Love, I get so lost sometimes (a Ste/Walker standalone)
Set in unspecified distant future. Ste finally takes his revenge on Walker.
Walker can be very sweet if he wants, and sometimes Ste thinks he loves him just a little bit.
He kisses his way down Ste's body like it's a delight. It makes all the sense, of course: he loves to say that Ste is made of cotton candy, of sugar, lollipops and little chocolate stars. So when Walker slides his tongue down Ste's ribs, he moans and arches his back like a good boy, his fingers clutching the headboard oh so tightly.
If he is sweet enough, maybe he'll love him just a little bit.
(Not like Brendan, though. No one will ever love him the way Brendan did.)
Walker is so good with his mouth, eager lips and skilled tongue, and crafty, crafty fingers that push Ste's legs apart. Sucking his cock is Walker's idea of foreplay, so Ste's entire body tenses obediently when he slowly cups his balls to make him ready. He always presses a tender kiss to the tip of Ste's cock before he takes him in his mouth and savours him like he's the most delicious thing he's ever eaten, and Ste starts counting, one-two-three-gasp-one-two-three-gasp.
He stabs Walker in the heart on two.
Don't get too excited: unfortunately this is not a new chapter of my Stalker series (I'll update that as soon as real life stops kicking me in the arse), but it's Stalker porn nonetheless. Set during the episode where Walker tried to kill Ste. Canon!verse, rated M.
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Steven is so very lovely across from him with his warm eyes and kind face, even as he watches Walker closely, searching for a reason to trust him; Walker knows that he will, just as he knows very many things about this boy, but that he will because they have something, a connection, an understanding. He usually pays very little attention to the people around him. They pose no threat to him and he cares very little for what they think or do.
Steven, however, is different.
And that is why Walker caresses the trigger of the gun he's holding, touches the hard material with careful fingers, seeking a distraction from his thoughts. While he waits for Steven to turn around, his mind settles on imagining other things he could be doing instead.
The gun feels firm beneath his fingers, and for a moment he considers the possibility of throwing it on the ground and take Steven inside the house. Breaking in wouldn't be a problem, and neither would be bedding the boy. He knows Steven likes him. He might be in love with Brendan, but he likes him.
Walker imagines how wonderful it would be to have him on the the Bradys' table, to be touching him instead of the gun.
To spread him out on the wood, stepping between his legs with one arm braced next to the boy's head, while the other holds his thigh, that leg around his waist, as Walker thrusts into him. He imagines the way Steven would look, short hair catching in the nicks and grooves, his neck exposed as his head tips back in pleasure, pink lips parting in a sigh or moan, hips rising to meet Walker's own movements. And he would lean down to inhale the scent of Steven. Sharp teeth would leave marks on that delectable neck, across his collarbone, down to take a nipple into his mouth to work at with tongue and teeth both.
Or maybe Walker would kneel and drag him to the edge of the table, let his legs hang over while he took Steven's cock in his mouth and brought him off that way. Licking and sucking and deep-throating him to get at him deeper with his mouth. Add a finger or two when the boy's breath hitched and his feet dug into Walker's back as he got closer and closer to his orgasm. Nip at his shaft, drink the taste of him down and lose himself in the smell of him there and the sounds he could draw forth from Steven's throat.
Then the scene shifts and Walker has him bent over the table. An arm wrapped around the boy's waist as he thrusts into him from behind, driving deeper inside of him, the other hand wrapped in his fuzzy hair, pulling his head back so he can bite at his throat.
He'd have him in all of those ways and other, Walker thinks. And then Steven would have his turn with him. No doubt the table would break under the strain of their activities, but the floor had its merits as well.
Walker fingers the gun one more time, letting the thought of warm, soft skin slide away.
Revenge is all that matters now.
They're back together and Walker feels like he can't breathe. The trees spin in a hazy circle around him, the stars mere twirls of painful light, everything just perfectly unreal like he's dreaming.
For the life of him he can't remember the last time he ever dreamed.
Everything is colorless and gone and he thinks there must be little point left to anything, because Ste was his once and now that he's Brendan's again he doesn't know what to think.
For the first time in a long time, he kills.
He stares at the body after, pressing his face into the dead flesh that lays at his feet, if only to remind him that he exists, if only to prove to himself that he's as invincible as he's always been.
