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Renton
Renton takes a sharp inhale from the small bottle Sick Boy gave him, and instantly, the emptiness fills with warmth, making him a bit dizzy.
"Yer heart is racin' 'cause it widens yer blood vessels," says Sick Boy, who is apparently a drug scientist now. "This drops yer blood pressure, and that's why ye're feelin' the buzz. Also, makes yer muscles relax, makin' everything smoother. Perfect fur anal sex."
"Fuck aff," says Renton.
Sick Boy is not deterred. "Why?" he says seductively as he leans closer and starts kissing Rentont's neck, giving him goosebumps, "Ah've got lube an' aw. Ye know ye want it."
Yeah, but not with this version of you, thinks Renton. "Simon, no," he says instead.
"Ye're gettin' hard, though," says Sick Boy, and he's right. A combination of alcohol, poppers, and Sick Boy's touch is dissolving Renton's determination. The cunt just knows his body too well, and Renton hates him for it. Sick Boy can ask him to do anything, and Renton will; he hates himself for that, too.
Renton doesn't remember why he liked Simon in the first place, and he doesn't know where Simon went and at which point he just became Sick Boy. Well, Simon had always been self-centred, prioritising his needs above all else. Yet, there was a layer beneath this facade, a hidden depth that emerged in moments of vulnerability, revealing his humanity. This aspect started to fade once they got on heroin, completely disappearing after Dawn's death.
His charm and skillfulness haven't changed; if anything, Sick Boy excels in these areas. His hand habitually goes into Renton's jeans and closes around his semi-hard cock. Renton doesn't manage to suppress a moan, and he sees Sick Boy smile; then he starts pumping.
"Ye like it, ye little slut," Sick Boy whispers into his ear as he kisses Renton's neck, and Renton doesn't object. Resistance is futile; he knows he will surrender to this meaningless pleasure.
Sick Boy's hand tightens momentarily around Renton as a reminder of the question.
"Yeah," Renton exhales.
"Then just let me," Sick Boy says in a low voice. He pauses, his breath warm against Renton's ear, waiting. His hand, previously assertive, stills momentarily on Renton's skin. Renton whimpers in frustration and automatically thrusts his hips up, but Sick Boy's grip relaxes until he almost lets go. "Ye'll love it," he says.
And that will only make it worse, thinks Renton. But right now, he's hanging on the edge, and giving in to Sick Boy is the only way out.
~~~
"Awright," says Renton. He watches as Sick Boy's smile widens, and then he gives Renton a forceful kiss, his hands fumbling for the hem of Renton's shirt before he swiftly yanks it off. The jeans are next, but that's not going to happen so easily — the cut is too tight.
"Get them aff, noo!" Sick Boy growls in frustration. Renton complies, kicking off his trainers and dragging off his jeans and boxers. As soon as he does, Sick Boy pushes Renton onto his back and, without hesitation, takes him into his mouth.
This feels better than it has any right to be, and Renton struggles not to get lost in it. He knows Sick Boy's tactic — to make Renton feel so good he'll forget he doesn't want it.
Renton conjures up the stench of rotting seafood at the docks, clogged gutters full of trash after rain, or that homeless woman with decaying teeth who always hangs out in the Grassmarket. It doesn't work — how can Renton think of anything else when Sick Boy's mouth tightly wraps around him, his tongue gliding over the seam as he moves?
The revolting imagery fades, and Renton can no longer hold back his moans. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he presses his hand on Sick Boy's head, pushing him deeper until he feels the tightness of his throat. Renton hears him choke, but he doesn't care — if Sick Boy can be cruel, so can he. Tears run from beneath Sick Boy's long lashes, and Renton feels a twisted satisfaction.
Sick Boy doesn't break the rhythm. Instead, he pushes Renton's legs wider with his shoulders, and his hand slides from the balls down to the perineum, starting a gentle massage just below.
"Ye've got the lube?" Renton's voice comes out rough and unsteady.
Sick Boy lifts his head. With his hair tousled, cheeks wet, lips glistening with saliva and precum, he looks absolutely ethereal.
