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'fuck,' alex hisses, 'fuck you.' his teeth are bared, and tim slaps him, just to knock his glasses off-kilter. he always hated that.
they're breathing too loud, all three of them, alex with his face red and hot in the dim; tim spares one look at the camera and then, to brian, he asks, 'what do we do with him?'
'i'll fucking kill you,' alex pants, and tim covers his mouth with one hand, ignores his attempts to bite his fingers.
'just rough him up a bit. get him off our ass.'
'yeah,' tim says, 'right,' and he goes to hit him again except when he shifts to get the angle right he realizes what alex looks so fucking bothered for.
alex stills under him, death-stiff, and brian mutters, 'man, i'll do it myself if-'
'no. hang on.' tim grins, under the mask, forces a taunting edge into his voice; he picks his hand up, wipes it off on his jeans. 'alex? is that a gun in your pocket-'
'fuck off,' alex spits, but the venom is gone. he looks fucking mortified, really, like tim's found out some dirty secret.
'you serious?' brian asks, and tim can hear him smiling, too- tim grinds, clumsily, into alex's half-hard cock and in the silence of the night his gasp sounds all the more lewd. brian laughs, real loud, and tim hasn't heard him do a thing like that since-
well. alex squirms like he's just remembered he's supposed to be getting away, and tim grabs his wrists with barely any effort, pins them beside his head.
'c'mon, tough guy. what happened? thought you were gonna kill us.'
alex casts a glance at the camera, and tim sees his flushed face reflected in the viewfinder.
'take a look, big guy. and say hi to jay.'
alex whimpers at that, something that makes him sound like he's honest-to-god trapped, caught like a wild animal, and he glares up- 'you're burning this fucking tape,' he says, 'or i'll kill you. you know i can.'
and tim does, in some far-off part of his brain that doesn't wear the mask and runs out of meds and stays up into the morning worrying, but all he's really thinking about now is how goddamn satisfying it is to see alex humiliated. and liking it, too, if the bulge in his jeans is anything to go by.
'hey,' brian says, 'alex. how about-' and he looks to tim, now, like he's running something by him, like he needs approval before he goes on, which is- good, god, this is not something tim has time to unpack- 'we get you off. and you leave us the hell alone.'
alex sucks in a breath past his teeth like he's been fucking punched but he can't lie to tim, not about the way his hips stutter, not about anything. 'if you fucking try anything- i'm not gay-'
that knocks another laugh out of brian, spit from his mouth like a loose tooth. 'you little liar.'
(and god, wouldn't tim like to fucking ask about that)
'fuck you,' alex says, or tries to, but it fizzles out when tim rocks down into him, turns into something gasping and girlish.
'you talk too much.' tim leans down, lifts his mask up so alex can feel his breath, so they can look each other in the eyes- 'c'mon,' he murmurs, too quiet for the camera to pick up. 'i'll punch you if you really want me to. but isn't this better?'
alex looks up at him, and for a long moment tim thinks he could forgive everything if only alex would look at him like that for another second. tim thinks that maybe he could learn to live with the son of a bitch. maybe him and brian both could. and alex opens his smartass mouth and mutters, at an acceptable volume for the first time in his life, 'fine,' like he wasn't the one getting off on this in the first place. like he wasn't hard the second tim tackled him.
he parts his lips like he's thinking maybe they'll kiss, and tim spits into his open mouth.
('you fucking faggot,' he says, and he draws breath like there's more, but tim puts his palm over his mouth and looks to brian-
'you fine watching?'
he nods, and tim pulls his mask down in time to see alex's throat move as he swallows.)
alex tugs at tim's bruising grip on his wrists, but it's not hard enough to get away- not nearly as hard as he usually does, something tim only knows from how goddamn much he struggles when he thinks tim and brian are gonna gut him. 'you sick freak,' tim says, and if it sounds like he's smiling it must be a trick of the light; 'you swallowed it.'
'i mean,' brian says, leaning back on his hands and looking for all intents and purposes like he's at a mildly entertaining movie- 'spitters are quitters. alex doesn't strike me as a quitter.'