And as if it's an apparition, some sort of summoning of his presence, Ste is there. He's bathed in some ethereal glow, the moonlight so soft and cold and silver on his skin. Walker wants him. He wants him more than anything right now. He wonders idly if Ste ever loved him; he wonders if he'll see the body at his feet, the sloppy kill that earned him nothing but a satisfaction.
It was only supposed to be me.
"Stephen?" He whispers his name because he thinks that he may make him disappear if he says it any louder. He doesn't know what else to say; he's at loss for words and he hates himself for vulnerability. But he loves him, he loves him.
Ste comes to him slowly. It's a steady movement, each profound footstep, each breath he breathes. It's beautiful; Walker thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, Ste's face in the moonlight and his form so real and tangible in front of him.
"Simon..."
All he had to do was open his mouth and Walker knew. He knew, but why couldn't he simply pretend? Pretending was easier. Pretending made things less tragic. He wants to grab himself and shake himself and force himself to be Simon Walker again, to say something only Simon Walker could say, to say in Walker's cold, lifeless voice,"I hate you."
"Get away from me." He doesn't want Ste near him. Go away. Leave him be. He's perfectly fine, yes, he's absolutely fucking fine. Leave him be so he can be fine without you.
Ste hesitates. The trees shadow him, dappling tiny little specks of light on him, like he's some sort of guiding star. He presses his lips together in a smooth, unnoticeable movement. "You killed again." Ste says it as if he's surprised, yet unafraid.
There is blood on Walker's teeth and on his cheeks and body, blood filling every conscious thought. He smiles at Ste, fake and wide and angry and bloody. "You were expecting any different?"
He wants to smell his fear. He wants to terrify him, so he can be reminded what it's like to be feared. So he can remember that he's still somewhat alive in the sense of everything. Ste's breath quickens and his eyes widen but he doesn't move, doesn't even take a step back.
"No. Not from you." His jaw is set and his eyes are determined but he still doesn't move, doesn't say anything else or even twitch. Everything is cold and still and tense underneath the silver glow of the moon.
"Go." He narrows his eyes and bares his teeth and hopes Ste's scared enough to leave. "I'm not afraid to kill again."
Not after how you've betrayed me.
Ste actually does move this time, but only a step closer, his mouth firmly pressed shut, his eyes watching Walker, totally unafraid and ready to handle anything. "Stop it. Stop doing that, trying to push everyone away."
Walker snarls at him, clenches his fists, wanting to hurt him and wanting to kiss him and wanting to say something else to make him go. He's vulnerable and Ste should never see him like this.
In a swift movement, he appears in front of Ste. Walker can hear him gasp, his shallow intakes of breath, and relishes in it. He relishes in his unease and presses his hand to the hollow of Ste's throat, freezing him in place. "You think I won't?" he hisses into the boy's ear. "I've killed a lot more, for a lot less. Why aren't you afraid?"
Ste swallows thickly. Walker thinks he must be the most idiotic person he's ever met. "I'm not afraid of you, Simon." He wants to believe it's a lie, but the way Ste's voice is smooth and steady and real, the way he breathes evenly, makes Walker sure he's telling the truth. He wants to scream. He wants to snap his neck and stab him in the heart and watch him bleed to death next to the corpse he already killed.
So why doesn't he do it?
"I know you." Ste continues on as if Walker's asked him to speak. "You're not this person anymore." He pauses, as if he just remembers something. "You never were, this person."
Walker presses his teeth into the soft, tanned skin of Ste's neck, enough to apply pressure but not enough to break through. There's blood smearing on his skin, there's moonlight covering it, as if he's bleeding black from a wound Walker can't see or heal.
Ste doesn't try to escape; he doesn't struggle. He is calm and stoic and poised. "I dare you," he whispers into the air, permeating a cloud of fog in front of him. "I dare you to hurt me, right now."
He can't.
I can't.
Before Ste can even say another word, breathe another breath, Walker lets go, escaping into the trees and moonlight until everything flashes by in a blur of saturated color and silver glow. He runs and runs until he can forget everything, until all he sees is red, until all he remembers is Ste's face and the moonlight and his warm eyes.
He runs until he feels nothing at all.
-
He opens his eyes to the grey ceiling of an hotel room in the middle of nowhere, his cheeks stinging like fuck and his cock hard.
Ste and Brendan are back together.
For the moment, it's all he thinks.
They're back together and Walker feels like he can't breathe. But this is not a dream, there are no woods to run to, no bloodied corpses on the ground, no Ste.
