He was making a mistake. He was sure of it. He was doing it anyway, but he was making a mistake.
J.J. listened to his heart pound as stepped into the darkened foyer of the penthouse belonging to the Wicked Isaacs. He took a deep breath, and stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking.
What was he doing here?
What was he doing, standing in the residence of his own band's biggest rivals?
He toed off his shoes, held them dangling from his right hand. The numbing haze of candy in his veins was wearing off too quickly. He searched his pockets for more, found the plastic edge of the seal on the ziplock bag, fished out one small rock.
"What a waste."
J.J. looked up, startled, shoving his hand back into his pocket, shame-faced. "Augustine."
The lead singer of the Isaacs lifted one slim silver brow. He had shed his long red coat, stood looking darkly sexy in a clinging black turtleneck and black leather pants. His hands, J.J. noticed, were still gloved in soft dark leather as well. He thought of those hands touching him and wondered again why he'd come here.
"My brother hurt you so much you need to dull yourself with drugs?"
"It's just candy," J.J. breathed, dropping his eyes. "J.L. didn't -- It's not his fault. I mean, he... it's not his fault he doesn't care about me like that, you know?"
"What a waste," Augustine repeated, stepping towards him. He spoke half to himself, though his pale, almost water-blue eyes never left J.J. "You think you're sparing him, don't you, mein Bruder? Such a fool." He gestured with one gloved hand, addressing J.J. once again. "Leave your 'candy ' here with your shoes."
"But I--"
"If you wish to continue this, leave it here."
J.J. set his shoes down, dropped the plastic bag into one. His mouth felt dry. A hand slipped under his chin, lifted his head up. He had nowhere to look but into Augustine's face.
Fingers gripped J.'s arms harshly, pulled him close. The mouth that covered his own demanded and took rather than gave. When he was released, J.J. saw the coldness in Augustine's eyes, the careful control that hid something more dangerous. He shivered at the unfamiliar expression on such a familiar face. Augustine's was styled differently, silver bangs falling over one eye, and he was not pierced in the same places as J.L., but the sharp features and wide jaw were identical between the brothers, Jesse Lee and Augustine Falke. He was surprised to feel his heart ache, as if the wound he had been dealt by J.L.'s inability to love him was still fresh and new.
"You are thinking of my brother again, Junge." Augustine's voice was emotionless, merely observing. "I won't tell you to forget him while you are here. If you wish, imagine I am him." Gloved fingers stroked J.J.'s cheek, brushed through his dyed-pink hair. "But I will not tell you lies to spare your feelings. You know what I want from you."
The last traces of the high that had given J.J. the courage to follow Augustine out of the club burned away, too quickly. He pulled back, his heart thundering in his ears. "I'm sorry... I'm, you know. I need. I need a fix, just a little one, O.K.?" He turned, not daring to look at Augustine, moving towards the door.
Fingers closed down over J.J.'s shoulder mid-stride and he froze. Lips pressed against his ear and the spicy scent of Augustine's cologne surrounded him. "Choose your candy or my company, little Bat. You may have one or the other, but not both."
"I just --" J.J. blurted, but the other man was already moving past him, down the hallway towards the light of an open door at the end. "No -- I -- wait --" J.J. ran to catch up with Augustine despite himself. "Wait."
Augustine paused just within the doorway of the bedroom, holding the door open for J.J. He shut the door behind them both, and locked it. Then he gestured one arm towards the bed. "Take your clothes off, and lay down."
J.J. shifted his weight. "I'm not really into --"
Impatience flickered over even features. "If you unable to control yourself, I will take control of you. Now, take off your clothes, and lay down on the bed."
J.J. swallowed, looked once at the door, and then shed his short-shorts and tight, glittery tee. The room was pleasantly warm, but he shivered all the same, wrapping his arms around himself before crawling onto the bed.
Before he could lie down, Augustine murmured, "Stop." He felt the bed sink, but didn't dare look over his shoulder. "Stay... just like that."
