[The Rules of Attraction] FIC: "Stale morning," by iniq. Richard/Paul, NC-17

title: Stale Morning
fandom: The Rules of Attraction (Bret Easton Ellis, 1987)
pairing: Richard/Paul
rating: NC-17
warnings: coarse talk, beer bottle insertion, oral


word count: ~2.100
further warnings: attempt at Ellis' style (therefore no double line breaks), unbeta'd and written without typo correcting program
disclaimer: The Rules of Attraction was written by Bret Easton Ellis in 1987. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.


Stale Morning

PAUL I wake up when the door to my room opens. Sleeping on my stomach the whole night has made my spine hurt and I immediately turn over and on my back. Richard saunters back into the room, probably after changing in his own. He no longer smells of sex so he must have showered. I'm glad. The stale stench of cum is like cold cigarette smoke, nothing I want to smell hungover in the morning. Looking around, searching for empty bottles makes me remember that we didn't drink that much after all.
"I knew you'd still be here," he says.
He's grinning cock-sure, posing against the wall. He can afford it with that body. I don't tell him that I wanted to leave that morning, take the first bus back to Camden and get away from my mother. I watch him take his boxers off and push against the mattress with his knees.
"Someone saw us last night," I say.
He looks up and down my body as if he could see through the bedsheets, tracing the contours of my body with his eyes.
"I know," he says.
"Do you know who?" I ask him. I push the covers down. I haven't showered yet. His cum is still in my ass. It itches. I itch. For a shower and for a smoke. For another orgasm.
"No," he says. "Does it matter?"
I shake my head. Not really. If it was my mother, I'll know the next time I talk to her. She's always painfully obvious. Richard crawls on the bed and straddles my calves, completely comfortable in his nakedness. He pulls at the covers and sniffs when he exposes my cock.
"You stink," he comments.
"I just woke up." I don't care what he thinks. Not much, anyway. "Let me up and I'll take a shower.
He shakes his head. "Don't. I like you dirty." With that, he moves and spreads my legs roughly until he can sit between them. I let him and watch his face curiously. He grabs one ankle and pushes it aside, opening me up to him.
"Stop laughing," he complains, smacking my thigh.
"I'm not laughing," I say. "You just look so concentrated."
He raises his eyebrows and looks into my eyes. "Fucking is art. I need to concentrate."
I shift my other leg, let it drop to the floor. My foot smacks against a beer bottle and topples it over. Richard leans down and bites the inside of my thigh. The sharp sensation makes me yelp. He's an asshole, even during sex. He's holding tight onto my ankle and I playfully pull at it. He yanks it back, tugs me toward him until I slip down, my head sliding from the pillow onto the mattress.
"Stop wiggling like a girl." He says it with a grin. I give him the finger and don't move my hand when he grabs my wrist. He leans forward, foresaking the grip on my ankle to get some balance and sucks at my middle finger. He strokes it with his tongue, giving it a blowjob until saliva runs down my hand. He's a pig.
"Fuck yourself with it," he demands and lets go.
His expression is challenging, sure I won't do it. I raise an eyebrow and move my hand down between my legs. Cum is crusting around my hole and I stick the wet finger in. Even my pubic hair is crusted with Richard's juices and it pulls and twinges when I push. I scrunch my nose up. Disgusting. Richard grins, watching as my finger pushes in and out.
"You're a pig," I comment. He doesn't look up.
Then he sticks his own index finger in his mouth and uses the wetness to push his finger in along mine. I stretch easily. Like a cunt, Sean once said. I start panting when Richard pushes further in and I get hot.
"Do you remember where we chucked the lube?" He wants to know.
I shake my head. He pulls his finger out and bends over to check the floor. He comes up with a beer bottle, drops it on the bed carelessly. He stretches a bit further next time he dives down and I can see the muscles in his side and back stretch. I slide my finger along them, stroking. He twitches, but returns with the lube we used. It's half empty already. We fucked twice, after all. He uses too much, but I don't complain. This one was cheap anyway and smells awfully like chemicals.
"Leave some for later. I don't want to go out today to get more," I say.
"Okay." He squirts some on his hand and coats himself. I reach out my hand and scrape the rest off his palm and push two fingers up myself. When I'm slick, he leans forward and puts his hands to the sides of my head.
"You good?" He asks as if he cares for my comfort. I grin and make a grab for his cock, guiding it closer, tugging him along.
Richard fucks me as he always does, in one long and forceful stroke. He thrusts like a jackhammer that first time and I gasp as he hits bottom and I'm pushed up the sheets. I can feel his stomach against my balls, smooth and hard. He pulls back and pushes in again, trying to get in even deeper. He is like that, like the ocean, slowly receding and coming back with full force at the next turn. I throw my hips like a whore, trying to get everything I can out of each push.
"You're such a good bottom," he says.
I snort and roll my eyes, moaning at the next wave. He chuckles.
"Let me fuck you hard," he begs.
I nod and put my hands against the headboard. A precaution I learned to take the hard way. He grasps the top of the headboard and shoots me a winning smile before starting up a faster rhythm. The pillow gets crunched under my head and I groan at his rhythm. When his thrusts get erratic I'm disappointed. He comes after a few more pushes. Too fast for me, I complain silently, but I don't say anything. I never comment on his stamina, afraid how he'd react. He teases me often, says I take too long, but I usually just shrug.