He's all alone now.
He touches his left cheek and vaguely remembers getting to a hospital to get his face stitched up. He also remembers the look of disgust on the doctor who treated him, which left him completely apathetic.
Nothing, absolutely nothing matters anymore.
Only revenge.
-
He can't believe that they're finally together.
He brushes his lips across the part of Ste's hair and whispers into his forehead, "I missed you."
In his sleep, Ste shifts restlessly, fisting a hand in Brendan's shirt and tugging him closer to himself. His breath fans on Brendan's neck as he parts his mouth just a hairbreadth to murmur, "Liar."
Through Walker's curtains, Ste's illuminated in a bit of an ethereal light, every curve and slope of his naked body drenched in silver. Brendan traces the tattoo on his hip, a freckle behind his ear, a scar just adove his upper lip. He swears he's the most beautiful he's ever been.
"I never lie." That's a lie, of course, but Ste doesn't call him on it.
The clock ticks to midnight and he ripples like water underneath Brendan, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades and eyes squeezed tightly shut. Brendan wraps his arms around his frail waist, dipping his tongue to his neck, feeling Ste's hairy legs curl around him at once.
It's in this moment, the split instant before Ste comes, that he feels infinite.
He knows it's coming when Ste whimpers his name, and in those few seconds —
"Brendan."
Ste tears the skin off his back with his nails and screams his name into his flesh and in a way, Brendan becomes his, just like Ste is always been his.
Time stops for no one, but for them, he thinks, it might go a bit slower.
-
He has to act fast.
Time stops for no one, Walker thinks, especially for someone like him.
It's a necessary evil, he tells himself. I'm doing this for him.
For us.
“Walker, Walker please! You don't have to do this. Please, I'm begging you. Think about Ste! Think about-”
Walker shoots her in the head, and then she finally shuts up.
He never likes when people beg. It makes him feel like a monster.
Which I'm not.
No one is perfect, he's simply more flawed than the rest.
And he's not a saint. He's cruel and tormented, but that's just fine with him - why shouldn't he be? He deserves the right, for, unlike Brendan, his love cannot be quenched as easily.
He's not a saint. But Ste loved him once, and he will love him again.
Yes, Walker thinks. Ste will love me again, Brendan will die, and no one will have to suffer again because of him, he tells himself.
Then he proceeds to cut off the head from the dead body that lays at his feet.
Here's the chapter! I'm pretty satisfied with the Stendan part, but the part at the end is... well, weird. It's not easy to write about a murdering psychopath who has just gone mad, believe me! Anyway, enjoy! x
P.S Once again, it's an M for sex and... uh, blood?
And he realizes after all these years, what this tug inside him is, this background ache he’s held for so long.
All he sees is Brendan. In every way.
-
Finally, it all becomes inevitable.
Brendan kisses him again, more hungrily than before, and the two of them end up on Walker's bed.
“I missed you so bad. I dreamed of you every night, Brendan, every night. I thought you were dead”, Ste says, and he sounds like he’s losing his voice, like it’s almost been choked out of him.
Brendan doesn't say anything, but he puts his mouth on Ste's again, and he kisses him deep, until their mouths are red.
“We'll talk later” he murmurs against his lips. “I need to be inside you now, Stephen.”
"Yes," Ste breathes, and then Brendan urges him to stand - undoes Ste's fly with steady hands and then drops to his knees to help get rid of Ste's pants entirely, boxers right along with them. Ste's dick is already hard at attention, and for a moment directly in Brendan's line of sight, and he thinks about taking it into his mouth to remember what it tastes like. The idea is short lived in the face of other priorities, and Ste looks dazed and eager as Brendan stands and shucks the last of his clothing, tossing it somewhere behind him and then climbing on top of the boy, settling between his legs and leaning down to kiss him deeply.
"This okay?" Brendan asks, needing to be sure. Ste nods, dragging him closer with a low growl, and it's all the coordination Brendan can muster to quickly wet two of his fingers with saliva, sliding his hand along the impossible heat between Ste's legs until he finds and carefully works them into Ste's tight entrance.
Ste's body opens for him easily, welcoming and hot as Brendan bends and scissors his fingers, working the boy slowly loose, easing more fingers gradually inside until he's all but mad with the need to drive his cock home into that incredible heat.