A warm body pressed against him, the soft knit of Augustine's sweater silken against his naked skin. His breathing quickened, but he wasn't sure if it was from arousal or fear. J.J. closed his eyes, forced himself to take a deep breath.
"My brother does not tell you how beautiful you are, does he, Junge? Perhaps he thinks that it will make you softer than you already are." Smooth leather caressed the back his neck, slid down between his shoulder blades. J.J. couldn't help but moan to think of Augustine's broad hands in their tight black gloves, stroking over him like he was a beloved pet. "But I like you soft. Easy to shape." A warm mouth pressed against the nape of his neck and he gasped. Augustine's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Are you afraid?"
J.J. swallowed again. His stomach was tight, his arms barely holding him up. "Yes..."
The hands on his back slid lower, circled his lap, moved between his legs. One found his half-hard sex and wrapped around it. "Good." Augustine stroked him fully to life, his fingers relentless and his touch firm. The gloves he wore, though warm and soft, seemed somehow to make his gestures clinical, cold.
J.J. could almost feel Augustine watching him, studying how he responded, but he could not help himself; he thrust against the moving hand, his body unconcerned with the loveless quality of its caresses.
He clenched his eyes shut and imagined J.L. behind him, whispering encouragement. J.L.'s body molded against him, hips grinding against the backs of his thighs, against his bare, vulnerable backside.
Like some virgin schoolboy experiencing his first hand-job, he finished far before he expected; suddenly he was gasping, "Jesse! J.L...." Suddenly he was spilling himself all over Augustine's lovely black gloves and his dark blankets and sheets. He sagged forward as the pleasure drained him of his strength, but Augustine caught him, arms wrapping around his waist.
"Good, very good," Augustine murmured, cheek pressed to J.J.'s. He laughed, mocking. "But still you close your eyes and dream of my brother."
J.J. stiffened, realizing his mistake, embarrassed. "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean --"
Fingers pinched his hips, just between the joint of thigh and torso, painfully strong. He found himself flipped onto his back, the breath knocked out of him as he was dragged further down on the bed. Augustine moved over him, his smile shark-like.
"Use whatever lies make you happy." Augustine stripped off his gloves with his teeth, without care for their dirtied state. His exposed hands were long fingered, the skin pale and smooth, the knuckles slightly large. They were elegant hands, yet somehow like their touch, cold and selfish. J.J. jerked back into the comforters as fingertips laid against his throat. Augustine smiled as he flinched.
"You play at being so shy, so afraid," the singer purred, taunting. "But you can't hide your nature, little Bat." Callused fingertips rubbed over J.J.'s still-tender flesh, and he bit back a groan as his body stirred back to life. "Perhaps that's why my brother had no use for you. I only have to touch you and you're hard again. You would embarrass him, being so raw and out of control."
J.J. turned his face, pressed it into the blankets to hide the flush of color in his cheeks; but he could not hold in his whimpers, could not keep his hips from lifting up to press his body harder into Augustine's fingers. He hated that everything Augustine said about him was true; he hated that he was nothing J.L. would want. "Please," he cried, but he didn't know if what he meant was please, stop or please fuck me!
Augustine decided for him. "Spread your legs, Junge." One knee slid between his thighs, pressed behind his balls, against the entrance to his body. J.J. spread his legs wide, pulled them up to his chest, watched Augustine through slitted eyes. The other man shed his sleek shirt, his silver hair tangling, falling tousled over one eye. A finger was pressed to J.J.'s mouth when he opened it to speak. "So eager. But be patient, and I will give you what my brother would not. " Augustine's smile was predatory.
"Now, close your eyes."
J.J. couldn't help but steal a glance downwards as Augustine pushed his pants down around his hips, pulled them off. Silver curls trailed down over Augustine's tight stomach, nestled around his proudly standing sex. Augustine caught him at it, stroked one hand over J.'s eyelids.
"Close them now, or I will hurt you."