"Eager noo, are we?" Sick Boy draws back, peeling off his shirt and arching his back in a slow stretch. He casually grabs the lube and drops it on the mattress next to them, and then his eyes lock on Renton hungrily. "Oan aw fours," he commands.
Renton feels a surge of panic in his chest. Facing Sick Boy gives him a semblance of control, even if it's just an illusion.
But Sick Boy doesn't give him time to deliberate. He grabs Renton by the waist and, with a practised move, flips him over and sets him in place.
Renton buries his face in the pillow. Sick Boy's hands spread him open, and Renton doesn't really know what to expect, but he gets a hot tongue in his arse and a hand on his cock.
It's a total sensory overload; Sick Boy's tongue game is unparalleled, and his strokes are painfully good. Renton loses himself in the sensation, pressure building rapidly as he teeters on the brink of orgasm. But just before it hits, Sick Boy abruptly stops all contact. Renton can't hold back a desperate groan, his body aching for release.
"No just yet," says Sick Boy with a hint of amusement; then Renton hears the lube bottle open. Sick Boy's fingers cup Renton's balls, and a thumb slick with lube replaces the tongue. It circles teasingly at the opening, and Renton involuntarily pushes back, craving more.
Sick Boy kisses the small of Renton's back, slowly dragging his tongue along Renton's spine, leaving a trail of slow kisses along the vertebra. "Relax," he murmurs into the skin, and before Renton realises, a finger pushes in.
The idea of being penetrated leaves Renton feeling raw and exposed. Sick Boy's finger moves slowly, the sensation unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Renton drags out his exhales, letting the muscles relax; the more he does, the better it feels, and soon, he finds himself rocking back. Sick Boy adds a second finger and quickens the pace; it feels like proper shagging now.
All thoughts of resistance have slipped away from Renton's mind. Now all he can think of is being impaled on Sick Boy's cock, and he doesn't care if there will be pain — he just wants to be filled completely. But Sick Boy doesn't seem in any hurry.
"Told ye ye'd love it," he breathes in Renton's ear, and that's when it all clicks together. This was the plan from the very beginning — the slow build-up, the denial, the gradual increase in pleasure — all to make Renton beg for it. And now, consumed by desire, Renton has no choice but to give in.
Renton closes his eyes. "Ah want ye inside noo," he breathes out, and he can sense Sick Boy's smile even if he can't see it.
"How bad do ye want it?" Sick Boy's hand doesn't stop moving.
"Simon, please," Renton whispers pleadingly, suddenly short of breath. "Just fuck me awready."
"Naw," says Sick Boy. He withdraws his hand, leaving an aching emptiness inside, and gives Renton a sloppy kiss on the cheek. "Ye go oan top," he adds, dropping onto his back beside Renton.
Renton has no idea how to do this, but he's too far gone to stop now. He straddles Sick Boy's legs and grabs his cock with both hands, coating it with lube. He knows every inch of it, but now, as he's about to take it in, it suddenly feels like more than he can manage.
'Inhale,' Sick Boy says, sliding his hand under Renton's nose. It takes Renton a moment to recognise the sharp scent of poppers. As he breathes in, a warm rush floods through him, tingling his skin. The room starts to pulse slightly, and Sick Boy's features seem to soften.
"Come oan," he says, guiding Renton into position.
Renton aligns himself and starts to slowly lower himself down. It feels overwhelming, and he stops after just a bit, looking down at Sick Boy, who supports him by the waist.
"Breathe, Rents," he whispers, his eyes fixed on Renton. "Just breathe."
Renton takes another breath and, on the exhale, moves down further, pausing there to let his body adjust to the sensation.
"That's it," Sick Boy says, his voice faltering. "Keep gaun'... ye can take it aw."
With a few more exhales, Renton sinks down, taking Sick Boy fully inside him. Their eyes lock; Sick Boy watches him, his expression unguarded, eyes filled with desire. His hands, usually so sure and steady, tremble slightly as they grip Renton's hips like he's trying to anchor himself to the moment to make sure Renton doesn't slip away.
