An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“I can help you.” Jim whispered and for a moment he saw amusement flicker over the other’s features. Amusement and anger. There was a ‘what’re you gonna do’ on Brian’s tongue and Jim could practically feel it but it never left his lips.
Sometimes, Jim thinks that Brian does it on purpose.
He sits in the California sun on their porch with nothing but Jim’s too-big button up and a pair of shorts that are riding up to mid-thigh. Jim swallows thickly as the sun beams down on sun-kissed skin, and Brian lets out a sigh that’s half sex-moan. Brian isn’t doing this on purpose, Jim knows, because when Brian’s trying to seduce someone (namely Jim) it’s either much more coy or much more blatant. Brian’s sincerely just enjoying their day off and the heaven that is the spring sun and light breeze. But with Brian just so.. just so inviting like that, it’s about all Jim can do to clear his throat and hope his book is covering enough because this is endless teasing material.
Covered in blood and getting a blowjob from Jim amirite
Cause I may be bad, but I’m perfectly good at itSex in the air, I don’t care, I love the smell of itSticks and stones may break my bonesBut chains and whips excite me
Brian’s shirt was more red than white when they stumbled into the back alley, the door closing behind them to cut off the noises from everyone else. A bar fight, of all fucking thing. An out-of-towner who was dumb enough to confront Brian after he was wiped out at pool, only to get violent once Brian started mouthing off. Jim had tried to break them up, but he wasn’t quick enough to stop the guy from laying a few solid punches on Brian’s face. They were kicked out soon after, but since Brian and him were both regulars, they were only told off for the night.
And Jim had been so looking forward to a quiet night to unwind.
He scowled, wishing that he hadn’t stopped smoking because he could use a cigarette right about now. “Jesus fucking Christ, Bri. You could’ve just given the dumbass his money back.”
"Fair’s fair," Brian muttered, slumped against the opposite wall. His right eye had started to swell and it wasn’t a pretty sight. "Should’ve heard the shit he said to me, Jimbo. Kept askin’ how much for a night. Wanted to know if I’m any good at cocksucking." His grin turned savage. "He should’ve asked you, huh?”
Jim clenched his jaw, molars grinding and cut through the distance between them with war drums thumping inside his head. He had always been the more level-headed one between them but Brian, that beautiful arrogant fuck—
Brian had always known which buttons to push.
He palmed that slender neck once they were close enough, nails digging into paper-thin skin and corded muscles. There were bruises there that didn’t belong, that wasn’t from Jim and he wanted nothing more than to carve new ones to replace them.
But that could wait.
Later.
Jim dropped to his knees and pressed his palms over Brian’s thighs, spreading them for better access. His nails left angry red lines over fair skin in his impatience and Brian laughed through blood-lined teeth, wet and gleeful, which only served to sharpen the edge of his temper. Jim ripped his jeans down, left it to dangle just over his knees and took a moment to marvel over the fact that Brian had gone commando.
The next second, he swallowed him down without a word.
Brian was hot and heavy on his tongue, fattening even further as Jim started to suck in earnest. There were fingers in his hair, tugging just this side of painful and Brian had started cursing in between the hatchet sound of that ugly, wheezing laugh. His teeth scraped along Brian’s cock where his tongue had lapped seconds before and when he bit down, Brian jerked forward with a hoarse cry. Stuffed himself so far down Jim’s throat that he nearly gagged. Jim curled his hands on the sharp cut of Brian’s hipbones and shoved him back, used his bulk to keep Brian pinned against the wall as he bit down again.
Brian’s keening wail when he came made Jim’s own cock twitch inside the confines of his pants.
He swallowed. Dragged the back of one hand across his mouth as he got off his knees, riding high on whatever brand of fucked up triumph there was for someone who’d just given his boyfriend a blowjob instead of first aid. Brian’s fingers curled around the collar of Jim’s shirt and he dragged him down, crushed their mouths in a harsh kiss that tasted like blood and come. Jim ground against him, tight and painful, so hard that he felt seconds away from imploding.
But Brian was pushing him away, eyes wild and ringed with filthy promises as he staggered towards the end of the alley. Nearly fell down when he forgot that he had his jeans locked around his knees and would’ve kissed the ground if it weren’t for Jim.
"My hero," Brian crooned in his arms, batting those gold-tipped eyelashes obnoxiously. "My big, strong cowboy~"
Jim heaved him up and slapped his ass hard. A reminder that he wasn’t in the mood to fuck around. Not now. “C’mon, Gamble. I’m not gonna carry you home.”
Brian tucked himself in and Jim eyed the soft cock nestled in short, curly pubic hair until it disappeared behind the zipper. He looked up and met Brian’s eyes, startled by the molten heat he found there and the answering call inside his own veins. Brian’s tongue darted out to swipe over the cut on his lower lip and he didn’t look away when he purred, “Lead the way, captain.”
i am going to stab the softest part of your thigh with a fork
When Jim came back from a long shift that ended with a full-blown argument with Fuller, the last thing he wanted was to get roped into whatever shenanigans Brian had planned. It was a well-planned ambush, befitting Brian’s brand of crazy genius and his complete disregard for conventional means, and Jim only realised his mistake when he walked into the living room.
