Letting go of the Past

He snuck in when everyone was gone and all the lights were out.

He needed to feel it one more time. Just feel it, run his hands over it without everyone watching, without the constant flash of the cameras and the endless voices assaulting him from all angles. He made his way up the steps cautiously, eyes continually moving, scanning, to make sure no guards were making the rounds of the hall. His stomach was already getting that hooked feeling, like something was trying to retract his navel and attach it to his spine.

Sparse light, being cast from the windows at the very far end of the hall, emitted shadows upon the stage leaving the couch in a seamlessly visible gray radiance. It kept up the allusion that he was all alone, that he was back there and not here in some hollow convention for geeks and people that never got laid. Everything around him seemed to blur, like he’d suddenly acquired some form of tunnel vision and all he could see was what was directly in front of him. His legs felt weighed down and he had to pull harder than normal to make them move, making his impatience grow, his need to be there more urgent.

When he finally reached the top step he was beginning to feel lightheaded, almost euphoric, at the idea of being there alone-- just him and the couch. No one watching and nothing to tear him away from the feel of it beneath his fingertips. From his memories.

His hand was sweaty with a slight tremble when he reached out to run the tips of his fingers along the arms edge. It wasn’t the simple fact that he was finally touching it but the added idea that he might get caught fondling an inanimate object that sent a twinge of heat through his body. He’d been told he had a slight kick for exhibitionism, he supposed for this instance it was true.

He chastened himself for a moment. Telling himself that this wasn’t a peep show, he was here only to touch… the couch.

He looked around again before sitting down; fitting himself into the grooves of the corner he had sat in earlier in the day, feeling the slight roughness of the fabric press into his back through the layers of his t-shirts. He let his left arm fall over the edge and palmed the material under his hand, flexed his fingers and let his senses mesmerize every grain and weave of thread underneath them. His right hand was busy running through his hair trying to keep himself under control. He was already having to remind himself, again, that it was just a couch.

Dropping his head back he ran his cheek along the worn textile. The memory of what he’d done on a couch just like this one running through his head and making it swim slightly. It felt so good to be on it. So warm. So familiar. So… inviting. This wasn’t going right.

He was just going to touch… himself on the couch. Yes. That was what he was going to do. How could he not? The couch expected it of him. How could he NOT touch himself on it? It was for the couches own good. It needed to serve its purpose in life. What fun could it be for a couch to just have people sitting on it for minutes at a time and then leaving it behind? A couch was made for fucking. For wanking. For getting stained with peoples sweat. Having seams torn from scrabbling hands looking for purchase. By fingers digging in or teeth latching on trying to hold out the ride.

His hand slid along the arm, the sides, every inch he could reach and got harder with each breath. Each rub felt like it was washing over his cock in soft rough caresses.

He needed to feel that against his skin. Against his bare back. Arms. Feel it scratch against his flesh in time with his strokes. If he was going to do it he had to do it right.

He took a deep breath and fisted his hands in the hem of his shirts and lifted them over his head, baring his skin to the will of the couch. He felt like such a pervert sitting in a darkened room, in a public place, stripping himself of his clothing and molesting a fucking couch. Dom would be so proud. Sean would be horrified. Viggo would clap him on the back in a manly gesture while secretly wishing he‘d been there to witness it. Elijah would only giggle. Fucking giggler.

His ribs brushed against the arm rest and he forgot about his friends. Just the realization that he was actually here on the damnable thing made his cock twitch unimaginably. It felt so damn good as he pressed his back against it and slid down until he was slumped far enough for the crook of his neck to rest comfortably on the back of it, and hard enough that he felt a pleasant little scrape along his spine.

He brought his hand down to his lap, let it linger along the top of his thigh, stroking slightly before inching finger tip by finger tip over to the button of his fly. He couldn’t remember ever having worn tighter jeans as he flicked the button open and forced his hand inside. It couldn’t reach far but enough that he could hold his erection back from his zip so it didn’t get caught in the down pull. He allowed himself the tiniest bit of pleasure from his own touch before he let down his zip, slowly. He wanted to savor this moment; take things as slow as he could. And things were never allowed to go fast on this couch anyway, were they? No, they were always long and drawn out, prolonged until he felt like his insides were thrumming with agony and overwhelming pleasure at the same time. Until he was sobbing when he came; his sweat and saliva soaking into the fabric beneath him.