'fuck you.'
'you know any other words, big guy?'
'i don't think he does, tim.'
'y'know, i think you're right.'
'it's that one track mind.'
'oh, for sure.'
tim grinds into him, for emphasis or something, or something like he isn't hard himself, like it isn't stupidly, absurdly hot to have alex like this, and alex whines, bites his lip too-hard to muffle it. 'don't,' he says, breathless, but something about his tone's different. he always was a shitty actor.
'don't what?'
'not on tape,' alex groans, and tim presses his palm to his cheek just to feel if it's really as fever-hot as it looks.
(they look like a pretty fuckin' picture in the viewfinder, and tim realizes no matter what happens there's absolutely no way alex's face won't be in frame. when jay sees this- and tim knows, somehow, that jay's gonna see this- there'll be no doubt about what's going on.)
'what's wrong? you're the one who brought the camera. i think you want jay to see.'
'n-no,' and his breath is coming fast enough that tim thinks he can almost see it in the air, all of him blushing red and squirming against tim like he means to cover his face, 'please-'
brian whistles at that, low, almost impressed. 'you like that, don't you.'
'aw,' tim says, 'somebody's got a crush.'
and alex bitches as much as he can, lying in the dirt with his stupid jackass face all twisted up with want, but all he can really do is curse them out, or try to, or struggle in tim's grasp like it's doing anything but pushing their dicks together, like he'd rather get away.
(tim should tell him to cool it on that, probably, say something about how he prefers his sex a bit more enthusiastic, but maybe he's sick in the head. maybe there's something hot about play-acting like he's drawing alex's vulnerability out like pulling teeth. maybe this is just better than hurting him.)
'you really do, don't you?' tim says, leaning in so it's just for them. 'you want him to watch this. you like him.' he goes fumbling for alex's zipper, clumsily works his cock out of his jeans.
alex closes his eyes behind his dirty glasses and swallows, and then he nods, small and quick enough that tim barely sees it.
'did you finally shut him up?' brian asks, and when tim glances over he's holding his dick in his hand almost lazily, obviously hard, and tim can hear the wolf's-teeth grin in his voice.
'i think so. hey, big guy-' tim presses his fingers into alex's pliant mouth, 'help me out here.' and alex scowls, but he sucks, lets tim manhandle his face a bit. he jerks alex off with his wet hand as a sort of reward, lets alex reach out and grab a handful of his jacket.
'ah- s-shit,' alex pants, and tim- clumsily, left-handed- tilts his chin up so he can remember his expression forever.
'what was that you said? about not being a fag?'
and alex scowls, tries to bite tim's hand, makes brian chuckle, but tim's got it now, forever, whether the operator takes tonight from him or not. like a brand, in his head, steaming-hot, the image of alex getting his first handjob in-
('hey,' tim says, twisting his wrist so he can watch alex's eyelashes flutter in that pretty way, 'when's the last time you got a handy?'
alex huffs like the question's not worth answering, like he's about to call tim immature or something like that, but after a second he mutters, 'two years ago. eat shit.')
two years. all in a freeze-frame on a video tape, a picture carved into the front of tim's skull.
alex writhes under him. he does a stupid, masculine kind of thing where he starts to moan and realizes how much he sounds like a chick, and he bites his lip, and it shouldn't be attractive but nothing about alex kralie should be attractive, really, so tim doesn't feel too bad about how fucking cute he thinks it is.
(stupidly, he thinks for a second about ditching his mask and kissing him, sucking bruises into his neck so the next person to see him knows, so alex can't go anywhere without looking like a whore-)
tim twists his wrist and alex curses-
(-so the next time jay sees him, his eyes will linger on alex's skin, so the next time jay sees him he'll ask something about whether alex has been in a fight, how'd he get those-)
'let me ride you,' tim blurts out, stupid, thinking with the hot ache between his legs instead of his brain-
(-so the next time tim sees him, he'll know, even if tonight is another in a long line of nights he can't remember, even if-)
'yeah,' alex pants, and he looks nervous, but he gasps, 'yeah, alright.'