Then he positions himself eagerly, one hand on Ste's hip and the other steadying himself against Ste's hole. Ste's eyes are wide and dazed, his pupils dilated as his gaze locks with Brendan's, and the moment is taut with the magnitude of what they're about to do. Brendan can feel so many things in the air, all in the span of a second - need and hunger, heady desperation, but more than anything love. It expands in his chest, pulsing between them, and Brendan holds Ste's gaze, locked and steady and open, as he enters him with a measured thrust.
He stops there, barely inside, because it's too much at once. He needs a moment to collect himself, to draw back from an explosive edge that will end this too soon. Ste seems to understand, shifting minutely beneath him and threading his fingers through Brendan's hair, saying nothing with words and everything with the open warmth in his eyes.
"Okay," Brendan breathes, bracing himself on one arm and finally pressing deeper. It's tight and perfect, paradise, and all he can do to hold steady until he's got no further to go. He groans against Ste's throat, feels the rough stutter of Ste's hips beneath him as the boy adjusts to Brendan's cock, holding still and enormous inside him. Brendan forces himself to wait until he's sure Ste's ready, until Ste rocks tentatively against him, somewhere halfway between an invitation and a challenge.
Brendan tries for gentle at first, but it doesn't last long. He's waited too many months for this, wants too goddamn much, and there's no space in his head for control when Ste is moving beneath him, arching and writhing and goading Brendan into a harder pace. Brendan can feel Ste's need in his own chest, and he fucks the boy faster and deeper, ignoring the subtle burn that comes with doing this without enough lubrification. He ruts into Ste rough and hard, and the loud, fucked-out moans reaching his ears tell him that's fine by both of them.
Brendan is so close to gone, so close to the edge, and any second he's going to come - going to groan Ste's name and fill his body with the hot, slick evidence of exactly what they're doing.
"I love you so fucking much," he says in a rush, and then before Ste can say anything he starts to move faster. Frantic thrusts that make the bed shake, and Brendan closes a hand around Ste's dick. The boy doesn't protest - doesn't say much of anything because he's too busy screaming Brendan's name, coming hard in a sticky mess across his stomach and Brendan's fist. Brendan eases him down, his own thrusts gone momentarily shallow, then grabs Ste by the hips, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. It's the leverage he needs to drive deep and hard, claiming Ste's body with every thrust, until Brendan's entire world explodes in white and heat and the humming pulse of Ste's soul in his chest.
He returns to himself slowly, becoming aware by plodding degrees. The first thing he notices is the feel of Ste's fingers carding through his hair, warm and familiar and soothing. There's sweat cooling on their skin and a sticky mess between them, and Brendan shifts to pull his softening dick out of the boy's body. The movement makes Ste moan softly.
"Welcome back," Ste murmurs, voice an easy lull against Brendan's ears. "Thought you were going to fall asleep on me."
"Still might," says Brendan, chuckling softly. He feels Ste's fingers touching the scarred side of his face, and then Ste's choked voice fills the air around them.
“Did it hurt?” he asks, and Brendan swears he can feel him trembling under his body.
“Yes. But I survived. I always do” says Brendan, raising up his head to look at him in the eyes. “I've done things I'm not proud of, terrible things, but I've done them for you, and Cheryl, and my boys. I needed to come back to you.”
“We've both done terrible things to stay alive” murmurs Ste, and there's something in the way he speaks, something that makes him look almost guilty.
“But we're together now. They can't hurt us anymore, right?” Ste asks, and Brendan feels a smile spread across his face. He's boneless and sated, happy for the first time in longer than he can remember.
"Yeah," he says, threading fingers through Ste's hair. "Yeah, we're safe."
-
The moans have finally stopped.
All he can hear now is Ste's happy laughter, and Brendan's deep voice whispering something in his ear.
Love words, no doubt, Walker thinks. As if some piece of shit like him knows what love means.
No.
Brendan doesn't know how to love anybody or anything.
But I do.
I didn't move for an hour, listening to them fucking in my bed. Listening to Ste, while he screamed another man's name.
And yet I didn't kill him. Am I not loyal? Am I not kind?
There's something wet running down his face, over his mouth, over his chin.
Tears, he realises. How is it possible?
Tears are feelings. I can't cry. I've never cried once in my life.
I'm telling the truth, aren't I dad? You know how strong I am. You're the only one who saw me for who I really was.
No, I'm not crying. It's raining. It's... blood. So much blood... raining on me.