His hand slipping around his cock felt like ice on the heated flesh, made him hiss and arch into it. He hadn’t even realized how cold the room was until that moment, until the air touched his cock and ran up his spine to harden his nipples. As much as he wanted it to, he knew it wouldn’t last long. His arse was already humping back into the couch looking for something to ease the need that was growing there.

His nails dug into the arm rest as he started to set his pace. He really should add some spit but the dry pull felt so good, so familiar. It snagged and caught in places as he pulled, burning and stinging, making him raw. The slow seep of pre-cum leaking from the tip as he pulled down his foreskin with middle finger and thumb making him bite back a cry as it slipped over the agitated skin.

He pressed himself down, rubbing the sensitized tip of his cock against the couch cushion under him and nearly came from the feeling of the pattern being branded onto it, as he humped it, fucked his fist and rubbed against the cushion until tears were forming at the corners of his eyes.

“This is how it always was, isn’t it Dom?” He groaned to himself as he lifted his arse off the couch to fuck his closed fist, seconds from coming. The pattern of the couch ingraining itself into his bicep and shoulders sweetly with the strain, to where he knew the rash would last for a good week.

He went ridged as a sudden breath in his ear told him to get on his knees.

His eyes flew open to see Dom standing there, his face wearing that expression Billy new only meant one thing. His eyes were so navy they were almost black. His jaw set so firmly the vein in the side of his neck shown through, his pulse throbbing dangerously.

“Dom.. Whaa?” Billy panted.

“Don’t stop what you’re doing, William. Just get on your knees. You know how.” Dom smiled lightly as he circled the couch.

“But…”

“No buts. Just do. Or do I need to do it for you, Bill?”

He could never refuse Dom anything when he spoke to him like that. He knew well enough that he could make him, if need be. He pulled his legs up; keeping his fist wrapped firmly around the base of his cock to keep him from coming, and got on his knees.

“Dom…”

“Over the arm rest.”

“Dom?”

“I said,” Dom whispered slowly as he stepped up in front of him. “Over the arm rest,” he brought his hands to Billy’s hips, left arm wrapping around his waist and turned Billy around. He crawled up on the couch behind him and pushed Billy forward. Pushed him head down until his forehead was touching fabric.

“Now.” He ran his hands up Billy’s sides and along his back. “Did you forget we were supposed to go have a drink, Bill? That I was going to pick you up this evening? I think you must have.” He slipped his hand under to run along Billy’s stomach, along the slight rise and fall of his abdomen and smirked at the quiver it caused. “I can smell you, you know. My nose can always sniff you out. No matter where you go or where you hide. I can always find you.” He forced his hand lower to fall over Billy’s own hand on his cock, pulling Billy’s fingers away one by one from the burning flesh. “That’s enough with that, Love.”

“Dom, we--” Billy tried again.

“Can’t? I don’t much care for that. You’re the one that needs this so bad. You’re the one that wants me to fuck you until it burns from the inside out. Until it hurts for you to shit or to even piss you’ve come so hard. You remember the pain that would last for a week after I’d fucked you into this couch? The tears that would prickle those pretty little eyes of yours when you’d bend over and beg me to do it all over again? Do you want to tell me we can’t do that?” His fingers caught the hem of Billy’s jeans and pulled them over his hips, dragging them slowly down over his arse.

“Tell me. Tell me you don’t want me inside you with just my spit to guide me. Tell me my dick pressing into your arse right now doesn’t make you want to scream…” He let down his own zip and pressed forward until he was rubbing against Billy, hardsoft flesh pushing insistently against the crease of his arse.

Fingers pressed their way into Billy’s mouth and he knew what that meant. He sucked on them, coating them with his spit. He couldn’t stop himself. Anymore than he could stop the moan from coming from his throat, even though he knew he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Tell me.” Dom insisted as a spit slickened finger pushed into him, fucking him slowly, in and out in small increments. “Tell me.” Dom growled as he dug his nails down Billy’s back with his free hand.

He cried out as Dom’s index finger joined in the push and pull of his middle. “I can’t.” He wasn’t doing this. He couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right.

“Is this how you were with her the first time you cheated on me?” He pushed another finger in, none to gently. “Did you act all gallant and sorrowful? Did you feel bad? Did it hurt to know you were loosing this?” He pressed in as far as he could and curled his fingers over Billy’s prostate.

“Dom--”

“Tell me or I stop.” He was licking around his fingers now, pressing it in between the tiny gaps of his fingers and Billy‘s anus and then pulling away.

“Dom please.” He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the teasing. Couldn’t take having it one second and gone the next. He was too far gone. Neither would let their guard down enough for this chance to come around again. “Please, Dom don’t stop. Don’t.”