His eyes swept from the row of candles on the mantlepiece, to the heap of blankets in front of the fireplace and finally landed on the lithe, muscled body all stretched out on said blankets. Brian wore nothing else but those dark-grey boxer briefs that seemed to have some sort of a magical quality to make his ass looked utterly fantastic, as well as a cheshire grin plastered all over his face.
He looked like something that had stepped right out of Jim’s wet dreams and he fucking knew it.
Jim took a wary step forward. His bag slipped from his shoulder and he distantly heard it thunk onto the floor. “…What did you do?”
Brian’s lips twisted into a pout, muscles rippling as he leaned back on his elbows. His eyes flashed quicksilver in the low light. “Am I not allowed to surprise my hardworking, heroic boyfriend? You’re out there all day, saving the world one scum at a time, so I thought you deserved a treat. You don’t like it?”
"You’re so full of shit," Jim said without much heat as he sank to his knees, hands propped up with Brian in between so that he was hovering over the smirking bastard. "Please tell me you didn’t stash a DB in our kitchen or something."
"It’s romantic that you think of homicide when you look at me," Brian purred, his own hands curling around Jim’s neck in one sinuous move. "Sweetheart.”
The sudden weight made Jim lower himself further, knees slip-sliding on the blankets and he cursed when he flopped on top of Brian. Laughter rang in between their tangled limbs and it was too much of a temptation to resist, especially for a guy who had been stuck at the precinct for ungodly hours with someone as vile as Fuller. He tilted Brian’s face and surged forward to seal his mouth over those laughing lips, tongue licking his way inside and made Brian spill those breathless, needy noises that sent sheer want blistering along the length of Jim’s spine.
He was nudged away after a couple of minutes and Brian mouthed at his neck, mumbled words that Jim didn’t catch.
"What?"
"I said," Brian bit his bottom lip, always good at playing coy even when they both knew he was everything but. "I’ve got one more surprise waiting for you."
Jim narrowed his eyes. “You better not be proposing a threesome again because I meant what I said last time.”
Brian opened his mouth, probably about to make a snarky remark over Jim’s continuous refusal to share when a faint bark came from the general direction of the kitchen. They stared at each other for several seconds, Jim tight-lipped and Brian a little sheepish, before a string of barks chased the first solitary one.
Brian grinned with all teeth. “Surprise?”
"You bought a dog."
"Not me. We did.”
Jim was pretty sure that he should be angry. A dog was an added responsibility. Vet bills. Walks. Food. Training. He could barely keep up with Brian as it was.
He should be angry, but he wasn’t. Odd. It was mostly fond exasperation that made him ask, “What’s its name?”
"I thought I’d wait for you." There’s something soft and unguarded in those green, green eyes when he looked at Jim and it made him find Brian’s hand, twined their fingers together. "Since he’s ours."
He exhaled noisily. “Okay. I’m gonna go along with this, as long as you promise there won’t be anymore surprises until our ten year anniversary. At least.”
Brian rolled his hip up against Jim’s jeans-clad bulge, mischief in the curl of his lips. “Even the sexy ones?”
Biting back the groan that bubbled in his throat, he made a show of considering that for a moment. “Alright, I’m gonna greenlight the sexy ones. But only because you asked so nicely.”
Title: Throb
Fandom: S.W.A.T (2003 movie), Street/Gamble
Summary: “You’re real.” He whispered. “I’m not dreaming, Brian, am I?”
“Hey.” Jim nuzzled his nose into the short blonde hair.
The man in his arms responded by mumbling and turning so he could bury his face in Jim’s bare chest. “Sleep.” He muttered, and Jim chuckled, pressing gentle kisses onto the crown of his head and his forehead. “Jimbo.” He whimpered. “I’m sleepy.”
“It’s past midday, Bri.” Jim nuzzled lower, biting along Brian’s jawline. “You gonna let the day all waste away?” Brian nodded in his arms and Jim chuckled, tugging Brian up to place baby kisses on his lips. Brian flicked his tongue out and Jim caught it gently between his teeth, tugging it out and swallowing it past his own lips. Brian tried to push him back, but Jim chuckled and sucked on his tongue. “Come on, babe. Let’s get up.”
Brian whined. “Boo you.” Nonetheless, he came along as Jim managed both of them out of the bed and into the shower. Jim managed to get them both through it without traumatic head injuries – Brian had a tendency of flopping himself in Jim’s arms in the shower – and coaxed Brian dry and out into the kitchen. “Don’t wanna cook.”
“I’ll get something done.” Jim suggested, getting up to dig in the fridge, but Brian caught his sleeve, looking suddenly alert. “What?”
“The last time you cooked something, you set half the kitchen on fire. And you were just boiling water for ramen. I’ll make us something.” Brian grumbled as he stretched, yawning before he made his way over to the fridge. He sighed and dug out a carton of eggs and grabbed the bag of rolls from the top of the fridge, and soon Jim smelled sausages and eggs cooking.
Within minutes Brian was pushing a plate in his direction, and Jim tugged Brian over so they were hanging off the same chair. Brian laughed and complained, moving so he was sitting on Jim’s lap. Jim pushed his arms under Brian’s, holding him and burying his face in Brian’s back. “You aren’t eating?”
