Variations
on a Corpse 3 (Rave), a
Gia
stared at the three boys and the goody-two-shoes girl she'd ended up being
forced to help, disgust strong in her expression. The chick was off flirting
with a man mountain, the dark-headed guy couldn't keep his hands off her -- and
she wasn't getting paid for that, no matter how much money he had -- and
Blondie was bouncing back and forth like a rubber ball. The little rock star
wannabe was a nobody, so she ignored him.
This
wasn't her gig.
She
needed the money, and she'd thought she saw an opportunity when Ms. Moneybags
Teen Slut went into the motel room with Ted. It had been sweet, for a little
while. Then Blondie had gotten all hot under the collar and started stalking
her. Okay, he had held off the cops down at the dock, and God knew she didn't
want Taggart to see her, but his attitude all the way had been totally over the
top. Breaking into her room? Threatening her? Following her?
The
stare morphed into a glare. Okay, so he was cute, by far the cutest thing she'd
seen since hitting Port Charles. But he was way too caught up with Little Miss
Q. He was uptight. Feed him coal he'd crap a diamond uptight. She
glanced around the room and watched the dancers for a little while, ignoring
Dark and Broody beside her. A boy stroking his friend's hair, over and over, an
ecstatic expression on his face, brought an evil thought to her mind.
Blondie
really needed to relax. Pretending to look around for anybody she might
recognize from the motel parking lot, as she was getting paid to do -- Ha! --
she casually dug into her back pocket and popped a tab from a card hidden
there. Bringing her water bottle out, she dropped it in with a move nobody saw,
certainly not the little dorks hovering around her like Junior Detectives.
As
she'd expected, Blondie bounced over to them and started questioning her. She
gave him some attitude, just enough to get him a little hot and crazy, then
waited until Broody turned away and offered him her bottle. He gave her a
suspicious look.
"Chill,"
she told him with a perfectly played, uncaring shrug. "You're all red in
the face and look like you're gonna stroke out. So I thought I'd be nice.
Forget it."
He
still looked suspicious, but this time he did take the bottle. Sipped it.
Before he could hand it back, she poked Broody in the arm. "That
guy!" she said, pointing to the wall in the muscle shirt
Elizabeth-never-call-me-Liz was coming on to. Blondie took another absent
swallow, this time a nice healthy gulp. She grinned.
Then
she set them on the guy, who she really had seen at the motel, and
stepped back to watch the fireworks.
Blondie
jumped in between Goody and the wall with suicidal enthusiasm. It was pretty
cute, in a clueless surfer kind of way. She looked him over; yeah, he looked
just as good from behind as from in front. Unfortunately, he was also all over
Goody. She sighed. What a waste of good stuff.
Shrugging
off a missed opportunity, half convinced he'd sit in the corner and play with
himself before he went for her anyway, she absently shook off Broody's offer of
a ride. She could take care of herself.
And
she'd had more than enough of the nerd gang for one night.
Nikolas
watched Lucky intently as the four of them updated Emily on the hunt for Ted's
killer. His half-brother was oddly relaxed for such a dangerous night, almost
slumped over in his chair, running his hands over and over the table top. It
was freaky. He wondered if this was an aspect of whatever it was that was wrong
with Lucky. That led him to wonder if Lucky was going to jump up, jump him,
right then and there, and shock the life out of the girls -- and Juan, not that
he counted.
Before
the second thought could do anything really embarrassing, like make him so hard
he couldn't walk, he stood up. "That's really about all there was to it.
We've got an id on the guy, now we just have to go back and find out what we can
about him. Next rave, right?" He glanced over at Juan, who was looking at
him resentfully.
Nothing
new there.
Emily
was nodding, and
"It's
late,"
"Good idea," Emily chimed in. "Lucky, you need a ride
home?"
Not
knowing what prompted it, but going with his gut instinct, Nikolas interrupted
before Lucky could answer, if he would have answered. "I'll take him home.
You'd better get back home before your parents get too worried."
Emily
smiled up at him.
Everyone,
except Lucky, echoed her. Lucky was still painting invisible signs on the
table. Emily paused at Lucky's side, but Juan swept her up in an attempt at
machismo ownership that impressed no one. Nikolas walked over and tapped his
brother on the shoulder.
"You
ready to go home?" he asked. Lucky finally looked up, although his fingers
didn't stop tracing.
"Hi,"
he answered, smiling up at Nikolas. His eyes were soft and unfocused, but his
smile was blinding.
Nikolas'
body did what it seemed to be doing much too often lately, and hardened to
attention at Lucky's expression. He took a deep breath and forced himself to
look closer at the somewhat vacant look on Lucky's face.
Yeah.
It looked like the other times when Lucky's brain had checked out, and his body
had checked in -- to Nikolas'. Only this time
"C'mon,
bro, been a long night. Let's get you to bed." He winced at the image his
words brought to his mind, then determinedly ignored them. Maybe tonight, he
could finally get Lucky to talk to him. If nothing else, perhaps he could find
out what had triggered him to zone out. It couldn't have been
Unless
He tried to wrap his mind around that idea all the way to Lucky's room. No
matter how he twisted it, it didn't fit. His grandmother could infiltrate any
number of surprising places. A warehouse full of teenagers dancing their feet
off wasn't one of them.
By
the time they got to the hall outside Lucky's room, his brother was listing
sideways like a boat taking on water. He'd transferred his tactile explorations
to Nikolas, who wasn't sure whether to be irritated or extremely turned on by
the feather-light touches all along his back and butt. His brain was leaning
toward irritated; it was getting tired of Lucky winding him up like a sex toy
then walking away afterward as if nothing had happened. His body couldn't care
less about the aftermath; it knew those fingers, and it wanted more.
Lucky
was muttering something under his breath, and it took awhile for Nikolas to
figure out what he was saying. "Soft, warm, soft, warm, yeah, oh, yeah,
soft," over and over, sounding totally spaced out. This was different.
Nikolas stopped at the door.
"Got
your key?" he asked, trying to retain his patience. He was fighting not to
either dump his brother on his ass in the hallway and leave him, or prop him up
against the wall and have at him. Lucky grinned blankly up at him and lifted
his hands, briefly, from their wanderings over Nikolas' black jeans. He sighed.
Prying
Lucky off him far enough to rummage through his pants pockets, he was a little
relieved to note very little hardening in the basket. Whatever was going
through Lucky's fried little brain it apparently had little to do with sex.
More disappointed by that than he cared to admit, determined not to take
advantage of his brother in this state again and refusing to remember just
who'd jumped whom last time, Nikolas felt around until he finally retrieved the
door key.
Lucky
leaned into him and snuffled his neck. A shiver chased its way all the way down
his spine. "Unfair," he protested weakly, managing to wrestle the
door open and haul Lucky into the room, kicking it closed behind them.
Unfair
or not, Lucky seemed to be on a mission. Wicked hands were burrowing under his
shirt, and he tried hard to wriggle away, nearly tearing the material in the
process.
"C'mon,
Lucky," he tried again for reason. Then with a move he hadn't been
expecting at all, his half-brother flipped him over onto the bed on his back
and climbed on top of him while Nikolas was still trying to figure out how the
hell that had happened.
At
that point, he remembered all too clearly who'd been the initiator every time
they'd had sex. The kiss in the tunnel didn't count. It had been pretend.
Hadn't
it?
Didn't it?
Lucky
had known that it hadn't been real.
Hadn't
he?
There
was a thought trying to form in his brain, but it was being swamped by sheer
unadulterated horniness as Lucky stripped him, using every opportunity to
stroke his body as he did. He seemed to be absolutely mesmerized by Nikolas'
skin, smoothing it with his hands, lapping at it with his tongue, rubbing his
entire body against it like a cat scenting its territory. With a dexterity
Nikolas was coming to recognize, Lucky managed to strip both of them, not
losing contact from some part of his body the entire time.
By
the time Nikolas conceded that he had no control at all over what was
happening, Lucky had him supine on the bed and was straddling him. His hands
were sweeping over Nikolas' chest, arms, groin and upper thighs, he was kissing
everywhere his hands were touching, and he wouldn't stop muttering to himself
about how soft and warm it all was. Nikolas could appreciate the heat. He
didn't really think soft applied. He was hard enough to drive nails with his
cock.
But
he was the only one. He stopped writhing long enough to notice that Lucky still
wasn't completely hard. He also was taking foreplay past stoking the fire and
into the realm of torture. Pleas were falling from his own mouth for Lucky to
get on with it and fuck him, for God's sake, long before Lucky finally did
anything about it. Nikolas was close to spontaneous combustion by the time
Lucky raised up, held his erection at the base, and sat down on it.
Nikolas
howled like a wolf at the full moon.
For
all the foreplay, there'd been no preparation, and while Lucky was incredibly
relaxed, he was also incredibly tight. Nikolas felt like his foreskin had been
tied to his balls, sheared off by the grip now holding him, stuck in a hole
that was three sizes too small, a naked quivering nerve with a blow torch
applied to it.
He'd
never felt anything so intense in his life. One useful benefit of the initial
shock of pain was that it kept him from coming immediately. That was good, as
Lucky was riding him now, balanced on his knees, shifting up and down, the
frown lines beside his mouth slowly smoothing out to dimples as the way eased.
Nikolas was leaking, and that helped a little. As they moved, his hands reached
up to settle on Lucky's hips, and his pelvis thrust against the weight pinning
him down, into the heat holding him.
Lucky's
head fell back, and Nikolas found himself caught, staring at the length of his
brother's throat, the sheen of sweat across his chest, the way the muscles
worked in his groin as he moved up and down. His cock still wasn't completely
hard, and Nikolas reached out for it with one hand, pulling it gently in time
with their rocking motion. Lucky's eyes drifted open and he smiled down at
Nikolas. It was the most wanton expression he'd ever seen.
"Soft,"
Lucky whispered.
"Not
if I have anything to do about it," Nikolas panted, working his wrist and
milking with his fingers until Lucky was hard.
Lucky's
hands had left Nikolas' body and were now roaming his own chest, playing with
his nipples, twisting them and pulling at them. Nikolas was starting to lose
his rhythm, urgency taking him over, and he thrust up as hard as he could,
needing more, needing to come. Lucky responded, pushing down as hard as he was
pushing up, and they slammed together, skin sliding, sounding wetly obscene in
the silent room.
It
felt like it took forever before he could finally give in, determined not to
come until Lucky did, and his brother seemingly content to ride him forever.
Eventually, finally, Lucky arched over him, hot liquid squirting between his
fingers, landing on his stomach. The clench of muscle around him was the last
straw, and he thrashed helplessly under Lucky's weight as his orgasm shook him.
When
he could breathe again, and see again, and shift just enough to get Lucky's
body to release his cock, Nikolas tried to find something to say. Again.
Nothing much came to mind. Are you insane? Are you drugged? Where's your pod?
When can we do this again? None of them were much use as a conversation
starter, and none of the etiquette lessons his uncle had drilled into him over
the years really seemed to fit this situation.
His
mind wandered back over his admittedly derailed train of thought.
Insane?
No, but there was something going on. Pod? Only in a Spielberg movie. But
drugged ... that was a possibility. Thinking hard, he traced what he remembered
of the evening, and an image popped out. Gia, handing Lucky her water bottle.
Encouraging him to drink from it.
Not drinking from it herself.
The
protective side of him raged up, primed to find her and strangle her with her
own glittery, ribbon-wrapped dreads. The lustier side, the one he was trying
really hard to pretend didn't exist, the one that had thoroughly enjoyed the
athletic finish of the evening and couldn't wait for more, joined chorus with
his internal voice of reason to inform him bluntly that while she may have
drugged Lucky, he was the one who'd fucked him.
There
were times when he hated that logical little voice in the back of his head.
This was one of them.
Taking
as deep a breath as he could given the boneless weight of his brother draped
over the top of him, he asked quietly, "Lucky? Are you all right?"
No
answer.
Nikolas
swallowed dryly. They'd gotten a little carried away at the end, and he might
well have hurt him. He unwrapped his arms from around Lucky's back and tried to
lift him up so he could see his brother's face, make sure he was okay.
Lucky
hung from his hands like a bag of potatoes. Nikolas looked at the slack, sound
asleep features, and gave up. Yes, they had to talk; yes, they had to get down
to the bottom of what was happening, both to Lucky and between the two of them;
and yes, he might have to hunt Gia down and beat her up for messing with his
brother. But then he'd have to beat himself up, for messing with him even more.
And
they sure as hell weren't going to do any talking with Lucky passed out cold in
the bed beside him.
Giving
it up as a bad deal, at least for the moment, he rolled Lucky as gently as he
could off himself and on to the bed. Long arms reached out for him and he plucked
a pillow from the head of the bed, giving them something to hold onto. He
brushed the sweaty hair back from Lucky's face and, shaking his head, kissed
him lightly on the temple.
Tomorrow.
He'd see if Lucky remembered any of this. They'd go from there.
It
was turning out to be one hell of a trip.
end of third variation