[ They are men on the run and who is to say that they don't like pounding the pavement or hitting the highway. There's a thrill to be had with running, with being wanted, and it makes Isaac laugh with one hand on the steering wheel and the other draped out the window. Jack's cigarette fills the car with the occasional plume of smoke before it's cast out behind them.
Isaac Clarke. 44. Male. Caucasian. 6'0". Violent Schizophrenic. Suffers from dyskinesia, hallucinations, seizures.
When you are reduced to facts and numbers and statistics with your name to yourself and only that, stripped of your personality, drugged and drugged and drugged, you get a little vengeful. You want to burn the world down. Bend it over and make it your bitch. The car hits ninety and Isaac can't care because it's the open road and he and Jack have been living out of an old blue Volvo for a week and a half.
Everything is better than a cell.
Even open stars.
(One night they take the blankets they've piled in the back and lay themselves out and never quite touch under the stars.)
Sometimes, there is the craving for violence there, the sort of thing that runs thick and in your blood. They're on the run, but it doesn't mean they aren't allowed to stop sometimes. Indulge the hunger. Isaac knows he does when they hit a motel (finally finally) and stop for the night. The money comes from here or there. Odd jobs they blow into town doing under false names. They breeze in and out like ghosts, different cities, different identities. They laugh at it all because what's there to be scared of when you're a free man with power over yourself?
No more mental conditioning. No more would you kindly or settle down.
They make their own rules.
The shower in the motel is hot and the single bed is soft (softer than cracking leather seats. They try to make it to the bed after the shower, but instead, Isaac is all sharp edges and impatience, so by the time the shower is off with a halting stutter of pipes and the water goes down the drain, Isaac has him pressed to the wall with fingers digging into Jack's thigh, bruising, and his mouth hovering just over his lips, whispering: ]
[Tests and tests and tests and tests and drugs and drugs and drugs and Jack has had enough of living under someone's thumb, living by someone else's rules.
The escape had been bloody and violent and that was just how Jack liked it.
It was a delirious feeling, being free, like he could take on the whole world, finally, finally. Like he was meant to.
Isaac is a good companion, a comrade in arms, and Jack finds he enjoys his company. It's better than being alone in a cell.
They make their own rules, and continually break them and reforge them.
When Isaac traps him against the wall, Jack only grins, the pain in his leg only serving to wake him up, remind him he's alive. It barely hurts.]
Let you? Let you?
[His hands wrap around Isaac's throat gently, gently, but his thumbs press into the softness of the space just under his chin, just enough to press his head upwards and remind him how death is just a squeeze away.]
[ Isaac feels it, the press of Jack's thumb to the softness of his throat. It is a gentle threat. That vulnerable spot just under his jaw that makes his heart thrum stronger than before. Death is there, at the precipice, and if Jack willed it, he would be there, delivered to its door. There is a certain amount of trust to be had between the two of them. They are both a match for one another and it brings him to chuckle darkly there. ]
'Cause you'll like it.
[ There is cheek to the response as his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his nostrils flare just a bit, the excitement running through him.
His entire body presses closer, the tile cold in comparison to skin, he can feel it on the flat of his other palm, keep Jack caged between himself and the wall. Isaac knows Jack, has known him for long enough to know that threats are not empty. You fuck me over, I'll take you down with me. Easy as that.
[Jack laughs softly, tracing the underside of Isaac's jaw with both thumbs.]
Yeah? That a fact?
[He settles back against the wall, letting it straighten his back and give him leverage if he needs it. He may be pinned, but if he really wanted to he could overpower Isaac in a second and they both know it.]
[ Isaac gives a slight shrug, letting his fingers trail upwards, their bruising grip on Jack's thigh loosed to slide up a bit more, grabbing him from behind. He slides fingers along his ass, pulling him apart to press unkindly against his entrance. ]
Maybe.
[ Even with Jack's fingers pressed so close to his neck, he leans in more, takes his mouth in a hungry kiss, something that nips at his lower lip, pulls, and then releases. It's a warning, an offer (I could eat you alive).
[ He grins through the sharp tug on his hair. It takes a bit of arranging, the kind that brings Jack's leg up around his waist, keeps him exposed and flush, skin to skin, naked, warm. He trails a set of bruising kisses along his collarbone, the kind that bloom red and later bleed into purple, coming tender to the top of the skin.
He doesn't waste time slicking his fingers with his mouth, a hurried job, but Isaac and Jack have differing standards of comfort from most. He slides them against him again.
[He grins back, sharp as a knife, and keeps his firm hold on Isaac's hair. His other hand slides down just a little to rest at the base of his neck, thumb in the hollow of his throat, probing it, pressing it, toying with his skin and bones, not caring if it hurts or bruises.
He tolerates Isaac's slick fingers, knowing it will be uncomfortable, knowing it will hurt, but not caring because he knows he'll give just as much in kind.]
[ There's an excited cant to his breath. The idea that Jack, with warm, wet hands around his throat, is pressing in, making new and beautiful bruises—it's perfect. He knows in the morning there will be bruises in the shape of Jack's fingers, a beautiful kind of collar that says You let me and I let you.
He curls his fingers inside of him, up against him, and there's that weak clenching around him that makes him sigh. Thumb bracing against his skin, he presses in deep with two fingers, lets his breath warm Jack's jawline, feeling every minute twitch of muscle under his skin, every response to his touch. ]
[It does hurt at first, but as Isaac curls and stretches, he feels himself shifting and settling to accommodate, slowly rounding the corner from kind of annoying to good.
Jack turns his attention instead to the ring of bruises he's making around Isaac's neck, squeezing and pushing and playing with his air flow before leaning close and biting at his jawline, pulling his head back just enough to expose it more fully.]
[ Teeth against his throat, fingers on his skin, it all makes him groan softly, tilting into the warmth of his mouth as he takes his time now stretching him, parting his fingers and lingering just a bit more. He lets his nails drag along the cheek of his ass, scoring red marks along his skin.
He reaches down and takes himself in his palm, pressing himself against him, feeling the initial heat and resistance of it.
The slick floor, the quickening of breath, the way their bodies press up together, skin to skin and bone to bone. He breathes out sharply, hissing as he feels himself get past that point of resistance, settles into the heat of Jack, how he clenches around him, accepts him and simultaneously rejects him. It's a perfect tug and push as he slides himself in as far as he will go. ]
[Somewhere, Isaac's fingering crosses the line into "good" territory and Jack starts to really enjoy it. He even groans a little when Isaac enters him, because fuck is right, he'd been itching for it at the end there. He shifts closer, and his hard-on is pressed between them. He gasps slightly and his hand in Isaac's hair slides down his neck, clawing before readjusting to hold him closer, one hand scratching at his back and the other still at his neck.]
[ He hikes Jack's leg up further, growling softly with his teeth clenched as he thrusts himself in sharply, feels his balls press close to his skin. There is the smile across his mouth, sharp as a blade, there is the spark in his eyes, the distinct glimmer of hunger and desire as his thumb digs in— ]
That's...
[ He trails off slowly, groans as his hips roll, thrust forward, deep and slow, but gradually mounting in speed. Everything about Jack is desirably dangerous, lethal, perfect. He'd told him before that he was made to do that sort of thing. The killing. His hands... perfect, painted hands, colored for bruises and the barrel of a gun.
His teeth bare and he dips his head down, bites junction of shoulder and throat ]
[Jack grunts when Isaac thrusts all the way in, but it's good, and when Isaac starts settling in to his rhythm, it's better.
Isaac is made of stars, the bright fire that burns out of control for millions of years, a constant series of explosions and madness and violence and everything Jack ever wanted.
He hisses at the bite and his hands tighten, one nearly choking him as the other scratches unkindly at his back.]
Fucker...
[It's a harsh whisper, but there's a hint of a laugh behind it.]
[ his breath comes in stuttering gasps and that hand around his throat only makes his gut tighten even more, excitedly, making his hips cant a little faster, hiking jack up further against the wall. anyone else might end up with broken ribs in a choke hold, maybe with their skull split open.
he is a quiet guy, furiously smoking with the bright orange of the end of his cigarette glowing in the dark. the guy there the clink of the ice against glass and the slosh of liquid down his throat. he lunges forward now, wants his mouth as he fucks him, that sharp, sweet kiss (their brand of tenderness is nails and teeth).
he laughs when jack hisses out to him, his chuckle whiskey dark. ]
What did I tell you--
[ it's mumbled between sharp gasps with every thrust. ]
[He responds to the kiss forcefully, biting on Isaac's lip hard enough to draw blood, savoring the metallic taste shared between their mouths.
As Isaac continues to fuck him into the wall, keeps hitting that sweet spot, Jack stops thinking almost entirely and just growls softly, an animal-like indicator of his mounting pleasure.
He's getting close, but it doesn't make him any less violent. In fact, it makes him more so, nails digging into Isaac's back and thumb pressing hard into his throat.]
[ he can feel the way that jack is getting close from how he weakly tightens around him, but by no means does jack go down without the proverbial fight. isaac will carry his bruises proudly, the nail marks digging into his back, the sweet ache of jack's knees digging into his sides and the little sweet cut on his lip that bleeds perfection.
in the end of it, it is isaac that comes first, but not without his hand on jack's cock, pinning him harder to the cold tile. he feels it in the tightening heat of his belly, how he jerks a little and feels it rush out of him like a breath, wet and cloying.
his hips snap up for good measure, once, twice, again and again, before slowing down, easing but never making it easy. ]
[It's Isaac's hand on his dick, being pinned hard to the wall, and feeling Isaac come that does it, sends Jack over the edge and digging his fingers into Isaac's back.
When he comes down he leans his head back on the wall and looks at Isaac for a moment, then looks down at his chest. He scoops up his own cum with his finger and hooks it between Isaac's teeth.]
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Isaac Clarke. 44. Male. Caucasian. 6'0". Violent Schizophrenic. Suffers from dyskinesia, hallucinations, seizures.
When you are reduced to facts and numbers and statistics with your name to yourself and only that, stripped of your personality, drugged and drugged and drugged, you get a little vengeful. You want to burn the world down. Bend it over and make it your bitch. The car hits ninety and Isaac can't care because it's the open road and he and Jack have been living out of an old blue Volvo for a week and a half.
Everything is better than a cell.
Even open stars.
(One night they take the blankets they've piled in the back and lay themselves out and never quite touch under the stars.)
Sometimes, there is the craving for violence there, the sort of thing that runs thick and in your blood. They're on the run, but it doesn't mean they aren't allowed to stop sometimes. Indulge the hunger. Isaac knows he does when they hit a motel (finally finally) and stop for the night. The money comes from here or there. Odd jobs they blow into town doing under false names. They breeze in and out like ghosts, different cities, different identities. They laugh at it all because what's there to be scared of when you're a free man with power over yourself?
No more mental conditioning. No more would you kindly or settle down.
They make their own rules.
The shower in the motel is hot and the single bed is soft (softer than cracking leather seats. They try to make it to the bed after the shower, but instead, Isaac is all sharp edges and impatience, so by the time the shower is off with a halting stutter of pipes and the water goes down the drain, Isaac has him pressed to the wall with fingers digging into Jack's thigh, bruising, and his mouth hovering just over his lips, whispering: ]
Let me fuck you.
no subject
The escape had been bloody and violent and that was just how Jack liked it.
It was a delirious feeling, being free, like he could take on the whole world, finally, finally. Like he was meant to.
Isaac is a good companion, a comrade in arms, and Jack finds he enjoys his company. It's better than being alone in a cell.
They make their own rules, and continually break them and reforge them.
When Isaac traps him against the wall, Jack only grins, the pain in his leg only serving to wake him up, remind him he's alive. It barely hurts.]
Let you? Let you?
[His hands wrap around Isaac's throat gently, gently, but his thumbs press into the softness of the space just under his chin, just enough to press his head upwards and remind him how death is just a squeeze away.]
Why should I let you do anything?
no subject
'Cause you'll like it.
[ There is cheek to the response as his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his nostrils flare just a bit, the excitement running through him.
His entire body presses closer, the tile cold in comparison to skin, he can feel it on the flat of his other palm, keep Jack caged between himself and the wall. Isaac knows Jack, has known him for long enough to know that threats are not empty. You fuck me over, I'll take you down with me. Easy as that.
We go together or not at all. ]
no subject
Yeah? That a fact?
[He settles back against the wall, letting it straighten his back and give him leverage if he needs it. He may be pinned, but if he really wanted to he could overpower Isaac in a second and they both know it.]
no subject
Maybe.
[ Even with Jack's fingers pressed so close to his neck, he leans in more, takes his mouth in a hungry kiss, something that nips at his lower lip, pulls, and then releases. It's a warning, an offer (I could eat you alive).
He smiles into it. ]
no subject
Incredibly enough, though, Jack leans into it and kisses back, just as harshly, just as hungrily.
When Isaac pulls away, Jack leans his head back against the wall, raises an eyebrow.]
Fine.
[And one of his hands slides back into Isaac's hair, gently at first, but then tugging a little, then tugging harder.]
Not gonna make it easy on you.
no subject
[ He grins through the sharp tug on his hair. It takes a bit of arranging, the kind that brings Jack's leg up around his waist, keeps him exposed and flush, skin to skin, naked, warm. He trails a set of bruising kisses along his collarbone, the kind that bloom red and later bleed into purple, coming tender to the top of the skin.
He doesn't waste time slicking his fingers with his mouth, a hurried job, but Isaac and Jack have differing standards of comfort from most. He slides them against him again.
Spit and base means are nothing, really. ]
no subject
He tolerates Isaac's slick fingers, knowing it will be uncomfortable, knowing it will hurt, but not caring because he knows he'll give just as much in kind.]
no subject
He curls his fingers inside of him, up against him, and there's that weak clenching around him that makes him sigh. Thumb bracing against his skin, he presses in deep with two fingers, lets his breath warm Jack's jawline, feeling every minute twitch of muscle under his skin, every response to his touch. ]
no subject
Jack turns his attention instead to the ring of bruises he's making around Isaac's neck, squeezing and pushing and playing with his air flow before leaning close and biting at his jawline, pulling his head back just enough to expose it more fully.]
no subject
He reaches down and takes himself in his palm, pressing himself against him, feeling the initial heat and resistance of it.
The slick floor, the quickening of breath, the way their bodies press up together, skin to skin and bone to bone. He breathes out sharply, hissing as he feels himself get past that point of resistance, settles into the heat of Jack, how he clenches around him, accepts him and simultaneously rejects him. It's a perfect tug and push as he slides himself in as far as he will go. ]
Fuck.
no subject
no subject
That's...
[ He trails off slowly, groans as his hips roll, thrust forward, deep and slow, but gradually mounting in speed. Everything about Jack is desirably dangerous, lethal, perfect. He'd told him before that he was made to do that sort of thing. The killing. His hands... perfect, painted hands, colored for bruises and the barrel of a gun.
His teeth bare and he dips his head down, bites junction of shoulder and throat ]
no subject
Isaac is made of stars, the bright fire that burns out of control for millions of years, a constant series of explosions and madness and violence and everything Jack ever wanted.
He hisses at the bite and his hands tighten, one nearly choking him as the other scratches unkindly at his back.]
Fucker...
[It's a harsh whisper, but there's a hint of a laugh behind it.]
no subject
he is a quiet guy, furiously smoking with the bright orange of the end of his cigarette glowing in the dark. the guy there the clink of the ice against glass and the slosh of liquid down his throat. he lunges forward now, wants his mouth as he fucks him, that sharp, sweet kiss (their brand of tenderness is nails and teeth).
he laughs when jack hisses out to him, his chuckle whiskey dark. ]
What did I tell you--
[ it's mumbled between sharp gasps with every thrust. ]
no subject
As Isaac continues to fuck him into the wall, keeps hitting that sweet spot, Jack stops thinking almost entirely and just growls softly, an animal-like indicator of his mounting pleasure.
He's getting close, but it doesn't make him any less violent. In fact, it makes him more so, nails digging into Isaac's back and thumb pressing hard into his throat.]
no subject
in the end of it, it is isaac that comes first, but not without his hand on jack's cock, pinning him harder to the cold tile. he feels it in the tightening heat of his belly, how he jerks a little and feels it rush out of him like a breath, wet and cloying.
his hips snap up for good measure, once, twice, again and again, before slowing down, easing but never making it easy. ]
no subject
When he comes down he leans his head back on the wall and looks at Isaac for a moment, then looks down at his chest. He scoops up his own cum with his finger and hooks it between Isaac's teeth.]
Happy?