“When you’re done.” Jim replied, resting his chin on Brian’s shoulder. “Or you could feed me over your shoulder.” He could practically hear Brian roll his eyes, but Brian leaned backward into him, and Jim felt the way Brian’s cheeks moved as he chewed, and felt the movement of taut muscles as Brian fed him over his shoulder.
Brian suddenly froze. “Hey, Jimbo.” Brian’s hand lowered and Jim felt Brian’s gun-calloused fingers rub the back of his hand. “What… what’s this scar?”
Jim frowned. “Scar?”
“Yeah, this – when did you get this? I swear that wasn’t there yesterday.” Brian twisted on his lap and showed Jim his hand. Jim stared. The back of his hand was heavily scarred over, like someone had stabbed him in the hand. “Jim?” Brian’s voice sounded worried, but Jim couldn’t look up. “Jim, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Jim closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Brian’s waist. He buried his face in Brian’s neck and breathed in Brian’s scent, clean and soapy from the shower but still Brian. “You’re real.” He whispered. “I’m not dreaming, Brian, am I?”
--
Jim’s eyes snapped open. His hand throbbed intensely and Jim grunted, reaching blindly for the pills on his bedside. He swallowed two pills dry and fell back down onto his pillows, waiting for the throbbing his in hand to fade. The bed beside him was cold. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, Brian.” He threw his arm out onto the other side of the bed.
He got up, swaying for a moment before he steadied himself and trudged to the shower. It was 4AM, and he had 2 hours before his shift started, but it wasn’t like he could go back to sleep anymore. He turned the water to scalding hot before stepping under it, not even bothering to peel his clothes off. He slid down to the floor and stayed there, curled up in a ball until the water went from scalding to icy.
When he dragged himself to the precinct, Sanchez greeted him with, “You look like shit, Street.” He managed a wave in her direction and all but collapsed at his desk. He’d always missed Brian’s incessant talking since he’d left the force, but now it swallowed him in an ominous silence that he couldn’t ignore. He glanced at Brian’s empty desk. No one had cleaned it out, and Brian’s messy scrawl was still all over the notebook he’d been doodling in before they were called out for the hostage situation.
He stood up and sat at Brian’s desk, his fingers tracing over everything. He picked up the notebook and couldn’t help but snort laughter when he saw ‘James Street is a dumbass motherfucker who isn’t getting any tonight’. Brian had made various patterns with his blue pen over the rest of the page, but the words were at the center, bolded, underlined and circled multiple times. The rest of the pages also had doodles, all related to Jim. Sometimes Brian had drawn a surprisingly good portrait of Jim. Sometimes he’d written Jim’s name all over his paper in different graffiti style. Sometimes Brian had an angry rant about Jim and his ‘complete inability to read any sort of emotion’.
He wasn’t even aware he was crying until drops fell onto the paper. He blinked his tears back and gingerly closed the notebook. He dragged a box over and packed it with Brian’s things. Most of them were filled with traces of both of them. Jim even found a box of condoms and couldn’t help but blush at the memory of getting caught in the bathroom by Boxer.
“You think he went to hell?”
Jim looked up to find Sanchez, looking down at him with an unreadable expression on her face. She helped him pack up the rest of Brian’s things, and he shook his head. “No.” He rubbed his temples. “No, I don’t think so.”
Sanchez didn’t push the subject, and Jim crumbled back into his seat.
--
“Hurts.” Brian whispered, and Jim stilled.
He kissed down Brian’s neck, beaded with sweat. “Relax for me.” Brian’s legs quivered around him, and Jim nibbled down his chin, flicking his tongue against the cleanly shaven chin. He started to move slowly and Brian gasped, tightening his legs around his waist. Jim pushed a hand under Brian’s waist, angling him for better access.
They weren’t noisy during sex – it was mostly pants and soft moans and grunts, and their bed was pliant and silent underneath them – but hands roamed, tongues swiped and lips kissed. Jim thought their windows would fog up if the room was smaller, the way both of them were breathing so hard. Even though they weren’t vocal, the room was filled with sounds that Jim thought were even more arousing – the sound of skin slapping skin as he thrust into Brian, the sound of lips sucking, the sound of sheets rustling.
He reached between them and stroked Brian to completion, and Brian whimpered lowly as he came, digging his teeth into Jim’s shoulders and clamping tightly around Jim. Jim wasn’t long after, and he nibbled on Brian’s earlobe as he continued with his thrusting even as he came. “How are you?” Jim asked, pulling the towel nearby to pat Brian’s stomach down.
“Deliciously fucked out.” Brian responded, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He wiggled when Jim pulled out and started wiping him clean. “So how’d you get this thing, anyway?” Brian took Jim’s scarred hand and flicked his tongue at the scar. “It must have been when I wasn’t with you on shift. I would have remembered.”
Jim kissed his nose. “Something like that. I can’t really remember.”
Brian clicked his tongue and kissed the wound. “This is why you should always be with me. Don’t go on shifts without me anymore. I’m like your lucky charm.”
“My guardian angel,” Jim agreed. He kissed Brian’s nose again and watched Brian frown sadly over the wound. “I love you, Bri.”
Brian looked up, a bright smile on his face. “Yeah, babe. Me too.”
--
“It’s like you’re living in a dream.” Boxer told him one day. His arm was in a sling after Brian had shot him in the shoulder, but he was up and about.
