Restless
By Tiriel
NC-17, m/m, language, these are bad boys
The Way of the Gun, the short version: a film very few people saw, lots of people should. The so-called "Mr. Parker" (Ryan Phillippe) and "Mr. Longbaugh" (Benicio Del Toro) are two criminals who kidnap a surrogate mother and ask for $15 million in ransom for the baby she's carrying. Things get complicated. On one level, it looks like a typical post-Tarantino ultraviolent crime film, but there's a lot more to it than that. Rent it and find out. And did I mention that the relationship between Parker and Longbaugh is very very slashy?
Disclaimer: (Tiriel does the "they're not mine" dance.) Seriously, folks, the work of Christopher McQuarrie, writer-director of The Way of the Gun and Academy Award-winning writer of The Usual Suspects, makes me want to write screenplays. I love his work. He made these guys. This is just the cheap imitation.
Summary: How Parker and Longbaugh met. No real film spoilers here. Draws a little bit on some material that never quite made it into canon. Check out the storyboards on the dvd and/or an earlier draft of the script sometime.
Aithine, here it is.
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Restless
By Tiriel
It was Saturday night, and I was alone. I felt restless, twitchy. It was one of those nights where you want to go out and fuck shit up, or maybe just fuck. But vandalism seemed like too much work for a hot August night, and I didn't want to deal with the bullshit that would go along with calling any of the girls I knew who'd be up for a good time. The bars in my neighborhood were only good for getting into fights and drinking beer that tasted like piss. I wasn't dressed right for the ones that weren't, and didn't care enough to shower and change. I briefly considered cracking open my last bottle of liquor and drinking alone until I passed out, then decided that even with tequila I couldn't stand to stay in my shitty apartment one second longer. I needed air.
If the neighbor down the block had been dumb enough to leave his motorcycle parked out front that night, I'd probably have stolen it. It's not like I needed the ride, I still had my Mustang then, but part of me just wanted to speed along and feel the wind. Open. He hadn't left it outside, or wasn't home, so it didn't matter anyway. I got in my car and drove, windows down, night air flowing past as I did my damndest to get lost in the city.
I hit the freeways for a while, letting the rhythmic sound of the road take me. I wanted to keep going, go someplace new. West, maybe. My right foot on the pedal said yes, but the gas gauge said no. I pulled off and stopped at a service station. As I filled the tank I gave the place a once-over, out of habit more than anything else. I wasn't really thinking of robbery, although it would've been easy pickings if there hadn't been so many customers. Teenagers, mostly, gathering around their cars, guys posturing, girls squealing greetings to each other.
I sized up the nearest group. Three guys, about sixteen or seventeen years old, standing around an SUV, each one clutching a mostly-full forty like it made his dick bigger, made him a man. Fuckin' suburbs. They were full of shit, full of themselves, but they got quiet when I looked right at them, and I could almost smell their fear. I smiled once, a baring of teeth that couldn't be mistaken for friendly, got back in the 'stang, and drove on.
I headed back into the city, away from suburban sprawl and kids who wouldn't know real life if it bit them on their lily-white asses. Decided I'd had enough night air. I was still feeling restless, but I'd burned enough of it off behind the wheel that I thought I might be able to sleep. Parking was getting scarce as the action at the bars got into full swing, so I left the car a few blocks away from my place. I cut through the alleys on foot, heading for home. That's how we met. I turned a corner and ran right into him.
I stepped back immediately--a reflex, but it probably looked kind of like I'd bounced off his chest. I paused, trying to decide whether or not I felt like apologizing. He was tall and lean and his clothes kind of hung on him, but there was something about him that told me he wasn't a guy to mess with.
"Watch it there," he said with a huff of air that sounded almost like a chuckle, and as he cocked his head to size me up I got a good look at his face. I'd seen him before. We hadn't met, hadn't spoken, but I knew who he was.
"Sorry, man. Didn't you used to do some work for--"
"Yeah." A nod of acknowledgement.
"You workin' something now?"
He shook his head. "Just out."
"Me, too. I'm on my way home, there's a bottle there with my name on it."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah." I paused. "Care to join me?" Something about him, the way he stood, the way he looked at me, I don't know. Something about him made me feel good, almost mellow, like the part of me that had been revved all night was finally starting to wind down.
He squinted at me, his mouth twisting up into something almost like a grin. "Lead the way."
I brushed past him and continued down the alley toward my street. It made my blood pump, him following me. I hadn't even glanced back, but I knew he was there, and the rush of it mixed with the mellow warmth of his presence and made me feel like I'd already started drinking.
As we walked, I was picturing the possibilities, already half-hard in my jeans. I had more in mind than sharing my tequila. Getting off with a guy was just what I needed. It was fast, uncomplicated, satisfying. Direct. And he seemed like a direct kind of guy.
It was less than two blocks from where we met in the alley to my place, but it felt like miles, like we were walking in slow-motion into a shootout in some Western and the whole world had narrowed down to that street. I didn't even hear the noise from the bars we passed. All I could hear was the sound of my heart in my ears, the scuff of my shoes hitting the pavement and his just behind. I don't remember going up the stairs or unlocking my door, I just remember walking, and then being inside my apartment.
"Want a drink?" I started to head for the kitchen.