He wants all of me, Renton suddenly realises, the way we used to be. But they're not those people anymore. The power shifts; Renton no longer feels vulnerable — he's in control now. Leaning down, he gives Sick Boy a rough kiss, biting his lip hard enough to draw a moan, then plants his hands on Sick Boy's chest and starts moving.
He starts off slow, his movements tentative, but as he adjusts, he picks up the pace and finds a rhythm. The sound of their ragged breaths and the wet slap of skin on skin fills the room.
"Mair lube," Sick Boy croaks eventually, his voice strained. Renton lifts himself slowly, rising just enough to let Sick Boy slide out and apply more lube. When he lowers himself back down, he shifts from his knees to his feet for better leverage.
Renton realises he's gone soft; the sensation of being filled is intense and arousing yet unfamiliar enough to keep him from tipping over. It's actually better this way — he can ride Sick Boy to orgasm without letting him have the satisfaction of doing the same for Renton. He feels Sick Boy's abs tense under his fingers, and then Sick Boy comes with a groan, his eyes closed, fingers digging into Renton's skin.
Renton doesn't stop moving until the throbbing stops. As he lifts himself off, he realises he's absolutely drained — not just from riding Sick Boy, but from the effort of staying hard without release and from the emotional rollercoaster of all these mind games.
Renton slips off Sick Boy and curls into a ball, his back to him. He wants to rest, to lose himself in the numbness of exhaustion, to think of nothing at all, but Sick Boy moves closer, wrapping himself around Renton.
His hand searches for Renton's cock, but Renton bats it away. Sick Boy just doesn't know when to accept defeat; his hand settles on Renton's stomach. He plants slow, soft kisses on Renton's shoulder, trailing up his neck and down his back.
Renton doesn't want this gentleness now; it threatens to unravel his hard-won detachment, reminding him of times when their touch felt like magic.
"Ye know Ah hate ye?.." he mumbles, loud enough for Sick Boy to hear. It's a reminder for them both that what happened wasn't about love.
Sick Boy pauses, carefully withdrawing his hand. He rests it on Renton's shoulder, rubbing slightly, then asks with unusual softness, "Do ye want me tae leave?"
That's not what Renton wants. He just needs to affirm what this is and what this isn't: it's a power struggle between two people with nothing else left, and Renton won't let Sick Boy pretend otherwise. Renton still craves his touch; he doesn't think he can ever say no to that.
"Naw," he says aloud, "Stay."
Sick Boy draws Renton close again, his hands tracing slow, deliberate paths across Renton's body. Each gentle touch eases the tension from Renton's muscles, lulling him into a deep relaxation. As the room fades into soft shadows, Sick Boy's steady caresses nearly send Renton off to sleep.
Drifting between wakefulness and dreaming, Renton thinks he hears Sick Boy say, "Ah'm sorry." It's impossible to tell if it's real or just the onset of a dream. As his mind teeters on the edge of consciousness, Renton feels an unmistakable sensation and realises it must be cum leaking out.
This jolts him fully awake. Groggily, Renton sits up and scans the dim room. "Ah'm gonnae take a shower noo," he announces.
Sick Boy watches him with an expression that's hard to read. He then looks away, his tone casual but kinda forced as he says, "Ye do that; Ah've got places tae be." He pushes himself off the mattress and starts looking for his clothes scattered around the floor.
"Awright," says Renton, pausing briefly before he leaves to get into the shower. He turns the tap, and only lukewarm water drips through the nozzle, feeling too cold against his skin. A nice hot shower would have been great, but you don't always get what you want, do you?
Renton tries to focus on the sensation of water running down his body, attempting to distract himself from the lingering feeling of Sick Boy still inside him, stretching him out. He's feeling the soreness now, and the emotional emptiness is just as palpable.
Before, this might have driven him to tears, but now there's a heavy blanket between Renton and the world. Before, it wouldn't be like that. Renton knows he can't cry, and he can't figure out why he ever would.
Renton stays under the shower until the hot water runs out completely, turning ice-cold. By the time he steps out, Sick Boy is gone.