Jim looked up from cleaning his gun out. “You think that’s possible? Like that movie.” He put his rifle down and stared at it. It was Brian’s, actually. It fit his hand like it was meant to, and it felt more comfortable than his own did. “I see him every night.” Jim buried his face in his hands, closing his eyes.
Boxer sat next to him. “You mean Gamble?”
“Who else?” Jim laughed emptily, and then sighed. “Fuck, I miss him.” Jim laughed sadly again. “Fuck that.” His hand started to throb. “I killed him.” The throb intensified, and Jim cradled his hand. He wanted to throw up and rampage and cry and punch something all at the same time. “Fuck, I loved him so much.”
Boxer leaned back onto the wall behind them. “Yeah, I know you did. You two were some pair.”
“You don’t hate him?” Jim said, leaning back like Boxer was doing. “For shooting you.”
Boxer’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Nah. You and I both know what a shot he is, Street. He could’ve shot me dead, but he didn’t. I’m not thankful he shot me, but I don’t hate him for it. I get he was pissed off at Fuller.” Boxer sneaked a glance. “At you.”
Jim stared at his still-bandaged hand. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “At me.”
--
“Bri. Are you angry at me?”
Brian frowned down at him. They were sprawled on the couch, with Jim’s head on Brian’s lap. Brian’s hand had been threading through Jim’s hair, and Jim nuzzled into his hand. “What?” Brian scowled. “Why would I be mad at you?”
Jim sighed. “I dunno. Just.” He sat up and pulled Brian over onto his lap, burying his face in Brian’s chest. “If I’m gone, Bri, would you miss me?”
Brian flinched, and then stiffened. “Are you – are you leaving?” He tried to lift Jim’s face up from his chest.
“No, no.” Jim said, holding Brian tighter. “I’d never leave you. Never. I was just wondering. I was just thinking.” He swallowed thickly and felt his heart thrum in his chest. “I’m so sorry.” He let Brian lean back. Brian looked confused. “You were always there for me, Bri. Always put me first, always trusted me. But I – I put myself first and didn’t even realize what I’d done wrong. I was so selfish that I was mad at you for leaving when I was the one who pushed you away.”
Brian’s hand rubbed his cheek and he shifted on Jim’s lap. “Jimbo, what’re you talking about?” His expression was tender. “You’ve never pushed me away. I never left. I’m right here.”
Jim smiled at Brian and tears threatened to spill. “Bri, I killed you. I betrayed you and pushed you away and killed you. This is my dream.” Brian’s hand froze. “You knew that, baby, didn’t you? Of course you did. You always knew everything. I just wanted it all to be a lie. I was hoping that you’d be here, with me.”
Brian was stroking his scarred hand again. “Jimmy.” He smiled sadly, gently kissing the scarred hand. “You didn’t kill me. I did it to myself.”
Jim held him tighter. “I pushed you away. If Fuller told you to stay without me, you would have flipped him off and laughed in his face. I thought only for myself and didn’t even realize how much I’d wronged you until – until now. I yelled at you for leaving me after 5 years of being partners and in the end I never did get that it was me, after all. Baby, I’m so sorry.”
Brian hummed in his throat and leaned into him, resting their foreheads together. “I’m dead.” Brian said, and Jim flinched. “Nothing can change that, Jim. Stop blaming yourself. You did what was only necessary. I always loved you, you know. Even when I gave you this scar. But you need to wake up.”
Jim sought out Brian’s lips and Brian smiled through the kiss. “You’re real.”
Brian laughed. “I don’t know. Who knows? But I’ll be here.” Brian’s hand ghosted along the scar on Jim’s hand. “Stop hurting. It hurts me when you’re in pain.”
--
Jim woke up to the sound of cliché birds and the feeling of morning sun on his face. His bandaged hand was thrown to the side Brian had used to sleep in, and the warm sunlight on the side warmed his entire arm. On a whim, he unwrapped the bandages around his hand and stared.
The wound had been bleeding, still open just yesterday when the doctor had redressed it. But a clean hand stared back at him, wound scarred over and completely closed. He laughed as he fell back onto the sheets, his fingers sliding over the warm sheets on the other side.
Title: Relief vs. Happiness
Fandom: SWAT (2003 Movie), Street/Gamble
Summary: For the prompt,
Was just wondering if you could do another h/c for street/gamble? Maybe sick/injured Gamble and caring Street?
Notes: It wasn't really h/c LOL IT TURNED OUT TO BE MORE FLUFF BUT OTL Please enjoy reading <3
--
“Hang in there, Bri.” Jim’s teeth chatters, and he clenches his jaws to keep them still. “Hang in there, baby.” He cuts away the blood-soaked cloth and tries to tell himself that everything is going to be fine. He’s seen men shot before, in all sorts of places.
But it’s not going to be fine. This is Brian Gamble. Brian doesn’t get shot. He’s supposed to be a jackass, annoying the shit out of everyone with his higher-than-thou intelligence and snark. He’s supposed to be Jim’s boyfriend, smiling that bright, crooked smile at him.
Brian grips at his hand weakly. “Hurts.” He rasps, before he coughs and wheezes and blood splatters down his lips. Jim’s hands are trembling as he cuts away the shirt. There’s a messy hole oozing blood, right in the middle of Brian’s chest. It’s missed Brian’s heart, obviously, but from what Jim can tell from the wheezing it’s punctured a lung.