(-and tim shivers with his whole body and asks, 'yeah? you sure?' even if he wants it so bad he can barely breathe, and alex nods. alex likes it when tim takes what he wants.)
(and isn't that just, fuck, isn't that just the hottest thing, isn't that such a fucking power trip.)
he unzips his jeans. 'don't worry,' he says, grinning with all his teeth, 'it'll be just like fucking a girl,' and he pushes his boxers to his thighs, out of the way, and sinks down on alex's cock as fluidly as one can, in the dark.
'fuck,' alex gasps, and his hands go to tim's thighs, gripping hard enough to bruise, 'you're wet.'
tim barks a laugh like alex isn't taking the breath straight out of his lungs, like alex isn't so much fucking bigger than he expected; 'i guess we both have a thing for film majors.'
brian snickers.
tim puts his palm on alex's chest, holds him still even as his hips rock like he can't stop himself from fucking him- 'hold it, big guy, just-' he shifts, and alex gasps, his thumbs digging into tim's femoral ateries like it's taking a fucking herculean effort to stay still. 'give me a minute. it's been a while.'
'is he that big?' brian asks, voice rich with sarcasm, and tim groans and mutters, 'yeah, but don't tell him that.'
god, it aches, having someone inside him- tim hasn't had sex like this since college, can barely pull girls these days; it's sweet and sore and it makes him feel absolutely drunk to watch alex struggle not to push deeper.
he shoves alex's shirt up, gropes his chest, feeling him up, and the shiver that goes through him is electric, slips under tim's skin. their pulses are beating together, or tim likes to think they are, and whatever stupid, embarrassed thing is about to leave alex's mouth vanishes when tim starts to move.
'ah- fuck, sh- shit,' alex pants, and tim draws breath enough to laugh at him, but what’s supposed to sound like condecension comes out closer to thrilled pleasure. (whatever. a little candor won’t kill them.) ‘you’re- fuck- you’re t-tight, tim.’
'nah,' tim breathes, settling into a rhythm, 'i know you're pretending i'm him. you don't hav'ta do it out loud.'
and apparently tim's made a good call, because alex whimpers, covers his flushed face- 'hey, none of that,' tim mutters. 'you're gonna let him see you or i'll make you.'
a more put-together version of alex would probably try to call him on it, i'd like to see you try or something inflammatory like that, but this alex just- achingly slow- returns his hands to tim's thighs, keeps his face in frame.
tim picks up the pace and alex bites off a noise, something desperate and whiny, and when he bottoms out again his grip on tim's thighs tightens wonderfully and he gasps, 'fuck, jay-' and whines when he realizes just how goddamn loud it was in the quiet night.
brian barks a laugh. 'aw, c'mon kralie, one more time. i don' think they heard you back in town.'
'you keep that up,' tim pants, 'and he'll hear you from the hotel.' he's grateful for his mask, for the same reason he always is, because having your face in view of god and everyone and alex and jay's stupid cameras is so much more fucking stressful than it needs to be, because the cockiness that's getting alex so wound up would be hard to fake if his face was in full view, because he's starting to come apart at the seams.
(he blames alex's fucking dick. why is it always the skinny guys, who get to be hung like goddamn horses? is jay packing heat, tim wonders, under his timid little guy act.
would jay want to fuck like this, tim wonders, messy and cruel, in the woods, on camera.
when jay sees this- if jay sees this- will he be hard? from the beginning? is he fucked up like they are, tim wonders. will he get off to this, in the dark of his hotel room, volume turned way down so he won't get caught, so he has to strain to listen, has to still his hand for fear that the wet noise will be louder than the shitty, crunchy audio, that he won't hear tim's strained breathing, won't hear alex's profanity-laced whimpering as he slams tim down on his cock hard enough to hurt, and yelps, too-loud, like he-)
alex's face goes very, very red, and he snaps his mouth shut so hard his teeth click together. not that it matters. everyone's already heard him begging for jay.