It burns.
There's something on his skin. Something... touching him. Two big hands are raking his face with sharp nails, tearing off strips of flesh and leaving deep furrows that run red with blood. He can taste it on his lips.
It hurts so much, he thinks. Why, dad, why? I gave him everything. I even told him my real name. I trusted him with my life. I thought... I thought I could make him love me. Why can't he love me, dad? Why does someone like Brendan get an happy ending, and I don't?
It's not fair. I killed for him. I would die for him. It's not fair. It's not fair.
Please, dad, please, make it stop, make it stop hurting... The white tears and the red ones are running together now, leaving his face torn and tattered, the face that his father had loved.
Walker raises his hands and watches the blood run down his long fingers, over his wrists, beneath the sleeves of his shirt. Slow red worms crawling along his arms and under his clothes.
So much blood, he thinks, but it's not enough. Soon I shall have more, much more, till I can bathe in it.
I will kill them all, dad. I will kill them all, until Ste and I are the only people left in this world.
Take me to Heaven (a short... listen, just read this shit and then tell me what it is)
Okay... I don't know what this short fic is, but I hope you perverts will be satisfied for tonight.
Summary: Walker sucks Ste's cock for the first time. Fin.
Walker never sucked cock before Ste put him on his knees.
He's a pretty little thing, that one. Bossy. Demanding. Passionate. Not that they've ever discussed it outright—not that they've discussed any of this, the want and tension that's come out of nowhere and left them aching for things people will condemn them for taking.
They may be doing this, but they're sure as hell not talking about it.
And Ste can tell Walker's never done this before (why would he? He likes to receive pleasure, not to give it) but the man is a fast learner—smart and quick and so goddamn eager to please him that Ste feels guilty just looking at him. 'Like this, my boy?' Walker's eyes ask, staring up and locked with his as the man's lips spread obscenely around Ste's cock. He gags a couple of times, and can't swallow fast enough when Ste comes, and it's messy and hot and somehow just about one of the best blowjobs Ste has ever had.
"Oh my God," Ste whispers, shaking his head to clear the lingering stars away from his vision.
Walker's evil, self-satisfied grin is all the response he needs.
Dream a little dream of me (part 6 of my Stendan/Stalker series))
Here I am! I updated the fic, like I promised! ;) Again, this an M.
I have to warn you that things might get very... crazy after this chapter. Hope you'll enjoy the ride!
When he dreams of Brendan there's blood everywhere.
It soaks into his shoes, slips along his skin, rains from the sky. Even the trees in the distance echo a dark, angry crimson along the horizon. Splotchy and bitter.
"Brendan," he says, even though he can't see him through all that red.
"Stephen," he whispers, and his voice is cool and calming. Familiar. His hand is big in his, and suddenly he's there. There in front of him, when a second ago all he could see was the emptiness of death.
"Brendan," he says again, and his eyes sting with tears—or maybe with the blood that's dripping down his face and catching in his eyelashes.
"Dance with me," he murmurs, his face clean and bright, impossibly clear in the red storm that surrounds them. Even his clothes are white.
Ste doesn't want to dance, but his feet are moving anyway. Drawing Brendan close and swaying with an imagined rhythm, burying his face in his shoulder and cursing that he can't touch him without getting the blood everywhere.
"It's okay," he says, his voice a soft whisper of reassurance as his lips move against the shell of Ste's ear. "It's okay, Stephen. I will come home to you, I promise"
When Brendan finally kisses him, it tastes like memories.
-
He wakes to the press of a cold blade to his throat.
There's a heavy body on top of him, holding him down, pinning him to the matress. Ste is half asleep and there's darkness all around him, but he can still recognize Walker's angry eyes looking down at him.
“Walker? What-”
“You said his name again. I was awake, I heard you. Were you dreaming of him?” he asks, holding the knife close to Ste's throat.
Ste doesn't flinch, and doesn't even breathe. “Yes”, he says. And what of it?
Walker lets him go, rolling on his back beside Ste, knife still in his hand. “It's okay”, he murmurs, “it's okay. He's dead, he can't take you away from me. No one can.”
Then he presses his mouth to Ste's neck, sucking lightly on his skin, and Ste hums before he can stop himself. Walker chuckles, a low rolling sound from deep in his chest, and goosebumps raise on Ste's skin, hearing it so close to his ear.
