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der Geschlechtstrieb, der Rausch, die Grausamkeit

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Smoke from Artie’s cigarette coils from where it rests between his fingers. He’s staring off into space, lips slightly parted, cigarette almost forgotten. There’s only one thing his mind could be on: it’s on Judd’s mind, too. On his mind, in his throat, fluttering through his heartbeat and settling sick in the pit of his stomach. There’s dread there, but there’s excitement too, God, excitement at what he’s about to do. At what he’s about to watch Artie do. At what they’re about to do together.

It’s the night before. Tomorrow, their plan will be set in motion. Tomorrow, there will be no going back. Their crime will be legendary, as they, unsuspected and free, return here again to Judd’s bedroom. Or– well, no. Judd cannot, will not, think the other eventuality.

Trying to assuage the fear he can feel creeping up his throat, he focuses on Artie again, watching him watch the wall. Artie’s so lost in his own thoughts he doesn’t realise his cigarette is burning out until the glow reaches his fingers. He hisses, shakes his hand, swears.

“Shit, Artie,” Judd can’t help but say.

“It’s fine, Judd,” Artie replies, annoyed, looking at his fingers. “I don’t think it burned me badly.”

“No, I mean–”

Artie has bent down to retrieve the stub from where he shook it off. “It hasn’t marked the floor up either.”


“What, Jesus, Judd?”

Judd doesn’t particularly want to name the planned deed. He grimaces. “You know.”

There’s a moment of silence, during which the skin around Artie’s eyes tightens minutely.

“Not having second thoughts, are we, Judd?”

More silence.

“No,” Judd breathes, “I just–”

“Nerves, I suppose. You always were the more delicate of the two of us.”

Judd can hear the leaves outside scratching against his window.

“I need you for this, Judd. This is for us both. And Judd – you need this as much as I do. I know you do.”

“Artie…” Judd whines, not looking at him.

“This is for us both,” Artie insists, and Judd can feel his gaze on him, reluctantly brings his eyes up to meet it.

Judd is being petulant, he knows he is. He wants Artie to reassure him, he thinks, tell him it will all go to plan. He wants–

“Get on your knees, Judd.” Artie’s voice is soft, but it cuts sharp through the still air of the room.

Judd wants this.

He should really be embarrassed at how he practically scrambles to get off the bed and onto his knees on the floor beside it. Actually, he knows, he is embarrassed. He always is when they do this, but the feeling, every time, just goes straight to his cock.

There’s something slightly cruel in Artie’s smirk, his eyes glittering with excitement as his eyebrows turn upward. He cocks his head to the side and pouts. “Poor little Juddsy. Come over here. Crawl.”

There’s relief in this, comfort. Judd doesn’t have to think. He just has to do what Artie tells him.

Slowly, he lowers himself onto his hands and knees and crawls over to Artie, wincing at his knees smarting even against the plush carpet. Shame follows him as he goes, roiling hot in his belly, filling his cock out inside his slacks.

He reaches where Artie is sitting in a chair, stares down at his polished shoes. Artie raises a foot to rest at the underside of Judd’s chin, and nudges upwards until Judd’s looking at him through his lashes.

“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”

Judd swallows dry and cuts his gaze away, looking pointedly at the legs of his desk. How on earth did he end up here, on his hands and knees in his own bedroom, at the feet of a man who’s convinced him to take part in a murder the very next day.

Not, really, that it took much convincing. As much as Judd might try to persuade himself otherwise, he wants this almost as much as Artie does. The two of them are different from everyone else, he knows they are, and Artie’s right – there’s only so much petty crime one can commit before it becomes boring.

This is their ultimate test.

But that’s tomorrow. Right now, all he needs to focus on is Artie.

“Get up,” comes the voice from above him, “You can’t very well suck my cock from all the way down there.”

Judd stays where he is. He’s being bitchy on purpose, he wants to make Artie say it again.

“Judd.” His voice is knife-sharp and whisper-quiet. “Get up.”

God, Artie’s so easy.

Judd straightens up slowly, dragging his hands over the folds in Artie’s slacks as he shuffles forward to rest between his splayed legs. He hooks his elbows over Artie’s thighs and takes his time undoing the fastening, breath ghosting hot over the swell there.

Artie cards a hand through Judd’s hair and then grips tight, wrenching his head back to force eye contact.

“You’re such a bitch, Judd. Stop teasing me or I’ll find someone else. I can do that, you know.”

Oh, he can, Judd knows he can. Half the girls in town would take Artie’s dick down their throat if he asked. But he won’t. Not tonight. Not like this.

Judd rolls his eyes but acquiesces, pulling Artie’s cock free and licking a long stripe up it. Artie groans and leans back in his chair, fingers loosening their grip in Judd’s hair to rub circles into his scalp.

“Oh yeah. Just like that.”