I'm left wanting when he's spent and drags his limp dick out. I shift back down and bunch the pillow up behind my head so I don't have to strain my neck.
"Get me off, you fucker," I say. I try not to sound demanding, but I get cranky when I'm all hard and close and no one does anything about it.
"In a moment," he groans, his chest still heaving from the orgasm. I sigh and blindly pat the nighttable for my smokes. I light one and inhale deeply. He takes it from my lips with a grin and sticks it between his lips, then he puts three fingers back in my ass. I gasp, exhaling a plume of smoke harshly.
"Fucker," I comment.
Richard grins and suddenly he has the bottle of lube back in his hand and squirts some out. Then he puts his fingers back in my hole, a fourth one in, stretching me a little more than his cock did.
"Don't even fucking think about it, Dick." I glare at him for good measure. I move to pull his fingers out of my ass, but he clamps his hand on my wrist.
"Don't worry, Paul," he says. As if it's reassuring to have him say that.
I sink back on the pillow, and turn my head to find an ashtray. I can't find one, so I pull open the drawer and flick the ash in. I probably just defiled the Bible, but who cares. Richard moves again and then I feel something cold and smooth against my balls.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I want to know.
"I'm getting you off," he says. "Don't worry."
Suddenly he pulls his fingers out and I look at the mirror on the built-in wardrobe to see what he's doing, only to find him lubing up the beer bottle. Then he pushes it bottom first against my hole. It's cold and smooth and I flinch even though it's not going in.
"You asshole. Don't do that," I snarl and try to clench my muscles.
He only shushes me with a kiss to my stomach and sticks one finger beside the glass to widen me enough. I stare at the mirror in morbid fascination. He's really doing it. My hole stretches around the bottle and I hiss as it twinges. When it's in, he pulls his finger out and I relax slowly.
"You have a beer bottle in your ass," he laughs around the cigarette in his mouth. He takes it out between two fingers and exhales. Then he pushes the bottle in further and takes another drag.
My own cigarette hangs forgotten between two fingers and I put it out on the floor. I can't believe he's fucking me with a beer bottle.
"You asshole," I say.
"You like it," he grins and fucks the beer bottle in and out of my ass. He plunges it in deep and works his other hand on my cock. It feels good. The glass is warming up slowly and if it weren't for the paper label, it would be completely smooth. I've never done it with a dildo before, always seeking the real thing, hot and warm and made of flesh, but this feels good. To my own surprise I moan as he thrusts the bottle in with his usual rhythm. The hand on my cock irritates me and I don't hesitate to tell him.
"You could at least blow me."
He laughs, but is nice enough to comply. He puts his smoke out in the drawer I left open, then leans down and closes his mouth around my cock. Nice and hot, totally different from the feeling in my ass. He scrapes his teeth against the skin and I hiss, bucking my hips. He sucks me well, but it's clear he has more experience at fucking. I'm tempted to force him, to push his head down on my cock, but he's got a beer bottle in my ass and I don't want to chance it. He's an asshole, after all.
"I hope my mom doesn't come in now," I say lamely.
His reaction is immediate, and the ripples of his laughter vibrate on my cock. I voice my appreciation with loud gasps.
"Harder," I mutter. "Fuck me harder."
He does. He speeds up the rhythm, even pulls the bottle out completely, only to slide it back in a moment later. It tickles against my sensitive skin there, and all I can do to warn him before I come is to dig my fingernails into his shoulders.
When he comes up for air, he spits on the blanket in disgust. "Fuck," he complains. "You bastard." I catch my breath, waiting for my vision to become normal again, for my pulse to slow down again. I look at him, see him stare at me with narrowed eyes. "You fucking came in my mouth," he states.
"Yeah." I nod. There's still cum on his chin. He's angry about that and I almost apologize, but he takes his anger out on my ass, by sliding the beer bottle in until my ass closes around the narrow neck of it.
"Don't," I pant. "I'm sorry. It was too intense. I couldn't," I stop to watch him. The idiot is grinning. He pulls the bottle out roughly. I yelp. He throws it to the ground with two fingers and crawls on top of me. He lies on my chest and I wonder if he's gotten hard again, if he wants to fuck me, but he doesn't. I'm relieved.
"You're a good fuck, Paul," he says, clearly amused.
"You're not half bad either," I snort into his hair.
He pinches me before he rolls off lazily to stretch out next to me. I pull my leg back up and turn to him.
"I wanted to leave early this morning," I say. "I wanted to take the bus back but it was raining outside."
"I know," he says, and if it weren't for the forcibly casual shrug of his shoulders I would've believed that he wouldn't have minded either way.
"I'm glad I didn't," I tell him.
"Yeah." It's all he says. It's all he needs to say. I want to say something else, but I'm afraid it'll sound phony and fake. So I shut up and shift my head until my forehead rests against his arm. Richard's breathing is loud in the comfortable silence around us, but it lulls me back to sleep all the same.


End

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