“You’re going to be fine.” Jim says, and Brian nods sluggishly. “You’re going to be okay.” He repeats, and his hands shake as he traces the wound. Brian winces. The bullet’s still lodged in there, Jim can tell. It’s the worst kind of wound, messy with the bullet still embedded, most likely still inside the lung. The flesh is raw and Brian whimpers when Jim’s fingers brush against the ragged wound.
He tears apart his own shirt, making strips as long as he can. He doesn’t have water or fire or – anything. He has nothing. Even the radio is dead. But he can’t sit here and let Brian bleed to death. He kisses Brian’s forehead tenderly. “I won’t let you die, Bri. You know that.” He promises, and Brian only nods again, his eyes fluttering and fighting to stay open. “Don’t sleep, baby.” Jim begs, pulling Brian closer as gently as possible. “Keep your eyes open for me, Gamble. Don’t go to sleep.”
Jim pulls the torn strips as tightly around Brian’s torso as possible. Brian cries out when the bullet inside is jostled and Jim presses too hard on the raw wound, but Jim grits his teeth and lets the cries of pain tear into his heart. “Sorry.” Jim whispers, wiping away the cold sweat that forms on Brian’s forehead. It leaves a streak of blood. “I’m so sorry.”
He moves downward, to Brian’s leg, and winces at the calf that bends where it isn’t supposed to. His hands are shaking, and Brian whimpers when Jim’s hands brush on the injury. “I’m going to set it, Bri. It’s going to hurt more if I leave it alone.”
Brian shudders but says nothing, so Jim pulls off Brian’s gloves so Brian can bite down on it. He doesn’t count down – from his experience that’s just even worse – but Brian lets out a shrill cry as Jim wrenches the bone back to normal, which ends up in choking and coughing and blood splattering over his chin again, and Jim feels his chest tear into pieces again.
“I’ll kill him, Bri.” Jim promises, pushing an arm under Brian’s knees and shoulders. “I’ll kill him, but you gotta stay alive to see him die.”
Brian doesn’t have the energy to cry out anymore. He falls limply against Jim’s chest as he stands. They’re in the middle of a fucking desert, and he doesn’t know which direction is which.
But he starts walking anyway, clutching Brian to his chest.
--
“Hey.”
Jim blinks twice, and then shoots upward. Boxer puts up his hands. “Easy.” Boxer says, pointing to the IV in Jim’s arm. “You’re in a hospital in Los Angeles. Do you know who I am?”
“Where’s Brian?”
“Okay, fine, that works, too.” Boxer sighs, running a hand through his short hair. “Gamble’s in surgery.” He glances at Jim. “You walked back home.” He says dryly. “You walked over fifty miles. In the desert. Carrying a half-dead person.”
Jim swallows. “Is Brian…”
Boxer sighs again. “He’s alive. In surgery, like I said. Been in surgery for a hell of a long time. You’ve been out for about 10 hours, Street. Severe dehydration and fatigue. You must’ve walked for over 15 hours. We all thought you were dead. TJ saw Gamble get shot, and when you two didn’t show up at rendezvous…”
Jim nods, and then tries to get off the bed. He can’t – his body won’t respond no matter what he wills his legs to do. “I want to see Brian.” He says, and Boxer stares.
“He’s in surgery.” Boxer repeats. “You can’t. Listen, Street. He’s – he wasn’t in – the nurses said he might be too far gone.”
“Take me to the surgery room, then.” Jim grits his teeth. “Brian won’t leave me, Boxer.”
--
Jim spends the next few hours in a wheelchair that Boxer manages to secure, ignoring all the complaints the nurses are giving him. Boxer just nods at whatever they say and sends them on their way.
It’s not until much later and the nurses have given up on them that the in surgery sign blinks off. The doctor takes a look at Jim and sighs. It’s a familiar face – Jim and Brian has seen her all the time when they come in for injuries from SWAT. “You should be resting.”
“I’m as rested as I can be,” Jim growls back. “How is he?”
The doctor glares at him. She takes off her mask and lets it hang off one ear, penning something on a clipboard, sighs and looks up at Jim. “Not good. We got the bullet out, but it took a while and he lost a lot of blood. It punctured his left lung and the bullet got embedded in the back wall, and the wound got badly infected.” The doctor sighs. “You set his leg, right? You did a good job doing it. His leg is the least of our problems. Listen, Jim.” She rubs her forehead. “He might not make the night. You have to be prepared for the worst. Go see him. He’s in ICU, room number 5.”
--
“Shit,” Boxer says. “Shit.”
Jim says nothing and sits next to Brian. Brian’s a mess. He’s pale, his eyes are sunken, and his lips are blue. His face is a mess of bruises and cuts that Jim couldn’t have even known about in the dark, but an oxygen mask is covering most of it. Even his arms are covered in bandages, and his leg is in a thick cast. “He looks like a mess.” Jim manages, and gingerly takes a hand into his.
It feels cold and clammy, like a dead person’s hand, but Jim grits his teeth and brings the hand up to his lips. Brian won’t leave him. That much he’s sure of.
--
Brian makes the night, and the next, and the next. What he doesn’t do, however, is make progress enough to be moved out of the ICU.