“Mine” Walker says, pressing more kisses to Ste's chest, and taking Ste's hips in his broad hands. His mouth and hands are like brands, hotter than anything Ste has ever known.
He suddenly turns his face up and gathers Ste's wrists together in an iron grip as quickly as he can. Ste manages to slip free several times and when Walker has the both of them pinned back beneath one hand they are both panting like horses after a race. Their grappling has frayed Walker's nerves and he cannot stop himself from desperately rubbing his cock against Ste's hips, shivering at the contact of Ste's skin against his own overheated flesh.
With his free hand he arranges Ste's hips to meet his, spreading his thighs widely between Ste's to grant him enough room to reach down and take himself in hand, guiding himself inside of him.
“Scream” Walker orders, as he finally, finally fucks in.
Ste can't bring himself to respond, taking great gasping breaths as Walker seats himself in the shallowest shoves he can manage. He groans, open mouthed, against Ste's collarbone when their hips connect and he can go no further. The man's panting is almost as fast as Ste's beneath him, though his is a struggle of too much pleasure rather than too much strain. When the wave recedes and Walker can think with some clarity he hooks his elbow behind one of Ste's knees and pulls it up, folding Ste beneath him and giving the boy no leverage to retreat from him.
He starts to thrust, and the pleasure, though long delayed, is simply exquisite.
Ste jostles beneath him, bent nearly in half and still restrained at the wrists. "I can't breathe," he whines.
"And yet you speak," Walker says, biting his neck. He lessens the angle of Ste's leg a scant few degrees, and shoves his hips forward again. And then again.
"Animal," Ste tries to say, but it's broken with the force of Walker's thrusts. He doesn't try to speak further through the steady slap of Walker's body against his.
"Cum," Walker says, feeling his own orgasm closer, "Ste-" He might have begged had Ste made him wait any longer to feel the sudden spill of Ste's seed across his stomach.
With a sigh, Walker lets himself go, hips moving as hard and as fast as they're able. The pleasure of each thrust hits him like physical blows, echoing through his entire body, down to his toes, to the top of his head. Walker's breath catches in his throat as he slams headlong into his climax, fucking twice more before staying buried to the hilt. Ste does not hold or soothe him, and he certainly whispers no “I love you”, but he lets Walker push his face into his throat and groan as he is worn out and drained.
Ste is left with almost nothing, no thought, no strength, no words. He is happy simply to rest and be aware of only the lingering tremors of pleasure in his body, the pounding of his blood in his veins.
Brendan's face is the last thing he sees behind his eyelids before sleep claims him once again.
-
A sudden noise - like the slamming of a door - wakes him again in the morning, and he begins to panic when he realises that Walker has already left the house and went to town for one of his dodgy dealings.
He wickly gets dressed and takes Walker's knife from the bedside table, walking slowly into the kitchen.
When Brendan appears, there isn’t any noise. Ste’s ears don’t pop. There isn’t a shush or displacement of air.
He’s there. And he’s bruised. Half of his left ear is gone, and the right side of his face is scarred. His moustache still covers his top lip, and he still has the bluest eyes Ste's ever seen, but everything else about him is different. He seems older. Tired. And shocked.
“Stephen” he says, and Ste can see his hands shaking.
Why is he shaking? Ste thinks. Why would a dream shake?
“It's the second time you've visited me, tonight. Trouble in paradise?” Ste asks, smiling softly.
“Wha-? What do you mean?” the dream asks, beginning to walk towards him.
I can smell him. How is it possible? And why is he scarred?
“You're a dream, aren't you? … aren't you?” Ste murmurs, ugly, fat tears rolling down his cheeks when he feels Brendan touching his face. It's not possible. It's not real.
“I'm real. I'm alive. And I came back for you” Brendan says, pressing his forehead against Ste's, bringing their bodies together.
Ste rubs a thumb over the bruise on Brendan’s face and Brendan goes quiet, eyes flaring.
“I love you” Ste says, clutching his face in his little trembling hands. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I never stopped, believe me. Please, Brendan, believe me”.
And Brendan nods. And says, “I know. That's why I came back.”
The two of them are the only light anywhere in the darkest night of the year.
Ste fits his mouth over Brendan’s and that’s not a candle.
It's not the man, it's the sun (part 5 of my Stendan/Stalker series)
Hallo.
