More for Kink Bingo today (Kink Bingo), this time for the square ‘gag/silence’. Once more from the Water and Dust universe, like last week, but this time, much earlier in Brendan and Marc’s relationship, from around when they first met. And dramatic it was too! This one is about 1500 words.
They ran up the stairs, and tumbled into the bedroom they found there. One double bed, a chair, and an upright cupboard, with a bathroom off to the side. A large window faced onto the main road. It had no curtains, and let all the brilliant light through, washing the room yellow.
Brendan pointed to the cupboard. “There!”
The cupboard was really too small for both of them; they’d both have to squash themselves in, and uncomfortably at that. But Brendan whispered that that would convince Walker that they couldn’t possibly be hiding in it. So Brendan clambered in first, tucked his knees to his chest, and Marc followed, swinging the doors shut while his left leg braced one side and his right knee almost dug into Brendan’s side. As it was, he was hyper-aware of being that near to Brendan, their proximity closer than they’d even had in the truck. The cabin had been restricted, but this allow no movement. To do so would alert Walker to their presence, and that would be the end of it.
They’d run from Walker through the dusty streets of the town they hadn’t seen a sign for in broad daylight, the heat of midday in the Australian outback. How Walker had caught up with them Marc didn’t know. Didn’t really care, for Walker was a big bastard built like the proverbial shit house, and had a knife – maybe two – and a score to settle.
Jesus, Marc though, what had he let Brendan’s father talk him into? What had he let Brendan talk him into?
Well, there was an answer to both of those, and both were obvious if he were honest with himself.
Marc held the door closed, his fingers arched as the clutched around the lock, for his and Brendan’s legs pushed against the doors and would have burst them apart regardless of whatever mechanism were holding them in place. Inside, the cupboard smelt dry and dusty, empty but disused. Dust motes filtered in the air around them, for the door jams weren’t quite fitted, and the doors themselves didn’t precisely meet, so they sat in shadows that weren’t not
“And quiet!” Marc hissed, swerving his head in Brendan’s direction. At least they could move their necks.
Brendan grinned. “Oh I’ll be quiet, very quiet. I just hope you can be.”
Footsteps from outside the room sounded through the door.
“Shh!” Marc gave Brendan one final glare, and his eyes turned back to the column of light made where the two doors didn’t quite meet. He could even see the thin line of the lock, their only defence holding the doors together, a hazy mark intersecting the bright yellow line.
The steps entered the room, clomping on the wooden floorboards with no attempt to hide their menace. Marc held his breath as the steps came to a halt, and there was a long pause, before moving off again. Marc’s eyes followed the sound, despite being blind to see it, as they trod to the window, to what might have been the bathroom, the door they didn’t explore. He tried to imagine Walker’s face – it wouldn’t be angry, but it would be curious, wondering where they might have gotten to. That was what had scared Marc about Walker from the first. With most of these Aussie blokes, you knew what the deal was; they might have been aggro and quick to anger, but that was about it. Walker was the kind that watched, and waited, and – and Marc was sure of this – would take his revenge in the most creative and cruel way possible.
And that was just for stealing a truck.
But they could wait it out. Walker would soon think that they’d gone out of the house through the back garden, or out of a window, and he’d leave. He’d not think to look in this tiny cupboard where two grown men couldn’t possibly have stashed themselves. Marc kept his breathing low and steady, not wanting to let a single hiccup through and expose them. His arm at the lock was fine for the moment, and his legs were probably not going to cramp. He’d been fine. They’d be fine. Quiet and still. Just keep quiet and still.
It almost went to pieces when he felt Brendan’s hand cup his cock and balls, and press.
Marc froze. His breathing stilled, and he could only stare at the mechanism of the lock, his eyes watering as the surrounding bright light blurred it’s edges. This wasn’t an accidental brush, not like the times before; Brendan had deliberately – deliberately! – reached over, and was caressing him like they were in a bar in Soho, or in the hallway after one had invited the other back home. And despite the khaki and the boxer material covering Marc, Brendan was getting him achingly hard.
His other hand, which had been pressing into the top of the cupboard, clamped across his mouth. The words of old boyfriends and partners ran through his head – “Gee you’re noisy Marc!” “Wow, you make quite a sound.” And here Brendan was, doing everything to bring that out of him, for Marc hadn’t been quiet in the cabin of the truck. Marc inhaled, trying to be as quiet as he could. He took in the dust of the cupboard, the dryness of the air around them, a faint scent of sweat from their frantic run.
Marc’s eyes shifted to Brendan, trying to appear murderous, because if they made it out of this alive, Marc would kill him, he swore that to himself now, but Brendan’s eyes were soft, not teasing or mocking. Oh, he’d be loving this, loving the danger of the two of them locked around each, a man with a knife Crocodile Dundee would have envied stalking outside, who was probably just taunting them, making them think he’d not found them and in any second was going to wrench open the door, while Brendan was feeling Marc up, with Marc having no way to stop it.
Nor wanting to. That was the worst of it. Being forced to just accept the sensations rather than roll his body to handle them, to keep quiet, to keep in such control under Brendan’s squeezing hand, Marc’s eyes wandering between Brendan’s, the line of light cutting across Brendan’s arm reaching to Marc’s unprotected groin, the lock that held them there, and Marc’s hand, gripping the lock and his fingers beginning to buckle and tremble. His blood beat through his body, sounding in his ears. Everything else was quiet around him, but his body sung with the pressure of the cupboard and Brendan’s insistent hand.
The steps outside kept moving, in time with Brendan’s presses and squeezes. They seemed to linger in the bedroom. Marc was sure at one point Walker had crouched to look under the bed, as if they’d be dumb enough to hide there – though dumb enough to be doing this in a cupboard with a madman outside.
Marc’s eyes turned back to Brendan, trying to plead with him, but Marc didn’t know what he was pleading for; an end, one way or another. Oh please let it all end…
Walker’s steps moved towards the doorway, growing quieter as he left the room, and he could be heard going downstairs again. Brendan’s hand kept going, long after they heard the front door slam, and Walker’s footsteps thudding on the dusty road outside the window. Even out of danger, Marc didn’t take his hand from his mouth, and only his body gave way when at last he came, and he shoved the doors apart, his body spilling to the floor as his orgasm rocked him, but all the while, he himself remained quiet.
And despite the residual fear, despite the fact his shorts and underwear were now stained, he grinned.
That’ll show them, he thought.
“Thought that might have pissed you off.”
Marc craned his head around. Brendan was still hunched in the cupboard, half his face obscured by shadow.
Marc shook his head, not quite grinning anymore, his confusion over Brendan coming back in force. “You must have a bloody death wish.”
Brendan looked down, his lashes falling to his cheeks tenderly. He didn’t respond to Marc directly “I liked that… the stillness, the silence. Life gets so… chaotic sometimes. You need a moment of quiet.”
Marc said, “Even when you’re life is at stake?”
“Especially then,” Brendan said. “That’s when you need it the most.”
Marc swallowed. He sat up, turned himself back around, and watched Brendan for a moment. Brendan’s eyes were still cast down, and it was as if he’d stay there in that cupboard forever.
Marc held out his hand, the first time he’d ever reached for Brendan for something that had nothing to do with him searching for him, and said, “That bed looks pretty empty. Come be quiet with me?”
Brendan took a long moment to look up, but when he did, he nodded, and clambered out and fell into Marc’s arms.