The words were said without malice, but the threat in them was heavy all the same. J.J. felt his earlier panic return, closing up his throat; his sex wilted a little against his stomach. He clenched his eyes shut, his body tensed. Again the earlier doubt: why had he come here? What was he doing? What was he thinking? Maybe it would be better if he rolled over now, if he picked his clothes off the floor and ran for the door. Would Augustine let him leave?
"I can't do this," he whispered, eyes still closed, shivering under Augustine's body as it moved over him. "Please, I don't think I can--"
But then he was being pushed back into the mattress, held down on each side of his head, hot flesh pressing firmly against his lips. He opened his mouth out of instinct and surprise; Augustine pushed deep into him, not waiting for him to open wider, leaving him choking as he tried to adjust. Augustine fucked his mouth, then -- fucked him was the only way to describe it, hips moving impatiently, taking, invading. There was no room for J.J. to set a rhythm, to move his tongue teasingly, to have the control one usually had in going down on someone. He tried to get some grip on Augustine, but strong hands pinned his down against the blankets, left him with nothing to do but open his throat and allow Augustine to take him as he would.
He was surprised at his tears; but he was more surprised to feel his cock pulse against his belly, rock hard again.
Augustine finally pulled out of him, leaving him gasping for breath, wiping at his mouth. The singer watched patiently, stroking his sex as J.J. sucked air into his lungs and swallowed to soothe his aching throat. When he lay still against the blankets, Augustine knelt over him, said: "If you do as I say, you will enjoy it more."
"I don't," J.J. replied, blotting the humiliating tears with one corner of a black comforter, "I'm just not into that, you know? I don't need someone to tell me what to do."
"Oh?" Augustine reached over to the nightstand, offered him a tissue. "Tell me then, little Bat. What did you want from my brother, if not someone to watch over you, take care of you, rescue you from the 'terrible lifestyle' you've made for yourself?"
J.J. took the kleenex without raising his head. "I'm just having fun..."
Augustine laughed. "Of course. That's all. Then why my brother? Surely some of your other bandmates would be more suited to your tastes."
"It just happened!"
"Nothing just happens."
He turned his head and did not answer, silent and angry.
"You want to be controlled, don't you, Kiyoshi?"
J.J. looked up, startled to hear his real name.
Augustine met his eyes, his expression unreadable. "You want him to catch you breaking the rules, to make you stop." His tone was matter-of-fact, but J.J. flinched all the same. "To love you enough to make you stop wasting your life on sex and candy. To take away your power so you don't have to face the pathetic truth of what you've become."
"N-No." He scowled, hating the uncertainty in his voice. "I told you already, I don't like people tell me what to do--"
But he was lying, and Augustine knew it. The silver-haired devil smiled. "Let me tell you a secret," he said softly. He leaned in, as if to kiss J.J.'s cheek, but his words were more like the flicker of a serpent's tongue. "My brother will never give you what you want. He's too afraid of his own nature to help you, little kitten. I, however... I'll take from you what he'll never have the nerve to take. And you can go back and cry in his arms, if you like, but I will be the one to give you what you need. All you have to do is ask for it."
J.J. stared at the crumpled tissue in his hand, chewed his lip. "I don't know."
"Don't you?"
"Maybe," he said, in a small voice. "Yes."
"Yes?"
J.J. bent his head, stared at the bedspreads. "Please," he whispered, "Please help me. Please tell me what to do."
Augustine pushed J.J. down, his smile cruel. "I believe you still owe me for the release you had earlier." He reached over to the nightstand again, opened a drawer, took out a small tube of lubricant. He threw it beside J.J.'s head. "Now make yourself ready for me."
J.J. squeezed the lubricant onto his shaking hands, spread his legs wide. How many times had he nonchalantly done this? Sometimes deliberately to arouse his lover, sometimes businesslike before a hurried tryst, always without embarrassment. He was confident of his body, slender and beautiful. But this time he felt shame; this time he fought not to close his legs to conceal the moment he pressed a finger inside himself. This time he choked back the pleased sound that wanted to escape him, and he didn't dare look towards the man who watched.