Or wake up.
“He’s a slow healer.” Their doctor tells Jim. “You couldn’t tell that from all his colds? He doesn’t have the best defense system in his body. You should be happy. He’s over the worst of it. Yes, he’s not going to be breathing on his own for a while. He’s definitely not going back on the force for about half a year. But he’s alive. And he’s healing.”
Jim crosses his arms across his chest. “Of course he’s alive.” Jim says. “He wouldn’t leave me, just like I wouldn’t leave him.”
The doctor snorts. “Don’t get shot at the same time, then.”
--
Two weeks later, Brian is still in ICU. Boxer stares at him, and Brian doesn’t have the sunken eyes anymore. Most of his shallower cuts have healed, and are soft lines that might scar lightly or might heal completely. “I feel like he’s just trying to bullshit all of us and staying asleep because he likes to see us worry about him.”
And Jim has to laugh because that’s probably exactly what Brian’s doing. “At least I don’t have to pay for ICU.” He says, rubbing Brian’s now-warm hand with his thumb.
Boxer puts the basket of fruits by Jim and rolls his eyes. “Taking his own sweet time, is he?”
“Yeah.” Jim smiles, no longer burdened by the prospect of Brian’s pain. The heart monitor beeps steadily, and Brian hasn’t had a scare since day one. Brian does things in his own pace, after all. Jim presses a kiss onto Brian’s forehead. “He’ll be fine.”
--
It’s not until a month later that Brian’s gray-green-blue flutters open. Jim knows the exact moment it’s going to happen by the way Brian’s breath hitches out of pattern. “Hey.” Jim greets, closing his book.
Brian lets out a pained wince and he gingerly pats his chest. “Do I have a hole in my chest?” His voice is still wheezy, weak, but the perpetual smirk on his lips is back, and he even attempts to sit up before Jim puts a hand on his shoulder. “Jimmy.” He rasps. It’s nothing like the gentle, smooth voice Jim’s used to, but that’ll be back once his lungs are fully healed.
“You were out for a month.” Jim says, thumbing Brian’s shoulder.
“You miss me?”
“No, I was here the whole time.” Jim grins, and Brian snickers for a bit before he winces and forces himself to stop laughing. Jim strokes his cheek, and Brian leans into the touch. “I’d kiss you, if you didn’t have a fucking mask.”
In response, Brian reaches up and pulls the mask off of his lips. It’s probably not the best idea, but Jim can’t help but grin down at Brian’s huge smile. Jim bends down to press a gentle kiss onto Brian’s lips, and the snaps the oxygen mask back on. Brian grumbles for a bit, but then smiles back up at Jim.
And Jim isn’t relieved. He knew Brian was going to be waking up, and he’s just been waiting. He’s not relieved to see Brian waking up because he hasn’t been worried about it happening.
But happiness is a different emotion from relief, and Jim feels plenty of that right now.
Title: I've Got You
Fandom: S.W.A.T (2002 Movie), Street/Gamble
Summary: For an Anon's prompt,
So what if this two bastards, who threatened to fuck Brian, come again when Jim's not home. They decide to make their threats true. But Street comes back (maybe during the 'fingering phase') just in time to kick their asses and save the day. Lots of Jim/Brian h/c follows. (what about some crying Gamble?)
Sorry this took so long! Also, Street comes back a little later than you instructed, but I thought it'd be better if... well. You know.
Warning: Rape, Non/con
“So what’re you doing again?” Brian stretched lazily from the bed, his blonde hair stuck to his forehead and basking in after sex glow.
Jim snorted lightly, pulling the sheets around the blonde and then turning around to button his jeans and shirt. “Going down to the station. I happened to be right there when some douchebag tried to rob an old woman, and they wanted me to give a statement. If you’re going to sleep, I’ll be back before you wake up.”
Brian opened a sleepy blue eye. “This is sort of ironic that you’re giving a statement for some old woman mugging, Clyde.” Brian smirked.
“Hey, the welfare of the elderly is serious business.” Jim lowered himself to kiss Brian’s nose. “I’ll pick up some pizza on the way back. You want my shirt to sleep in?” Brian made a soft satisfied noise as Jim picked up his discarded shirt to hand over. He shrugged it on and walked Jim out the door, laughing at Jim when he commented about how wearing only a shirt that just barely covered an ass should be outlawed. He shut and locked it, yawning as he watched their car pull out of the driveway through the window. He flopped back onto bed and curled the blanket around him, pulling the neck of Jim’s shirt up to his nose. He purred happily. This was the life, and fuck all those dumbasses who told Jim that Brian wasn’t worth it.
Brian flipped over onto his stomach, snuggling into the pillow. After Jim had flipped off all of their previous bank-robbery gang, grabbed Brian’s arm and yanked him out of the house, Brian had done everything, everything for Jim. He spent hours researching the perfect banks to rob and planning perfection so Jim would never regret leaving their previous friends. He knew Jim wouldn’t regret it anyway, and for the first time in his life, Brian was the happiest he’d ever been.
He blinked his eyes open when he heard the door creak open. “Jimbo?” He sat up, rubbing his slightly throbbing back. “You forget something?” He stretched and swung his legs over the bed, about to exit the bedroom, but two shadows appeared in the doorway and he froze. “Now, what do I owe this pleasure to?” He swiftly tucked his legs under himself and drew the blanket over his bare legs, well aware of the lust in the air.
