching at the cushions of the couch, and Rich let out a groan as the smaller man accidentally tightened around him.

There was a pause. Rich allowing Gareth to adjust. It seemed to last for hours, but finally the bigger man began to move. He started with short, quick thrusts -- sending more jolts of pain through Gareth's body. He cried out again and again, no pleasure yet. Then Rich began to slow down, his thrusts become longer, slower... shifting into strokes. The pain began to dissolve, tingles riding up Gareth's spine. He whimpered again trying to move his hips, but Rich grabbed them, holding him still.

"Don't you fucking move unless I say so." Gareth let out another pitiful whine, though he didn't dare argue. He stayed as motionless as possible, letting Dusty-- no. Rich. Mother fucking Rich -- move in and out of him, his eyes clenched tightly closed. And if he thought about another bald man, a bald man with bright blue eyes and crooked teeth... well, he didn't realize it.

Richard was speeding up, his thrusting growing faster and faster, his fingers digging deep into Gareth's hips, leaving bruises that would last for days. Despite his inability to push back, to try and drive Richard deeper, Gareth's pleasure was increasing, the tingling that ran up and down his spine becoming almost unbearable. His toes, which were planted firmly against the carpet, began to curl. His hat, which had remained on through the whole ordeal, finally slipped off, tumbling onto the couch, and his eyes opened into small slits. He could see the feather he'd plucked from Dusty's wing. He'd stuck it into the brim of the hat before going into the bar. In the warm lights of Rich's apartment it seemed to shimmer auburn, as the mahogany shine caught the blonde man's eye, he felt his completion overwhelm him. Crying out, a noise of desperation and relief, he spilled across the couch. Now he couldn't control his hips and they jerked, again and again, his orgasm intense and mind-shattering.

Distantly he felt Rich spill deep inside him, and again was that feeling of shame, of weakness. He swallowed it away, trying to relish in his own completion, but it was nearly over.

Hours later, exhausted and sore, Gareth slipped from Richard's bed. The room was dark, save for the alarm clock, which blinked "4:15 AM" endlessly. He was considerably more sober now, and a last glance at the man --whom he'd allowed to do unspeakable things to him for the evening -- sent a shudder through him. He don't look a fuckin' thing like Dusty. He tried to reassure himself, but even his inner voice was weak, defeated.

He wouldn't allow himself to think as he drove home. Music played at top volume until he reached his trailer, drowning out any thoughts -- and by the time he crept in the front door, he'd almost convinced himself that the one night stand was merely a dream. Afterall, he wasn't a fucking fag. He didn't sleep with fucking guys. Especially not guys who looked like his best friend. Fuck that queer shit. It had just been some stupid Freudian dream.

Climbing onto the uncomfortable and ancient couch, Gareth plucked the feather from his hat. It was done without thought, merely an urge he submitted to, and he curled in on his side, one hand grasping the feather tight, his cheek pressed against the soft and downy texture.

Uneasily, Gareth drifted off into a dreamless sleep.