So here's another one shot for you little perverts Stalker/Stendan fans. Once again, it's an M. But there's some character study, so forgive me if I didn't have the time to describe the exact length of Walker's cock ;) Also, as you may have noticed Ste has gone into a deep depression, so the fic is a little weird. Hope you'll like it! x
P.S Brendan's back in the next chapter. HELLS YEAH!
Walker's eyes are like coins when he says Ste's name, and his mouth tastes like metal.
-
One day a man fell in love with a blue-eyed boy, but it only lasted a day. Which was a good thing, looking back, that he got out so early, before the boy's eyes went dead.
-
The bottle’s brand new. Ste takes a drink.
-
Walker watches him all day, eyes shining like a jewel, but Ste knows he’s broken, shot through with cracks and flaws, and he’s worthless. But so is he and he’s never been a jewel, not even named after one.
There’s something akin to pity in his eyes and Ste doesn’t want to see it. Walker has no reason to feel sorry for him.
Until he catches him alone, when Ste can't defend himself, and says, “You’re having nightmares.”
“You’re here. So yeah, nightmares,” Ste says, spreading his hands, “you’re the stuff of my nightmares.”
“You talk so pretty to all the boys?”
“Only you.”
“I’m flattered, sweetheart, really,” he says. Ste’s leaning against the wall, waiting on Amy to move her ass, and Walker’s walked right out of the shadows.
“So, what are you still doing in the village? You kissed me, fucked me. I don't have anything else to give. There's nothing for you here” Ste asks, crossing his arms, ingrained need to protect the chest. Walker tilts his head, and the pity’s changed to something new, something calculating, like in the past when he’d try to measure him up, like he wants to know what Ste’s made of.
Walker should know now, since Ste’s come back from Hell. Or maybe he hasn't.
“Nightmares,” he says again, thoughtfully, biting his lip, swaying a little as he steps closer, steps cautious, and he’s sleek black under the sun, leather and boots and and a new jacket.
He still dresses the same, though darker, as if the last few months have deepened him, and Ste thinks he can understand that.
-
The nightmares are constant, and sometimes he’s dreaming awake, seeing things superimposed on the world, negatives scarred and warped and distorted.
Like he’s burning the world down.
He’ll be walking, dust on the road, Brendan by his side, looking hopelessly happy to be with him, and he thinks.
If the nightmares go away, if he gets used to this, everything that’s imprinted on him, what does that make him.
If the nightmares go away, is he like Walker, in every way that counts.
Walker is there again, when they stop, black in the daylight, like a sunspot, a destructive solar flare.
-
Walker says, “You'll get through all this pain, Ste. And I know you like pain.”
He shakes his head, and Ste doesn’t trust him, never has, never will, but he chances enough to put his back to him because he has the power and right now, Walker’s got nothing. And that’s why he keeps talking.
“You haven’t slept,” Walker says, and then his hand’s on Ste's shoulder, tugging on his collar, fingertips warm on his neck and he shrugs him off, why is he even here.
“I haven’t slept in years,” Ste says.
-
Walker's eyes are like glass when he says Ste's name, and his mouth tastes like blood.
-
The bottle’s half gone. Ste takes a drink.
-
Walker kisses like malice aforethought, lasciviously and without hesitation.
And Ste’s holding him tight, as if he can murder him, squeeze the breath from him like any other man, but he’s kissing him back.
Ste doesn't use his teeth, but Walker does. He does, low on his belly, and Ste shakes underneath him.
-
Walker pins his wrists down because he knows what Ste’s capable of.
But he doesn’t cover his mouth, and Ste says please, he says his name, over and over, as if he’s invoking, calling down something terrible.
-
Walkeris covered in a sheen of sweat, but everywhere they touch the press of Ste's skin is refreshing. He rubs his forehead against Ste's cheek to cool it. He counts it a victory that Ste doesn't shove him away, only keeps huffing small breaths out with every thrust while doing a poor job of keeping his hips from rocking minutely under Walker. As heat begins to build even higher within him Walker raises himself up from Ste's throat to search his face, but Ste's head is turned into the sheets.
"Look at me," he demands breathlessly.
Ste only curses him, words muffled. He doesn't appear the least bit chastened when Walker fucks him harder for the insult.