The blonde – Walt – smirked and stepped closer. Brian did a quick sweep of the room, wondering if he could use anything as a weapon. But even if he wasn’t exactly lacking in skills to defend himself, he knew he was no match for two guys who were masters at beating people up and had about twice his muscle mass. He wondered if he could reach his phone and dial Jim. As long as the call got through, Jim would drive back in a heartbeat from the station if Brian said nothing.
The brunette – Morrison – shattered all thoughts of those happening, because he dropped something on the floor and crushed it beneath his boots. “You owe me a new phone now.” Brian sighed, trying to sound nonchalant. “Really, gentlemen. Breaking and entering, and then now defacing private property. You two could get years behind bars for this. How about you just turn around and walk away, and I won’t press any charges? Plus, do you really want a pissed Jim Street on your asses?”
Morrison laughed derisively. “You always had the prettiest mouth, Gamble.” He moved fast and before Brian could react, his hands had gripped Brian’s wrists and were pinning them up over his head. “Always spitting honey with those pretty little lips. I always liked those lips of yours. I’d like them more when they’re wrapped around my cock.”
“Fuck you.” Brian’s eyes narrowed slightly and he brought his legs up. He caught Morrison on the shins, hard, but apparently not hard enough, because Morrison only cursed and brought one hand to crush around Brian’s throat. Brian struggled against the hands, but now Walt had joined in and was tying his wrists together with some sort of rope. He tried to open his mouth to suck in breath, but as soon as he did, something metal was shoved into his lips.
His oxygen-deprived brain registered too late that it’s a ring gag, and when he tried to spit it back out, metal buckles were already locking behind his back. Morrison let go of his throat. “So pretty. Should’ve stayed back with us, Brian. We would’ve taken real good care of you. Made sure you had a cock in your little ass and in your mouth every minute of the day.”
Brian did his best to glare, but he knew they were able to see the rising panic in his throat. Jim. Jim wouldn’t be back for a good thirty minutes, which by then the two could have their way with him and long be gone. He bucked again against the hands pressing him down and was awarded with a sharp blow to his cheek. His head twisted and he felt a burn where Walt’s ring cut him. “Stay still, little whore.” Walt snickered, unbuckling his pants. “Be a good little slut, and it won’t be that bad. God, I wanted to fuck you so badly for a long time.”
Brian wasn’t one to listen, so he tried to swing his legs again. It was caught and twisted and Brian let out an involuntary yelp of pain. Both of his assaulters laughed cruelly and flipped him over, moving him so Brian came face to face with a filthy cock. He turned his head in disgust but rough fingers gripped his blonde hair and he was forced to look up at Morrison. “You’re gonna suck me clean, cunt. Put that pretty little mouth to work. And maybe I’ll understand why Street left with you.”
Brian didn’t even get to prepare himself as his mouth, held open by the mouth gag, was invaded. He choked and gagged on it, the acrid taste and smell overpowering his senses. He tried to thrust away and he was kept down by a rough hand, so he vomited instead onto and around the cock. He was awarded with a heavy slap to the same cheek, and he coughed and tried to spit. “Fucking shit.” Morrison hissed. “Little bitch. You’re gonna fucking clean me up, bitch.” Rough fingers fisted in his hair again and Brian fought, hard, until he felt hips being gripped.
He froze for a moment, and the moment was enough for the blonde behind him to push. He started to fight anew when he felt the pressure, but soon his body gave way and he screamed. “Shit.” Walt hissed. “Fucking shit he’s tight. And freshly used. Street fuck you just before he left?”
Brian tried to blink back the tears stinging the back of his eyes, but Walt was taking him without any preparation, and his body was screaming in pain. He barely registered the arousal being stuffed back in his mouth, and his mind called desperately for Jim.
Then the men started to move and he lost coherent thought. He gagged and choked on the length in his mouth and screamed as the length inside his rectum started to move violently. He tried to move but his limbs refused to cooperate through the pain, and the process continued violently until a bitter, salty liquid hit his lips. He tried to spit but his head was tilted back. “Swallow.” Morrison demanded, smirking sadistically down at him. “Do it, whore.”
Brian tried to struggle, but before he could, a loud shot rang, and he froze. “Drop him.” The voice was familiar, and incredibly foreign at the same time. Brian recognized it as Jim’s voice, and when the hand in his head dropped it, he looked at the bullet wedged into the bedboard. He wanted to lift his head to look at Jim, but he couldn’t, even as the hardness inside him was pulled away.
He heard the sounds of shackles and angry police officers. “Do you need an ambulance for Brian?” Did Brian recognize that voice? He didn’t know.
“No.” Jim’s voice was still frigid. “Brian doesn’t like hospitals. I’ll take care of him.” Jim’s voice warmed a little, and the hand that was stroking circles on his back as he undid the ropes around his wrists and a sheet pulled over him was gentle. Brian listened to the sounds of everyone leaving, and Jim finally gently turned Brian over. “Brian.” Jim said, his voice catching in his throat. “Oh, God. Brian.” Brian let Jim unbuckle the gag and he couldn’t help but vomit all over Jim’s lap.
