Movies on the couch

Late night with no sleep again. The crawling hands of the clock turning so slowly around to morning, cracked white rim of it sitting high against the wall. The tv that was murmuring its brain deadening message into the dingy apartment had 'fallen off the back of the truck'. Angelo hadn't asked any more questions then that. When there was nothing to do, there was always television.

Jono's gigs were a lot steadier now, word had got around that he could play anything, would play anywhere and was reliable. Most musicians...often weren't. A spare guitar player who could be trusted to turn up on time and do exactly what he'd been told...yeah, he was someone worth paying. Tonight was a night when he didn't have a club to get to, and Angelo didn't have a race to run for 'Berto and his friends. No car jacking either. Not tonight. It was a stay at home night, nice and quiet and easy. There was so little of their lives that was. Or was anywhere close.

Door locked against the world, curtain drawn and they could shelter in here. Watch a movie and pretend that they were normal. Sorta. Not many people really were normal, when they were viewed through the eyes of other people. There were people who would have spat on them for being...well, sort of gay. But he didn't really think of it as being gay...more as just being hot for Jono's ass. And everything else about him. Sprawled out comfortably on the mattress since they couldn't afford a couch yet, and watching a movie that was on late, late at night. Distant sounds of sirens somewhere.

Made him wonder what capes were out tonight, what costumed super heroes were leaping over the rooftops in all their spandex and leather clad glory. Who they were chasing. Normal villains or the supposed purest of evil? He'd spotted Spiderman once, when he'd been in the centre of the city. But most people of NY had seen him at least the once. Red and blue blur swinging by overhead? Oh, that's Spiderman. Daredevil down in Hell’s Kitchen too, but Angelo tried not to go down there more then he had to. Daredevil was grudgingly ok as well.

There weren't that many towns with their own personal superheroes. New York seemed to attract them for some reason that would be known only to New York. Maybe it was like a whatsit that the New Age girl down the hall was always talking about, a locus. Crossing of the ley lines or some shit. The Ultimates and the X-Men were both wider then the one city. They went everywhere. Big issues, mano, big issues. Not the little ones. Spidey...he was...kinda ok. Purse snatchings, attempted rapes, muggings. The little stuff. Los Angeles didn't have any superheroes as far as he knew, so once he had a bit more money together...he was going back there, talk with his Mama. He hadn't been able to talk to her about Jono over the phone.

How the hell do you start with something like that? How was he meant to tell her, huh? Hola, Mama...this is Jono, I think I maybe love him. I may be gay. I know I'm going to hell for it, and I know this is going to break your heart because it means no grandkids, but I love him. And I want to be with him. No matter what. How do you break apart someone’s world like that? Because he knew, oh he just knew that it was going to break her heart that he’d chosen this...had he chosen this? It had been meeting Jono and bang, he was gone.

Shot through the heart, like something out of one of those stupid little books that...Torres had liked to read. He hadn’t thought about her in a while. He’d never told Jono about her either. Just seemed like he was borrowing too much trouble. If they ever went back to LA, he’d have to tell him then. Wait, would Jono even want to come to LA with him? The thought that maybe he didn’t was a bit disquieting. His grip tightened a fraction around Jonothon’s waist, anxiety suddenly present in his mind because what if Jono didn’t? What would he do then?

Stir as Jonothon moved against his side, the rasping slide of the bandages sliding against his skin. The guy from the movie who was so depressed because his girlfriend had been raped and killed, and because he’d been offed at the same time was throwing gold rings at the sleaze who ran the pawnshop. This movie, Jono had wanted to watch it, but it reminded him of the barrios. Despite the fact that no one was speaking in Spanish. Poor area, gangs, crime...hey, it looked just like home. Moved his head to the side slightly and breathed in the scent of Jono’s hair.

Something slow and easy in the way it was just a mutual moment of decision. Like, hey ya wanna? And a yeah sure back. Without a word being exchanged. Jono had probably seen this movie a hundred times before anyway, so he wasn’t missing out on much. While he’d been willing to watch it for Jono’s sake, Angelo had to admit it didn’t really do much for him. Not anything close to the way that the slide of Jonothon’s hands under his shirt did something for him. Stroked one hand up to slide through dark hair, feeling the feathery softness of it against his palm. Skin like smooooth silk under his exploring fingertips, and hot. So hot against him he could almost forget just how fucking cold it was outside, in this frozen hellpit of a city. Breathed in against the curve of his shoulder and neck, rocking his hips gently and pulling Jono closer against him. Just there. Just like that.