Walker then chooses to let go both of Ste's wrists so that he can fully brace himself against the bed with both arms. Ste's hands fly immediately, landing first on Walker's shoulders, digging his nails into the skin, not so much scratching at his sweaty skin as tearing at it. Walker hisses but doesn't stop his thrusts or want to. Ste's thighs squeeze around his middle painfully tight and Walker groans as his breath is pushed from his lungs. Yet again he bites his teeth into Ste's skin, this time into the meat of his shoulder.
-
Ste's eyes blink open, and Walker wonders if he will ever stop being startled at their blue color. Ste scowls under Walker's scrutiny and pulls meanly at his long hair. As before Walker's hips snap faster and harder, his own eyes shutting at the feel of it, burying himself so far, and Ste keens out as quietly at the back of his throat and pulls again. Walker grunts and obliges him, thrusting hard enough that the bed and its heavy frame starts to scrape slightly on the floor.
"This is what you really are," Ste says. His voice is rough and broken, but he forms his words carefully, determined to be heard. "Strip away the threats and the smirks and you're just an animal, a groaning, sweating, selfish, stupid-"
Ste cuts off with a cry and Walker looks between their bodies and sees that one of Ste's hand has reached down and Ste has taken himself in his hand. The knowledge that Ste is taking his own pleasure makes Walker's hips stutter their rhythm, rolling in tight circles as he tries to bury himself as deep as possible.
Cocky even now Ste insists, "I don't belong to you." Then he moans and the sound feels like velvet sliding over Walker's weak control.
"Cum," Walker orders, and once again Ste obeys.
-
"You think of Brendan when you're with me," Walker says, "I know," and the way he says it, the cadence slipping easy along his jaw, he's said it before, but not to Ste.
Ste knows. He can hear it.
The sheets aren’t white and they aren’t gray, but something in between.
Walker's eyes follow him as he rolls out from under his hands and searches for his clothes.
-
Ste thinks he will go the the Bradys' abandoned house later on tonight, and he wonders if he'll smell of Walker when he does.
-
“This isn’t about him,” Walker says.
“Sure it isn’t,” Ste says, because he thinks it is, most things are about Brendan, especially with him and Walker, but next to him in the bed, Ste feels his body heat, like he’s furious.
Walker rises on his knees and leans over him, avenging and burning dark.
“No,” he insists, hissing, fingers splayed below Ste's throat, nails digging into his skin.
And Ste sees something in his face, ripped and caught, as if he’s found a kindred spirit.
As if he’s what Walker recognizes.
-
Walker forgot his gun on the nightstand, right within his reach, Ste’s too.
Walker sees it, and raises naked from the sheets to pick it up.
It could kill them both, after all it’s a gun, so Ste catches him fast, since they don’t trust each other, and Walker puts his mouth on Ste's, lets go of the gun.
Ste flips it in his hand, pointing it right at the man's chest, tip pressing on his skin, and Walker's long fingers wrap around Ste's wrist.
"You gonna kill me?" Walker asks, and the shadows black out his eyes, which turn dark. "The police will ask."
"The police won't care," Ste says. I don't care.
He drops the gun, hears it hit the ugly beige carpet.
Then he straddles Walker, hand between his own legs to guide him, and hears him say, "I've saved your life before. Don't you remember?"
"Like you're in the business of going around saving people. A regular Mother Theresa."
Sliding, tight, warm, Ste impales himself on him, watches Walker's eyes open wide and startled, before he says, "Do you want me to save you again, Stephen?" He laughs like he isn't used to it.
Ste covers his face with his left hand and keeps on fucking him, but Walker never stops laughing.
-
The bottle’s almost empty. Ste takes a drink.
-
It isn't about Brendan.
-
Walker presses him against the wall, big muscolar frame, and Ste stands on tiptoe to kiss him.
Walker doesn’t say a word, just watches him with that clean-cut darkness hiding somewhere in his eyes, but at least it’s not pity.
He shakes and sighs, and he might be faking it, but he’s done it before and he’ll do it again, and so will Ste.
He’s not sure what’s real and what’s a nightmare anymore anyway.
So he wraps his legs around him and hums under his breath and Walker's hand is in his hair when he falls asleep.
But it never lasts.
-
And he says nightmares, with his teeth white against the blood-red of his lip.
And he says Stephen.
-
One day a man fell in love with a blue-eyed boy, but it only lasted a day. Which was a good thing, looking back, that he got out so early, before the boy's eyes went dead.
-
Walker's eyes are like ashes when he says Ste's name, and his mouth tastes like the end of it all.