"More," Augustine commanded him, and he felt his cock twitch against his stomach at the command. He slid another finger in, and a third, stretched himself. His cheeks colored as a slow whine escaped him. "Yes. Good. Fuck yourself, Junge. Relax, let yourself go. I will guide you now."
J.J. moved his hand, rolled his hips, pressed inside himself deeper. His breathing quickened into hard, short gasps, his face burning hot with shame and arousal. He wanted to touch himself but he didn't dare; he curled his fingers inside himself, brushing that magic spot that made his entire body shake.
"Schöner Junge..." Augustine growled. "Watch yourself." The singer wrapped an arm around J.J.'s shoulders, lifted him so that he could watch his hand slide in and out between his legs. His inner thighs were shiny and wet, his hand disappearing inside of him, his cock pulsing in time with his strokes. "See how beautiful you are? My brother's a fool not to have taken what you offered."
Augustine slicked his own hand, joined J.J.'s moving fingers with two of his own, so that the boy was stretched wide, so that J.J. had to tip back his head and moan, unable to contain himself any longer.
"Please," J.J. found himself begging. "It's too much... please..."
But the only response was another finger pushing into him. His body was stretched so tight, burning, and he thought, for a moment, he was going to come, that it hurt, that it hurt so fucking much and that kuso he was going to come and Augustine would hurt him if he did and he-- and he--
"Stop," Augustine whispered, mouth against his ear, soft silver hair brushing his cheek. He gasped, jerking against the now-still fingers thrust inside him, biting his lip to keep from spilling over.
He was suddenly emptied, Augustine pulling out of him, gently guiding his hand out.
"I will tell you when it is too much."
Augustine moved over him, in him, inside of him so violently that he heard the bed-frame slam against the wall, the springs creak in protest as the mattress shook. His knees were pressed up against his chest and he was so full, fuller than six fingers, fuller than he had ever been, he thought. Augustine took from him, took everything from him, rode him hard and thoughtlessly. He didn't know how many times he screamed, or what he cried, whose name or what gods he begged to or what he swore. Each time he thought he might come without permission Augustine reached down, circled his fingers around his cock so painfully, so that he rolled his eyes back and wailed, and wept. But still Augustine thrust into him, steadily harder, until finally he leaned against J.J.'s ear and murmured: "Scream for me, schöner Junge..."
J.J. screamed Augustine's name, screamed it with all his frustration and shame and fear and hunger. And then Augustine was flooding his body, wetness leaking down his thighs, cock twitching inside of him. J.J. cried out Augustine's name and suddenly the fingers holding him back released, and he was coming all over his belly, his chest, one wet spatter hitting his cheek. Coherency left him; he wept and clutched at the man who slowly pulled out of him, who wiped the semen off his skin and pressed it into his gasping mouth.
Bitter salt washed over his tongue and he sucked greedily at the fingers despite himself.
Augustine rolled off of him, cradled his head, surprisingly gentle. J.J. looked up into the Isaac's leader's face, expecting some momentary lapse, some affection; but the eyes that looked back at him were cold.
"You will leave now," Augustine told him. The singer rose from the bed and took up a thin robe. His fingers were precise as he tied the knot. "Go home, little Bat."
J.J. nearly tripped over his own feet as he scrambled to get off the mattress and get dressed. He didn't know how to ask what he wanted to ask; he didn't like the confusion that suddenly filled him. Better to leave before he thought too much, better to write it up to another stupid one-night stand. He could always dull his worries with sugar and drugs.
But Augustine caught him before he could escape, fingers closing firmly around his wrist. "Remember this night, Kiyoshi. Remember what you have given me. Get rid of your junk, your candy, and remember that you owe me."
He nodded, suddenly ill, suddenly needing fresh air. Augustine's quick, vicious grin only made him feel worse. "And -- tell my brother hello. Before you take a shower."
J.J. fled before he could make another mistake, though the certainty he had already made the worst one he could make pursued him.
.//back