He reached out and caught my wrist in a lazy grip. "Not really." There it was again, that twisted-up almost-grin, and I felt my own mouth twitch in response as I moved closer and he let go of my arm.
"Good," I said, and pressed right up against him, leaning in, pushing him back into the wall. I kissed him, and his mouth was soft and tasted like smoke and whiskey.
Just as I was really starting to get into the kiss, I pulled my head back abruptly, breathing hard. His eyes were half-closed and the tip of his tongue came out to wet his lips. I slid down his body, still pressed close, until I was kneeling on the floor.
I unbuckled his belt and opened up his pants. He held still for me while I pulled down his underwear and leaned in. I breathed deep, smelled sweat and heat and underneath that the unmistakable smell of dick. Then I took my first taste, a lick right across the head. One of his hands snaked down to the back of my neck. I glanced up at him.
"Let me know if I get too rough for you, pretty boy." His tone was teasing, walking the edge between laughing with me and laughing at me.
I moved back just far enough to reply. "You won't."
That earned me a real chuckle that turned into a low moan as I sucked him all the way into my throat. He bucked his hips, fucking my mouth with fast, shallow thrusts, and I let him, taking it until my eyes watered and I had to press the heel of my hand hard against my crotch to keep from coming. I pushed against his hip with my other hand and moved back. I felt the long, slow slide of my lips over the shaft of his cock, then the head, and then it was gone. Like the backwards version of what I wanted next.
He stood there, breathing heavy, as I straightened up and rubbed against him some more. His pants were around his ankles, mine were still on, he was sucking at my neck and grinding into the friction of my jeans, and I liked that he was so close to losing it. I may suck cock from time to time, but I'm no pussy. I go after what I want.
"You're gonna fuck me," I said, right into his ear, and bit his earlobe hard enough to hurt. Then I walked away, toward the bed, stripping off my clothes.
I was just stepping out of my jeans when I felt his hands on my hips. He spun me around, kissed me hard on the mouth, and shoved me down. I hadn't even heard him come up behind me. He was fast, too, his body covering mine on the bed before I even really knew what had hit me. I guess he'd decided it was time for me to get some of my own back.
He was, fuck, he was everywhere. Hands and mouth and legs and arms, covering me and wrapping around me, and god *damn,* it had never felt so good to be under somebody who was taller than me before. He was making me crazy, and he was hardly doing anything.
"You want it bad, don't you? Yeah, you want it real bad," he said.
I made a noise that he seemed to take as a yes.
"Well, you're gonna get it."
"Oh, god." I worked an arm free and reached down under the edge of the bed. Finally my hand made contact with the battered shoebox where I kept the lube. He kept up a steady stream of dirty talk the whole time, all about how he was gonna fuck me hard, fast, good, deep, give it to me like I'd never gotten it before. It was more than I'd heard him say all night.
I've never been long on patience, and I was already too far gone to waste any more time. I squirted some lube out onto my hand and grabbed hold of his cock. I slicked it down, rough, couldn't resist jacking him just a little. He stopped talking as quickly as he'd started. I smeared some lube onto myself, wiped the rest on the sheet, shoved him away enough to turn over, and that was it. He was on me again, pushing, working himself into me. I rested my head on my arms, took a couple of deep breaths, and let the feeling kind of soak in. His cock slid into my ass just like I'd wanted it--slow and steady until he was right there.
I felt like I was going blind, like my brain had turned to cotton. When he started to move, I bit down on my forearm, not caring if I was leaving a mark. I hadn't had much chance to watch him, but I'd noticed that most of the time he moved like he had all day to get where he was going. But he was capable of these sudden bursts of speed, too, staccato movements that took me by surprise every time, like when he'd pushed me onto the bed. That's what it was like. One minute, he was taking it easy, like he was going to fuck me all night. The next, he was pounding me into the mattress like there was no tomorrow. Fast. Slow.
Fast.
Slow.
The sheet was like sandpaper on my skin, I'd damn near drawn blood biting down on my forearm, and I wasn't coming. I wasn't in any particular rush, really, I mean, as bad as I wanted to get off, I wanted it to last, too. I was along for the ride, however long it took. But like all good things...
He'd just switched tempo again, was screwing me so slow, so good that it almost hurt. I came slowly, too, slow and hard, shaking with the force of it as he just kept on going until I had nothing left. I was just starting to come down from that high when he slid in deep one last time and stopped. I found enough strength to move against him a little as he came, then I let myself down onto my stomach.
The wet spot I landed in felt about the size of Lake Michigan, but I was beyond caring. He collapsed on top of me and stayed there for a moment, just long enough to catch his breath. Then he pushed back. I listened to the creaking of the floorboards as he walked over to where we'd left most of our clothes. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, and I could hear the shouts of rowdy drunks leaving the bars on the street. Closing time.
I sat up and watched him dress. "You want that drink?"
"Nah."
Something felt wrong. Not like I felt used or something, I mean, that would've been just plain stupid. And it wasn't like I'd expected him to hang around, but I guess I didn't want to see him leave, either. It hadn't been fast or uncomplicated, but it had been satisfying. One out of three ain't bad.
I felt like kind of a dipshit, just sitting there staring at him. But he didn't seem to mind. He buttoned his shirt back up halfway and cocked his head to the side. "I'm doing this thing tomorrow." Our eyes met and held. "Could use a partner."
The End