Takin’ Care of All Your Needs (slash)
May. 31st, 2011 11:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
anxiousalien.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
aliassmithjonesUnofficial, slash sequel to Allie’s “Desperate Times” story.
This is a ‘first-time’ fic. It is rated R.
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Posted with permission. Allie said I could write it and post it if I wanted. (But she said she’s thinking about writing a gen sequel, so that would be the real continuation, not this.)
If you haven’t read “Desperate Times,” it ended up with both men injured, but Kid worse off because his hands were really injured.
If you imagine he got his hands hurt in some other circumstances, maybe it works on its own.
Takin’ Care of All Your Needs
The fire burned cozily. Birds called their sleep songs. Around their camp fire, the wilderness stretched empty and lonesome. But not lonesome enough. Kid Curry had had just about enough of a certain dark-haired ex-outlaw being by his side all the damn time.
Kid finished eating, slurping awkwardly from a cup the thin gruel Heyes had made for him. He couldn’t feed himself properly yet, but he was damned if he’d let Heyes do it.
Heyes was eating his gruel with a spoon, somehow still managing to get it on his upper lip. Kid wondered if he was eating messily on purpose, to make Kid feel better.
Kid eased his tin cup down, between his aching, bandaged hands, and found himself filled with dread.
He shifted uncomfortably. He needed to relieve himself. And he’d just about rather crap his pants than ask Heyes for anymore help. He just wanted to be left alone, without that brave smile and those competent hands doing everything for him.
It didn’t help that Heyes was so nice to him. Always sweet-tempered and patient lately. It could get on a man’s nerves worse than being proddy.
“Need to go, Kid?” asked Heyes in a rather gravelly voice, setting down his own tin cup.
For a second, Kid wanted to curse, to call Heyes every name in the book. Instead, he got up slowly and walked over to stand in front of Heyes, to let him undo Kid’s pants.
Heyes’ hands were light, careful, competent. And very, very irritating and strange. It made Kid feel strange inside, his hands there, like that. Heyes wasn’t disrespectful, far from it. But…
Kid moved away quickly, went to take care of business.
Fortunately, he hadn't had any trouble yet, but he was worried about it. One of these days, his body was going to be feeling well enough, and he was--going to get stiff, down there. And…not be able to do anything about it, or hide it. It was an agonizing feeling, being this helpless, and he just wanted to get away from his far too understanding and helpful Heyes before that could happen, humiliating him any further.
Of course, sure enough--maybe thinking about it made it happen, or just rotten luck--when he returned, after pulling his pants up as best he could--agony, with his useless hands, the pressure on them making a dozen small spots open again, and bleed. He could feel it, the tearing of his flesh and the seeping of blood past the healing scabs.
And in the end, it didn't help anyway, because he couldn't get his pants up, he couldn't, and Heyes hands were working there and he felt--oh shameful, die of shame--something happening, he was stiff and Heyes couldn't miss it. He felt himself growing hot and red, and there was nothing, nothing he could do.
“That's okay, Kid, I got the same equipment, don't pay no attention,” said Heyes quickly, trying to work his pants up without hurting him or making it worse. “Don't mean nothing,” he added, with a little grunt, closing the pants at last, fastening them up top but not the buttons down lower, so he wouldn't have to make it any worse, so he wouldn't have to touch Kid.
“That'll be fine for now.” He rose and gave Kid a swift pat on the back. “You're fine.” His voice, and his dark eyes, were worried.
Kid turned away. He wanted to kick something; he wanted to beat somebody to death.
Of course, that 'somebody' was already dead, shot by Lom. The savage anger inside him wanted an outlet, and didn't have one.
His hands, his useless, useless hands, leaving him like, helpless and enraged and a victim to his body, relying on Heyes for everything.
He couldn't stand it one more second!
“Kid,” said Heyes, moving forward. “Kid, don't--it don't mean nothing.” Hands on his arms, gentle and reassuring.
Kid whirled around and glared at him, feeling his face contort with fury. “You shut your damn mouth and get away from me!”
Heyes straightened, a flash of anger replacing the startled, almost fearful look on his face. “Now you wait a cotton-picking second. I didn't do anything to you, and I'm tryin' to help. I'll help however I can, Kid, just let me know what you need…”
“What I NEED is for you to stop treating me like a damned baby! What I need is a good lay, and a hot bath and to use my own damned hands for a change!”
Heyes stared at him, eyes hot and dark, bottomless and angry and aching. “Fine,” he said at last, and gave a short, decisive nod. He moved forward, getting down on his knees in front of Kid. “Unless you wanna lay down first?” He looked up at Kid. His hair was a little messy, and his eyes were dark and bottomless pits.
Something stirred inside Kid Curry, and he thought, “Oh. He's gonna do it. He'd even do that for me.”
“Heyes, I don't mean it. You don't hafta do that for me.” He spoke past clenched teeth, a jaw that jumped irregularly.
“Well, which is it?” Heyes stayed on his knees--like he was kneeling before Kid Curry! It seemed wrong somehow, demeaning. That he'd offer this. That he'd demean himself this way.
All Kid had to say was, “Damn it, get up!” and he would, it would all be over.
But it would be awful nice to have Heyes be the awkward one for once. And instead of those light, competent hands teasing him without trying to, he'd find cool relief in them. He felt himself straining at the seams of his barely fastened trousers, and realized he wanted it, bad, even from Heyes. He wanted the release of this, he wanted the relief and he wanted Heyes to be the weak and awkward one.
He was gonna call his bluff.
“Think you can do it?” he asked in a small, cold voice, halfway a sneer, mocking.
Heyes nodded. “Sure.” His voice was a little tight, not as breezy and easy for him as he tried to make it sound. And his hands--oh, his light, delicate, so capable hands--were opening Kid's pants and--and touching inside them.
New areas seems to bloom inside Kid's head. Those hands that opened safes were now touching, and opening, him. Like fireworks blooming in a night sky. He couldn't, he shouldn't be--how could he be this damned good?
Heyes soft-haired head leaned forward now, and Kid started at the first feel of his tongue, hot and silky and wet. He was trembling now, moving with the movement of Heyes' competent, smooth movements. He was even good at this, damn him. He was good at everything.
Kid moaned aloud, letting it up, letting it out, letting go, and he was inside Heyes, and Heyes mouth moved around him, and he couldn't stand it another second. “Help me,” he moaned, and let it out, jerking himself awkward and rough against Heyes' mouth and hands, that were moving less competently now, trying to help, getting pushed back and forth. A hand tightened, squeezed--his mouth worked, awkward jaws far apart, and Kid thrust hard, back, shoving into him, he cried aloud as he felt it all come out, and thrusting, thrusting, backing off now, he heard a whimpered moan from his mouth and it didn't sound like him. He was shaking all over, and at the same time going loose. He started to lean on Heyes' shoulders, and his hands spiked with pain. He let up instantly.
He wanted something bad, and he didn't know what; and at the same time there was something he didn't want any more, something fulfilled that he hadn't known he'd wanted for a long time, but it had been there, aching and growing and now he'd come out the other side, different, changed, seeing things a new way.
He wanted to lay down and go to sleep. And he wanted to wrap Heyes up in his arms and kiss him and touch him.
Of course, he couldn't do that.
Heyes backed off now, moving away on his knees, keeping his head down. He swallowed hard, and Kid wondered if he'd hurt Heyes. All he could seem to do was stand here, halfway naked, his parts hanging out getting cold now, feeling wet and relieved and sensitive.
Heyes reached for his handkerchief, wet it from a canteen, fumbling a little with the lid. He reached for Kid, and cleaned him up, real gentle. Then he cleaned his own face up, wiping around his mouth. He took a swig of water, and gargled, and spat. He took a drink. “You want one?” he asked hoarsely, raising it, looking up at Kid's eyes for the first time. He looked tired and a little sick, and scared somehow, and flushed, and his hair was a mess.
Kid shook his head. “I'm gettin' cold, Heyes,” he said in a funny croaking voice.
Heyes obediently shut his trousers for him. The hands didn't feel so funny now. Knuckles brushed warm against him, and he felt that flutter inside, a mix of hunger and softness, a changed feeling, warm and wanting and loving. He wanted to gather Heyes up and kiss him, ruffle his hair, roll over and over and land on top of him and just hold him there, under him, feel their bodies pressed up together.
Heyes was moving about, cleaning up the camp fire with quick, competent steps, knowledgeable hands. He hadn't washed up proper, but then it was hard to out here.
Kid found himself watching those hands. And--when he could--the front of Heyes pants, wondering if it had affected him at all, that amazing trip he'd sent Kid on.
“You sorry you did it?” he asked, when he could talk in a more normal tone of voice. He was so sleepy, he'd sleep so good tonight. His jaw felt like it wanted to crack from the yawn he was holding back.
“Not if it helped,” Heyes voice was a confident croak again. He glanced at Kid, awkward and almost nervous. “Did it?”
Kid nodded. His frustrations and feelings of not being able to bear it were almost completely replaced with these new thoughts and feelings. He'd forgotten about his hands.
Heyes smiled, bright and relieved. “Aw, good, Kid. Then lay down and get some rest.”
His smile, at least for now, looked bright and honest and new. And his mouth was really beautiful.
Kid laid down and didn't grump about it when Heyes laid a blanket gently over his shoulders.
Kid wondered, before he fell asleep, how something so strange could feel so right.
Heyes hadn’t seemed to mind. Maybe they could do it again sometime, and find a way to make it good for Heyes, too. It would be tough with no hands.
But he wasn’t quite as upset about his hands as he had been. They wouldn’t have tried this otherwise.
He thought maybe there were certain things he could stand from Heyes, all the damn time.
This is a ‘first-time’ fic. It is rated R.
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Posted with permission. Allie said I could write it and post it if I wanted. (But she said she’s thinking about writing a gen sequel, so that would be the real continuation, not this.)
If you haven’t read “Desperate Times,” it ended up with both men injured, but Kid worse off because his hands were really injured.
If you imagine he got his hands hurt in some other circumstances, maybe it works on its own.
Takin’ Care of All Your Needs
The fire burned cozily. Birds called their sleep songs. Around their camp fire, the wilderness stretched empty and lonesome. But not lonesome enough. Kid Curry had had just about enough of a certain dark-haired ex-outlaw being by his side all the damn time.
Kid finished eating, slurping awkwardly from a cup the thin gruel Heyes had made for him. He couldn’t feed himself properly yet, but he was damned if he’d let Heyes do it.
Heyes was eating his gruel with a spoon, somehow still managing to get it on his upper lip. Kid wondered if he was eating messily on purpose, to make Kid feel better.
Kid eased his tin cup down, between his aching, bandaged hands, and found himself filled with dread.
He shifted uncomfortably. He needed to relieve himself. And he’d just about rather crap his pants than ask Heyes for anymore help. He just wanted to be left alone, without that brave smile and those competent hands doing everything for him.
It didn’t help that Heyes was so nice to him. Always sweet-tempered and patient lately. It could get on a man’s nerves worse than being proddy.
“Need to go, Kid?” asked Heyes in a rather gravelly voice, setting down his own tin cup.
For a second, Kid wanted to curse, to call Heyes every name in the book. Instead, he got up slowly and walked over to stand in front of Heyes, to let him undo Kid’s pants.
Heyes’ hands were light, careful, competent. And very, very irritating and strange. It made Kid feel strange inside, his hands there, like that. Heyes wasn’t disrespectful, far from it. But…
Kid moved away quickly, went to take care of business.
Fortunately, he hadn't had any trouble yet, but he was worried about it. One of these days, his body was going to be feeling well enough, and he was--going to get stiff, down there. And…not be able to do anything about it, or hide it. It was an agonizing feeling, being this helpless, and he just wanted to get away from his far too understanding and helpful Heyes before that could happen, humiliating him any further.
Of course, sure enough--maybe thinking about it made it happen, or just rotten luck--when he returned, after pulling his pants up as best he could--agony, with his useless hands, the pressure on them making a dozen small spots open again, and bleed. He could feel it, the tearing of his flesh and the seeping of blood past the healing scabs.
And in the end, it didn't help anyway, because he couldn't get his pants up, he couldn't, and Heyes hands were working there and he felt--oh shameful, die of shame--something happening, he was stiff and Heyes couldn't miss it. He felt himself growing hot and red, and there was nothing, nothing he could do.
“That's okay, Kid, I got the same equipment, don't pay no attention,” said Heyes quickly, trying to work his pants up without hurting him or making it worse. “Don't mean nothing,” he added, with a little grunt, closing the pants at last, fastening them up top but not the buttons down lower, so he wouldn't have to make it any worse, so he wouldn't have to touch Kid.
“That'll be fine for now.” He rose and gave Kid a swift pat on the back. “You're fine.” His voice, and his dark eyes, were worried.
Kid turned away. He wanted to kick something; he wanted to beat somebody to death.
Of course, that 'somebody' was already dead, shot by Lom. The savage anger inside him wanted an outlet, and didn't have one.
His hands, his useless, useless hands, leaving him like, helpless and enraged and a victim to his body, relying on Heyes for everything.
He couldn't stand it one more second!
“Kid,” said Heyes, moving forward. “Kid, don't--it don't mean nothing.” Hands on his arms, gentle and reassuring.
Kid whirled around and glared at him, feeling his face contort with fury. “You shut your damn mouth and get away from me!”
Heyes straightened, a flash of anger replacing the startled, almost fearful look on his face. “Now you wait a cotton-picking second. I didn't do anything to you, and I'm tryin' to help. I'll help however I can, Kid, just let me know what you need…”
“What I NEED is for you to stop treating me like a damned baby! What I need is a good lay, and a hot bath and to use my own damned hands for a change!”
Heyes stared at him, eyes hot and dark, bottomless and angry and aching. “Fine,” he said at last, and gave a short, decisive nod. He moved forward, getting down on his knees in front of Kid. “Unless you wanna lay down first?” He looked up at Kid. His hair was a little messy, and his eyes were dark and bottomless pits.
Something stirred inside Kid Curry, and he thought, “Oh. He's gonna do it. He'd even do that for me.”
“Heyes, I don't mean it. You don't hafta do that for me.” He spoke past clenched teeth, a jaw that jumped irregularly.
“Well, which is it?” Heyes stayed on his knees--like he was kneeling before Kid Curry! It seemed wrong somehow, demeaning. That he'd offer this. That he'd demean himself this way.
All Kid had to say was, “Damn it, get up!” and he would, it would all be over.
But it would be awful nice to have Heyes be the awkward one for once. And instead of those light, competent hands teasing him without trying to, he'd find cool relief in them. He felt himself straining at the seams of his barely fastened trousers, and realized he wanted it, bad, even from Heyes. He wanted the release of this, he wanted the relief and he wanted Heyes to be the weak and awkward one.
He was gonna call his bluff.
“Think you can do it?” he asked in a small, cold voice, halfway a sneer, mocking.
Heyes nodded. “Sure.” His voice was a little tight, not as breezy and easy for him as he tried to make it sound. And his hands--oh, his light, delicate, so capable hands--were opening Kid's pants and--and touching inside them.
New areas seems to bloom inside Kid's head. Those hands that opened safes were now touching, and opening, him. Like fireworks blooming in a night sky. He couldn't, he shouldn't be--how could he be this damned good?
Heyes soft-haired head leaned forward now, and Kid started at the first feel of his tongue, hot and silky and wet. He was trembling now, moving with the movement of Heyes' competent, smooth movements. He was even good at this, damn him. He was good at everything.
Kid moaned aloud, letting it up, letting it out, letting go, and he was inside Heyes, and Heyes mouth moved around him, and he couldn't stand it another second. “Help me,” he moaned, and let it out, jerking himself awkward and rough against Heyes' mouth and hands, that were moving less competently now, trying to help, getting pushed back and forth. A hand tightened, squeezed--his mouth worked, awkward jaws far apart, and Kid thrust hard, back, shoving into him, he cried aloud as he felt it all come out, and thrusting, thrusting, backing off now, he heard a whimpered moan from his mouth and it didn't sound like him. He was shaking all over, and at the same time going loose. He started to lean on Heyes' shoulders, and his hands spiked with pain. He let up instantly.
He wanted something bad, and he didn't know what; and at the same time there was something he didn't want any more, something fulfilled that he hadn't known he'd wanted for a long time, but it had been there, aching and growing and now he'd come out the other side, different, changed, seeing things a new way.
He wanted to lay down and go to sleep. And he wanted to wrap Heyes up in his arms and kiss him and touch him.
Of course, he couldn't do that.
Heyes backed off now, moving away on his knees, keeping his head down. He swallowed hard, and Kid wondered if he'd hurt Heyes. All he could seem to do was stand here, halfway naked, his parts hanging out getting cold now, feeling wet and relieved and sensitive.
Heyes reached for his handkerchief, wet it from a canteen, fumbling a little with the lid. He reached for Kid, and cleaned him up, real gentle. Then he cleaned his own face up, wiping around his mouth. He took a swig of water, and gargled, and spat. He took a drink. “You want one?” he asked hoarsely, raising it, looking up at Kid's eyes for the first time. He looked tired and a little sick, and scared somehow, and flushed, and his hair was a mess.
Kid shook his head. “I'm gettin' cold, Heyes,” he said in a funny croaking voice.
Heyes obediently shut his trousers for him. The hands didn't feel so funny now. Knuckles brushed warm against him, and he felt that flutter inside, a mix of hunger and softness, a changed feeling, warm and wanting and loving. He wanted to gather Heyes up and kiss him, ruffle his hair, roll over and over and land on top of him and just hold him there, under him, feel their bodies pressed up together.
Heyes was moving about, cleaning up the camp fire with quick, competent steps, knowledgeable hands. He hadn't washed up proper, but then it was hard to out here.
Kid found himself watching those hands. And--when he could--the front of Heyes pants, wondering if it had affected him at all, that amazing trip he'd sent Kid on.
“You sorry you did it?” he asked, when he could talk in a more normal tone of voice. He was so sleepy, he'd sleep so good tonight. His jaw felt like it wanted to crack from the yawn he was holding back.
“Not if it helped,” Heyes voice was a confident croak again. He glanced at Kid, awkward and almost nervous. “Did it?”
Kid nodded. His frustrations and feelings of not being able to bear it were almost completely replaced with these new thoughts and feelings. He'd forgotten about his hands.
Heyes smiled, bright and relieved. “Aw, good, Kid. Then lay down and get some rest.”
His smile, at least for now, looked bright and honest and new. And his mouth was really beautiful.
Kid laid down and didn't grump about it when Heyes laid a blanket gently over his shoulders.
Kid wondered, before he fell asleep, how something so strange could feel so right.
Heyes hadn’t seemed to mind. Maybe they could do it again sometime, and find a way to make it good for Heyes, too. It would be tough with no hands.
But he wasn’t quite as upset about his hands as he had been. They wouldn’t have tried this otherwise.
He thought maybe there were certain things he could stand from Heyes, all the damn time.
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no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 12:34 am (UTC)I see the evil plot now ... oh, the sneakiness of Heyes!
Quick ... a threequel!!
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 11:08 am (UTC)We like spam in this community ... and I should know ... heh!
no subject
Date: 2011-06-02 06:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-02 12:23 pm (UTC)Let Heyes give u a big ol' hug ...
We don't bite in here!!
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 01:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 11:10 am (UTC)HEYES ... innocent?? Have you been smoking something you should have shared with the rest of the class?
We has lovely, lovely slashy goodness coming our way ...
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 11:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 06:34 pm (UTC)It would be... enlightening to get Heyes' POV on this ;-)
http://aliassmithjones.livejournal.com/114261.html
Thanks. I sorta wrote that, but didn't feel comfortable posting it.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-31 02:59 pm (UTC)