Judd does it again, ending by taking just the head of Artie’s cock in his mouth and tonguing at his slit. Artie gives a full body shudder, hips bucking upward involuntarily.

Judd smirks as much as he can and takes Artie halfway down, sucking and tonguing, noises obscene.

He knows Artie won’t be able to take much more of this. He’s never been one for patience.

Sure enough, it only takes a minute before Artie makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat, takes Judd’s head in both of his hands, and slams his cock to the back of Judd’s throat.

Judd chokes, eyes rolling up into the back of his head, his lower body twisting to try and get some friction against his own dick. Artie holds him in place, thrusting shallow, not letting up for a second as Judd gags and tries desperately to breathe through his nose.

Finally, Artie wrenches him off, and Judd gasps in breaths as he’s thrown backward onto the floor, catching himself on his elbows. Artie’s cock is wet and red and curved towards his torso, and he jacks it off a few times, lips parted, eyes on Judd.

“You look good down there,” he says. “At my feet, like a fucking dog.”

Judd feels his face heat up with what he knows is a dark, shameful blush, but his cock throbs at the same time, and he brings a hand down to push against it. It feels good, so good to have some friction, and he whines, staring at Artie jacking his own dick with long, lazy strokes.

“You want another taste?”

Judd huffs and, looking away from Artie, pulls his cock out of his slacks and fucks up into his hand, letting out a stifled moan of relief and pleasure.

Artie looks down at him, lust trying to twist his features from under his unimpressed expression. He watches as Judd strokes his cock a few more times, waits when he gets up and crawls back over. Judd’s loathe to let go of his dick, but he does so anyway, sitting back kneeling with his hands on his thighs, just staring at Artie’s dick.

“Suck my fucking cock, Judd,” comes the inevitable command, and Judd is all too happy to comply. He takes Artie down, one hand jacking the bottom of his dick and fondling at his balls, the other curled around the tendons at the back of Artie’s ankle. The hands come into his hair again, pushing and pulling lightly.

Then Judd feels a pressure against his dick, and as it increases he realises it’s Artie’s foot, the sole of his shoe hard and cold and unyielding. It pins his cock against his stomach, precum leaking onto his waistcoat. As it presses harder, Artie’s hands tighten in Judd’s hair. He’s manhandling Judd’s head now, forcing it up and down his cock, fucking into his mouth hard and fast.

Judd’s hands feel useless, scrabbling at the fabric at Artie’s thighs. The pressure on his cock and balls has tipped over into pain now, and yet his hips still thrust pathetically up and into it. He whimpers in the back of his throat every time the pain spikes.

Artie’s close now, he has to be. Judd’s gagging and choking, making disgusting wet sounds, struggling to breathe. If he passed out, would Artie just keep going?

Judd knows the answer.

But then there’s an absence in his mouth and his throat, there’s air to breathe, and his eyes take a moment to focus. When they do, there’s just one hand in his hair, holding him in place in front of Artie’s dick: the other one is stroking himself to completion. When Artie comes, he aims his cock into Judd’s waiting mouth. Semen shoots hot onto his tongue, his teeth, his lips, only a little reaching up onto his cheek. Artie’s always had control.

They sit still a moment, their laboured breaths becoming slightly less so. Artie’s, anyway. Ignoring the way Judd shifts his hips under his shoe and whines, Artie pulls a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and takes Judd’s jaw in one hand, wiping the semen from his lips.

“Artie, please–” Judd whispers, voice cracking on the last syllable.

Already practically composed again, Artie makes a condescending expression at Judd and eases the pressure on his dick. Judd makes to take it in his hand, but is stopped by a glare.

“You know what I think, Juddsy? I think you can finish off just fine like this, against my shoe.”

Judd practically sobs. His dick is in agony, aching from the pressure, rubbed red and raw and chafing from the hard sole.

“Please, Artie, don’t make me–”

“That’s an order, Judd.”

Judd takes a shuddering breath and rocks up against Artie’s sole. It takes him a moment to get a rhythm going, but he does, throat choked up at the pain. But god, the chafe of it, he can bear through it if it means he gets to come.

“You’re like a bitch in heat,” says Artie, and Judd can’t help but agree. He’s rutting like an animal, focused only on reaching his climax.

Finally, cock on fire, Judd comes. It’s one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had, pain and pleasure indistinguishable.

As he comes down, he’s annoyed to note that he’s spilled onto his carpet.

He rests his forehead against one of Artie’s knees, still breathing heavily, a tear cooling on one cheek. He feels at once satisfied and completely humiliated.

He’s pulled out of his reverie by Artie saying, “I hope you’re as obedient tomorrow. You better not fuck this up for us.”

Judd sighs, cups Artie’s knee, and presses a kiss to the side of it.

“Anything for you, Artie.”

“Oh, Juddsy.”

Judd’s post orgasm high quickly decays back into his earlier mixture of dread and excitement. Tomorrow. He’d better not fuck it up.