It took a bit of wriggling to get better situated on the groin to groin front, but Jono hooked a leg over his hip and that seemed to work. Angelo slid his hands down the long elegant curve of the British teen’s back, gray fingers spreading to cup that perfect little ass. Rubbed little circles over the divot that made the small of Jonothon’s back with his thumbs, kneading and stroking as their hips managed to find an acceptable rhythm. Scrape of denim and zips, low rasping moan ratcheting through his head on a slip of telepathic thought. Dark, dirty. And it was all so slow that it was going to drive him mad.

*Oooh yeah, mate…*

Abortive movement of Jonothon’s head for a kiss that left him tasting latex on his lips, grinding his hips down harder to try and take that spark of hurt away. Again. Because just how the fuck did you get over losing parts of your body? Especially something like your mouth? Always moving for a kiss, to speak...he could see Jono going to do something like taste whatever was cooking, and then back off and just...no. He was thinking about how hot Jono was, big brown eyes and too long hair, black bandages and gorgeous ass. Pulled the Goth in tighter against him and writhed, gasping for breath and feeling the rolling buck of slender hips grind across his erection with wonderful friction. Dios, so close.

“Mmmph, Jono, te, te quiero...”

Wanted him so badly it hurt sometimes. Like an ache deep inside him of something empty that had only just found out what it could be like to be whole. Wanted him. Just like this. And every other way too. Just as long as he stayed Jono. Bitter, scathing, British, Gothic and Dios, so fucking sexy.

He could see the look on his lover’s face that meant he was getting close, the sense of Jono being in his head almost overpowering. Like he was coasting in there, gasping moans and slurred Britishisms playing in surround sound. The springs from the mattress squeaked in protest as they moved against each other, and he felt Jono almost fall off at one point, but they somehow managed not to wind up on the floor again. Talking about a mood breaker, that was a bad one. Grunted as black chipped nails dug into his back, so hard they had to be leaving bruises.

Didn’t give a damn.

“Feel so good, amante, yeah...” Angelo murmured, pushing his hips insistently against the thrust and grind of Jono’s own. Dug his fingers harder into the round curve of the other man’s ass, licked along the scrap of cheek that ran above the edge of the bandages. So good, Jono tasted so good...

Sent everything he was feeling fiercely along the link that they’d formed haphazardly between them. Hot body, hard muscle, sleek bandages, brown eyes, sex want, the feel of Jono’s erection pressing against his stomach, the way his ass filled Angelo’s hands just right, Jonojonojono... Whammied the hell out of him with it, everything he was feeling right then as the tight sweetness in his body built up and up. Hot coil in his stomach, reaching out to his cock as he felt himself start to sweat a little as they rubbed up against each other frantically on the ratty mattress, stupid and forgotten movie playing in the background as counterpart to his heavy breathing and fuck dumb noises.

*Ngh, oh fuck yeah, Ange...* Arch into his body, and the crashing cascade of light and feeling that was Jono’s orgasm blazed through his mind. It ran the thin edge of hurt every time, and maybe this time would be the time that Jono forgot to pull back that little bit that could see him a drooling vegetable or something, but it was perfect, it was so good.

Angelo cried out hoarsely as he came, hips bucking erratically against his lover’s body as they went through the little death and came out the other side together. Feeling shattered but more whole then they had been before. Panting a little, Angelo rubbed his hands slowly over Jono’s back, feeling the glide of elegant musician’s hands moving almost apologetically over the scratches they’d left. As the after bliss faded away, Angelo grimaced a little at the feel of his damp and sticky jeans molding themselves around his cock. Ugh.

“Next time, we remember to get our pants off, si?”

*Oh, bloody hell, we will,* Jonothon sent back with distaste as they peeled away from each other. Semen once cooled, was not a nice thing to be covered in and have spread across the inside of your pants. *Fuck. That was a nice little bit of humping, but next time we get rid of the fucking jeans first.*

“Si.”

With both of those statements, Angelo agreed wholeheartedly.

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