“Then tell me.” He rubbed the slicked head of his cock around Billy’s opening.

He’d fallen this far, why not go the rest of the way? “Please. Please, fuck me until I’m torn apart and she knows where I’ve been and who I was with. Fuck me like you know she can’t. Fuck me like I need it. Fuck me like the whore that you always said I was.”

“No.”

“What!” Billy’s head snapped up, only to be shoved back down by biting fingers.

“No.” Dom said as he pulled away. “I’m not going to fuck you like you need it.”

“But-- I-- you--” Billy panted shaking his head; trying to dislodge the cloud that had taken up residence there.

“I’m going to fuck you like I need it.” His hipbone jarring smartly against Billy’s arse as he pushed in to the hilt. “How I want it.” His cock scraped its way back out, hard and painful and sore with so little lubrication to help ease the way. “Until I feel you’ve paid enough for what you’ve done.” He pushed back in and it burned and Dom had to bite his lip from moaning, but he kept it slow; kept it hurting.

When he’s inside it’s like time stops-- no, not stops, slows. Slows to where he can feel every pore on his body, every cell of Billy’s surrounding him; encompassing him in that soft burning heat. He feels the tightness of Billy’s body tugging at him, stretching the flesh of his cock almost painfully forward as he pulls back. Things slamming back into focus as he hears a small cry come from the man under him, reminding him of what he‘s doing and who he‘s doing it with.

“Does it hurt, Billy?” he asks before pushing forward again just as slowly as he had pulled out, feeling the same effects only in reverse. “Does it feel like it’s burning you alive?”

He can’t stop the sobs from seeping out of his throat. He’s being seared from the outside in and he can’t remember missing anything more in his life. He’s cursing and whimpering when Dom momentarily angles down and brushes his prostate. “I thought-- I thought you said you were going to fuck me,” he taunts. He has to, he can’t take much more if things keep going the way they are; he’d been ready to come five minutes ago as it was. He felt like saying fuck all and coming anyway if Dom kept this slow dragging pressure up. He could feel every smooth patch of Dom’s skin against the inside walls of his body, inch by bloody inch as he pulled out… and pushed back in.

“Oh, I’m going to fuck you alright. When I’m ready. I’m just… remembering the lay of the land. Letting my body catch up to yours. Speaking of which--” he reached around and wrapped his hand firmly around the base of Billy’s cock. “I think I’ll hold on to this for a bit.” He smirked, biting at Billy’s spine and dragging his teeth roughly over each vertebra. “I don’t want to catch up that far too soon. We’ll just keep it nice and… needy for a while. Just like you always should be, William.”

“Dom…please…” he whimpered again trying to move away from Dom’s tightening grip on his cock and the words that always drove him mad.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Is it too much?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Dom set back to moving his hips slowly, his free hand occasionally stroking Billy’s shaft, playing over the head of his cock or brushing teasingly over the his balls. Anything that would torture him. Anything that would lead to him crying and begging for release. Until he was so frustrated he was pleading with Dom to fuck him till he was bleeding, until he was scratching at Dom’s skin and telling him that he’s a ‘fucking cunt bastard’. Yelling at him that ‘It was your own bloody damned fault. You’re the one who had to move to LA.’

Until he broke Dom.

When Dom finally fucked him he felt completely raw and torn apart. He pushed in so hard Billy felt like something was going to break. Dom’s hand curled in his hair all but ripped out what hair he had left on his forehead as he pressed him flat into the couch, abrading his skin on the upholstery.

His saliva stained the couch as he sobbed. Open mouthed and unsightly as saliva fell freely from his lips.

When Dom came inside him he felt like he was going to choke on it. And it hurt to be filled so brutally and yet so fucking brilliant to be filled so completely.

The moment Dom’s panting breathless voice came in his ear telling him he could come now, he was finished with him, the hand moving-- He knew he’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d defiled the couch enough that no one would be able to use it again.

He came in unflinching spasms, Dom’s ever present tongue lapping up the tears that burned down his face as the stitching on the arm of the couch gave way under his teeth.

“I had to move, Bills.” Dom mumbled against the curve of his back when he began to breathe again.

“I know.”

***

The following day was the same as every other day. They were Dom and Billy. Billy and Dom, if you please. They said all the right things for the crowds, hugged and played gay for the girls. It was the way things were when you were apart of the great Fellowship: Never show true emotion. But for once it didn’t seem so awkward when Dom wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly.