DEATHWATCH FIC: THIRD PART OF MAN 1/2

[poziomeczka]

AVERT YOUR EYES. AVERT YOUR EYES. DEATHWATCH PORN COMING YOUR WAY.

WILLIE MACNESS/CHARLIE SHAKESPEARE/ DOCTOR FAIWEATHER THREESOME OF DOOM. TITLE TAKEN FROM THE REVELATIONS. I DON'T OWN ANYTHING.
PLEASE DON'T HATE ME GUYS.

dedicated to lulahbelle for being the most insane enabler ever and porning at me day and night and night and day. Hen, I will never write Bradford the way you do and the world needs to know your fics. And man, your Jennings is LOVE and I will totally deliver you some Jennings/Charlie intercrural in the near future. Promise. Thanks to coeurdesoleil for a quick and dirty beta and for bearing with me in my time of need. AND TO ALL OF YOU. FOR I LOVE YOU ALL.

and a very early happy bday to bachaboska

THIRD PART OF MAN 1/2


The fingers in his hair are gentle but insistent, stroking through the damp strands, scraping his scalp encouragingly. Charlie smiles meekly, rubbing his cheek against the heated rigid flesh, eyes closed. Pleased.

MacNess's breath is a bare puff in the rain-soaked air, hitched low in his throat as he watches him with half-lidded eyes. There's something in them. Tenderness even, some sort of vague admiration that warms Charlie deep, makes him want to please the man. Show that he can be good. So good for him.

He laps at the head, already sleek with fluid, it's salty and a little bitter, nothing like Tate oddly enough and Charlie knows it shouldn't surprise him. It is not altogether unpleasant and Charlie wants it. Wants to give MacNess this. This, and whatever else MacNess will have of him. He pushes the foreskin back with his tongue, experimentally, and moves to suckle at the head.

MacNess's hips surge forward and Charlie lets out a startled gasp.

"I'm sorry" MacNess gruffs out, sounding winded and hoarse, like it's been torn from him. "I'm sorry Charlie."

Charlie splutters like an indignant kitten, pulling himself back. He looks back on MacNess, his vision slightly blurry from the unshed tears that sprung to his eyes. The other looks dazed, kind but also impatient. Charlie swallows visibly and licks his lips, reveling in the lust that darkens the Scot's face. He likes it. He loves it. Being wanted like that. It warms him in places he thought he'd never be warm again.

His skinny little fingers come to embrace the root of MacNess's cock to stroke lightly, unconsciously teasing. It's beautiful, Charlie thinks, thick and strong just like the rest of him and god, Charlie wants it. Wants all of it. In his mouth, in his arse, spilling between his thighs like Jennings did that first time he had him, silently between the blankets. Like a thief.

" 'S okay", he says, voice thick with tears or maybe just his own lust, and he wraps his lips around the flushed tip. Red, angry with neglect.
He sucks eagerly, lost in his own sensation, finding the little bundle of nerves, the way Tate showed him, rubbing at it with his tongue, listening to MacNess's sharp intakes of breath as he strains underneath him in barely contained pleasure.

He's holding back. He's holding back for him. For Charlie. For Charlie who left a man behind because he was scared, so scared. For Charlie, who should have been shot for this.
To think that this powerful man, so exhausted with this, tired of this war, this life, is holding back just for the sake of his mere comfort. That he refused to take it fully, the only thing he was allowed to take for himself. It makes Charlie's heart swell with something more than just desire and gratitude.

He moves down slowly, breathing through his nose as best as he can and sinking down as far as he can as MacNess trashes beneath him, desperate charliecharliecharlie spilling from his mouth. He's struggling not to push his hips up into the warm welcoming heat of Charlie's mouth, MacNess's hip twitches frantically under the boy's splayed palm.
Charlie can practically feel the other man's fevered thinking.
He wishes he would stop and just fuck his mouth like he wants to.
Charlie would let him.

He sucks harder, sleeking the length with his saliva, taking the thick hard flesh, burning on his tongue, oozing salty fluid that Charlie swallows eagerly, humming with pleasure, wanting more of it, now that he's had a taste. He works his mouth down to meet his fingers, trying to open up his throat the best he can, sucking harder, tonguing the underside as if worried he missed a path, finding that little gem of nerves that makes MacNess melt, trembling and straining underneath him, making Charlie, sweet helpless little Charlie, drunk with power.
"God, fuck, fuck, Charlie, Charlie, fuck--"

He pulls off almost completely, MacNess groaning low in his throat at the loss. His cock is red and angry, leaking heavily now, the liquid dripping down the hard, thick length, smeared rhythmically by Charlie's skilled fingers. It brings him hard aware of his own cock, straining heavy and full with blood in his grainy army trousers; he knows that it wouldn't take much, that were he to palm himself through the thick material it would all be over in a heartbeat, he'd gasp and moan, curl onto himself shivering, embarrassed, like that first time Hawkstone put a hand to him.

Instead he presses a long, lingering kiss to the tip, his pretty pink mouth touching the rim with just a shadow of a smile. He looks up on MacNess through his wet, sandy eyelashes and the look on MacNess's face makes heat pool impossibly hotter in his belly.

"Fuck. Yer sucha fuckin' tease--" and he doesn't sound or look irritated, more breathless and taken aback than anything else.

MacNess looks about as incredulous as he is aroused, and Charlie feels that perhaps he himself should be surprised. At how much he loves it. This. Being MacNess's eager little whore.

He knows they call him that. He's heard them.

It should shame him, but it doesn't. He wants to be exactly that. He just wishes MacNess would see. Would see that it's okay to take, to use, to want. Because Charlie wants it too. Why can't he have it?

"You can do it, you know" Charlie says, trying to sound serious but coming out just plainly earnest and so desperately young. "Fuck my face."

I know you want to, I can tell you want to, I can feel you want to, he wants to add.
But MacNess, stubborn, stupid, loving MacNess shakes his head, wearily. Like it takes him some inhuman effort to do it. And Charlie sets his face defiantly, not caring if he looks like a petulant child.

It's like that first time all over again. He refused him that first time, refused when Charlie asked to be taken. He laughed that throaty, harsh laugh of his and rubbed Charlie off through his trousers, had him coming in minutes, whimpering and shuddering and so very sixteen and a half.

Setting his jaw in determination, he sinks back down, to the hilt this time, meeting the circle of his fingers at the root. The blunt head bumping the spongy back of his throat. If MacNess won't do it then so be it, he's perfectly capable of doing it himself.

"Fuck, fuck, goddamn you, Shakespeare" MacNess moans, voice angry and as thick with desire as Charlie ever heard him "You stubborn little shit".

Charlie snorts a laugh, hums happily as he bobs his head, knows it won't be long for either of them. That he can come just from this, just from the feel, the taste of cock. There are hands on his hips and Charlie's spine stiffens and MacNess's cock bobs free, slapping wetly at Charlie's open mouth. Drawing a shaky, cautious breath, he expects the absolute worst.

No no no no please let it not be Quinn, let it not be Quinn no no no no anyone please

It can't be Quinn, he keeps telling himself over and over in those brief slow-downed moments, had it been Quinn he'd be face first in the mud, fucked without mercy, his whole body jerking, recoiling from the stabbing thrusts. He'd be bruised and battered, blood trickling down his thighs, down to his knees mixing with mud, swirling in the slush.
Those hands are quick on his trousers, fingers gentle but efficient on the fastenings and a melodious voice follows:
"Shh shh Charlie", Fairweather says, and Charlie almost laughs at how distinctly Welsh just those few syllables sound. He's giddy with relief.

"It's me." The doctor's hands push down at his trousers and he helps, shimmying happily out of them, hissing a little as his own hot, blood-thick cock meets the chilled air.
"God, just look at you", he hears Doc whisper above him, his hand exploring his lower back, stopping by the moles scattered there, brushing excruciatingly slow past his arse; he feels his hole pulse in answer to the light caress. "Just look at you."

He bites his lip and looks straight at MacNess, meeting the heat in his eyes with his own, in their private challenge. He wants his hole tender and bruised on fat cock, and he's going to get it and if MacNess won't do it, then he'll have it one way or another.

Fairweather brushes his hands over him, doctor's hands, less calloused than those Charlie's grown so used to, he cups one of his arsecheeks, caressing the perk pink flesh and Charlie pushes back impatiently, eyes still firmly on MacNess, his fist still pumping his dick, not willing to part with him even for a second. And then there's a slap that has Charlie gasping and hissing with the sharp edge of pain, pushing back despite it, the smack echoing loudly in the cold, crisp air like a whip crack. Another one. And another one. Until his knees are shaking and he's sobbing for one of them to please do something please please, pre-come spilling from the plum of his cock.

MacNess strokes his hair, moving from his prone position to kiss at the side of the boy's mouth. He raises himself fully, his straining dick level with Charlie's, and Charlie doesn't think twice before lapping at the flesh, sucking it into his mouth as finally, finally the fingers in his hair tighten and MacNess's hips set a jaw-numbing, delicious pace. He knows he's going to come just from this and he thinks he should feel a little abashed, at showing MacNess how much he has craved it, but before he knows it there's a hand on his cock, not even stroking, just cupping, and he's coming, taken by surprise, his pleasure soft and languid, engulfing him like an afterthought as his whole body shudders with it, and he spills against Doc's expert hand and his own belly, keening around MacNess.

"There there, Charlie" Doc says, kissing down his back, "that'll make it easier for you".
He takes his dripping fingers from Charlie's dick, it gives him a sad half-hearted twitch at the parting, but before Charlie has time to even groan in disapproval two wet fingers push into the tight heat of his arse and he pushes himself back, trembling, and clutching onto MacNess's stuttering hips for dear life. He pulls back, making MacNess curse, licking wide wet stripes across his cock and mouthing at his balls, as Doc works his fingers into him, scissoring him open, his own come wet inside him.

Charlie pushes back, hissing and gasping, as Doc finds that sweet little spot deep inside him, the one that makes everything go sharp and white with sparks of pleasure; he can already feel the familiar tightness in his sack, his cock already beginning to fill, too soon, it's almost painful but not enough for him to want it to stop.