Brian coughed weakly. “Sorry.” He managed before another bout of nausea hit him and he vomited again, still on Jim’s lap. “I’m so sorry.”
Jim held him tight. “Let it out, it’s fine. Let it out, let it out. It’s okay. Everything’s fine.” Brian wretched again, and when Brian’s vomiting turned to dry heaving, Jim quickly stripped his pants off and bundled up the soiled sheets and shoved them in the bin before he turned Brian into the bathroom.
“I can’t get it out.” Brian whispered, reaching up. Jim took his hands. “It tastes, oh god, Jimmy.” His voice was shaking. “I tried to fight them, Jimmy. I really did, I’m so sorry, but they-”
“Shh.” Jim turned on the hot water and he climbed into the tub with Brian. “It’s okay. Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong. They’re not going to hurt you anymore.”
Brian shuddered and looked down at his reddened wrists. Then his gaze caught his thighs, and the trails of white and red ribboning down his legs. He froze, then scrambled out of the tub before Jim could grab him and he bent over the toilet, vomiting sour stomach acid. “Brian!” He heard Jim’s desperate voice, and then strong hands gripped his sides as he shuddered. “Brian, it’s okay. It’s just me. Just me. Come on, let’s get back in the tub. It’s hot, just the way you like it. Come on, baby.”
Brian sank into the hot water and curled up in Jim’s arms. “Your shirt.” Brian whispered. “It’s getting soaked.”
“It’s fine, we’ll run it in the dryer.” Jim whispered. “Is it uncomfortable? You want to take it off?”
Brian shook his head. “Your pants. The bed. I threw up all over them…”
“Don’t worry about it. They were just pants. And we have spare sheets. It’s okay, baby.” Jim soothed. Brian felt the tears dripping down his eyes, scrolling down his cheeks down to his neck, and Jim’s face turned unreadable.
“I tried to fight them, Jimmy. I really did. I tried my best. I’m so sorry. You’re not going to leave me, right? Please don’t leave me. I tried my best to fight them, I swear I did.”
Jim’s face hardened. “Brian.” He said softly. “Brian, you’re being idiotic. I’m not going to leave you. Brian. Baby, look at me.” He gripped Brian’s cheeks in his hands. “I’m not going to leave you. I love you, remember? Brian, I know you think you need to do something to keep me here, to keep me pleased, but I don’t need anything else but you. You know that, Bri.”
Brian launched himself into Jim’s arms, sobbing loudly. Jim smiled sadly as he wrapped his arms around the small blonde, rubbing his hair gently. “I love you.” Brian whispered, hiccupping lightly. “I hate those fuckers.”
“Now you’re sounding a little more like you.” Jim smiled, and Brian smiled shakily back. “Did they hurt you bad?” Brian started to shake his head, but paused. He opened his lips, as if to say something, but Jim gripped his waist. As he leaned over to the faucet to turn the water off, he moved Brian onto his lap. “Say it. What do you need?”
Brian didn’t hesitate when given permission. “Clean me out.” He sobbed. Wailed. Clutched at Jim’s bare chest and pounded on it. Jim grabbed both hands and kissed them thoroughly. He shifted so Brian could lean on the back of the tub and gently lifted him onto his lap. “Jimbo.” Brian whispered, still sobbing loudly.
“Yeah, I’m here, baby.” Jim brought a trembling hand to his lips and kissed each fingertip. “I’m here for you.” He brought his free hand down to circle cautiously at the abused pucker. His finger slid easily inside and Brian’s wail got a pitch higher. Jim kept his hands from trembling too much. One day, he’d kill those bastards. Today… today, he was just going to focus on Brian. He worked two fingers in easily – Brian was still lax from the rape – and started to scoop out clumps of semen his fingers found. Brian’s fingers clutched desperately at Jim’s, weaving fingers together as his sobs decreased to hiccups and quiet sniffles.
Jim let the water drain as bits of semen started to float on the water’s surface, causing Brian to stiffen every time he saw one. “I think you’re good.” Jim moved in to kiss Brian, pressing soft kisses onto his collarbone, his neck, his cheek, his forehead, his nose and then his mouth. “You okay, baby?”
Brian let his head fall onto Jim’s shoulder and he nodded against it. The trembling had decreased, and he was no longer sobbing. Lean arms came around Jim’s waist to lock him in an embrace, and Jim pressed kisses into wherever he could reach. He managed to untangle Brian from himself long enough to peel the soaked shirt off of him, and then carried Brian to the couch. He managed to kick it and wrestle with it to make the couch unfold itself to its bed form, and carefully laid Brian down on it. “I’m gonna go get blankets. I’ll be right back. You want something to drink? Something to eat?”
Brian shook his head and sat up. His large blue eyes stayed focused on Jim as Jim ran to the bedroom, tugged the extra blankets out and ran back. He threw the thick winter down over Brian’s body, not really caring that they were going to be sweaty when they woke up. Brian curled gratefully under it, and reached out for Jim as Jim lifted it to crawl under it himself. Brian buried his face in Jim’s bare chest and breathed. “Not right now, but when we wake up, could we…”
Jim shushed him with a kiss to his lips. “Yeah. When we wake up, I’ll make love to you. For now, you sleep. I’ve got you, Brian. I’ve got you.”