'aw, fuck,' tim mutters. 'shit, kralie, did you fucking- it's been like a minute, christ, warn a guy.'
(tim feels very lucky that even before testosterone, he was sure he couldn't get pregnant, because alex definitely did. at least he has the decency to look embarrassed.)
alex turns to look away and accidentally meets his own gaze in the viewfinder, and his spent cock twitches in tim, who's honestly more mad that he's enjoying having alex's jizz in him than about the jizz itself.
'i'm clean,' alex mutters.
'course you are,' tim says. 'there's no way i'm not your first time.'
it's all talk, because of course it is, because for all the jokes alex isn't a bad-looking guy by a long shot, because for what it's worth tim would've done this back in college if he knew alex swung that way- but it's like alex never came at all, the way he starts to stiffen back up at that.
'fuck,' he whines, teeth clenched shut so his breath hisses out, 'can't you just- lemme pull out and wait a second-?'
'hey, bri,' tim says, like alex hasn't said anything, 'you got a light?' and he lifts up his mask, goes fishing in his pockets for his smokes, like the way alex writhes under him isn't the most helpless-pathetic-hot thing that's ever happened. like his cock isn't so thick tim knows he'll be sore and aching for days, like he won't roll over in bed and push three fingers inside himself where it hurts the best and cry, because it isn't enough.
'yeah,' brian mutters, his voice thick and muffled, and he flicks his lighter in time for tim to put a cigarette between his lips and lean over with one steadying hand on alex's warm chest; and they can't see each other's eyes, not with the masks or the dark and or this thing itself, but tim swears he can tell brian's smiling. he's got one hand down the front of his pants and the other, trembling faintly, holding his old zippo out to tim's smoke, and in that moment it's like there's no one else in the world. least of all alex and his perfect filmmaker's hands carving fingerprint bruises into tim's thighs like a crime scene.
'tim- jesus- one fucking second, please-'
tim stills, and alex takes a shuddering breath. he flicks ash on alex's chest and the way he glares is cute, stupidly so, blushing and indignant and not daring to move.
'maybe if you lasted more than a minute we wouldn't have this problem, kralie. it's not gonna kill you to get me off.'
alex scowls like it might. tim takes an indulgent drag of his smoke, lets it settle in that tender part of his throat, and drops his hand to alex's bare torso, just to watch him squirm. he wouldn't really burn him. it's just funny, the way he tries to inch away before he realizes tim's not letting him, the way he shivers and tries his hardest to struggle without moving his over-sensitive cock. it's not working.
'here,' tim says, hands alex his cigarette, 'that's for you, big guy.' alex fumbles it, presses it clumsily to his lips and inhales. ‘i’m gonna fuck you now, alright?’
he pulls his mask back down, and the choked-off noise alex makes is so close to a sob that he looks at his face- but alex gives him a very small thumbs-up with his trembling hand and tim mutters, ‘i’ll be quick.’
(alex takes another pull of his cigarette and reaches up, deliberately, to thumb tim’s cock, and isn’t that sweet of him.)
alex is hard, somehow, even if still being in tim is as agonizing as he's acting; leave it to alex kralie to have some kind of pornstar cock and no idea how to use it.
'fuck,' tim breathes, settling back into a rhythm, letting alex jerk him off, 'gah- bri, you want a turn, after this?'
(alex whimpers at that, all fucked-out and pathetic, and tim strokes his cheek in a way that he hopes is reassuring, just in case some wires have crossed and alex isn't just playing a part.)
'that good?'
'like you wouldn't believe.'
and it's true- he very nearly resents alex, for how good it feels, but really it's just a bone-deep relief to be this close to another person, to know that whatever happens, alex trusts him, right now. alex trusts both of them, to be rough with him, not to break him beyond repair.
'i like watching just fine, i think,' brian says softly, and tim flushes, for no reason at all.
(does jay like watching, tim wonders, in his real life, his before-life, when he has sex with normal people, does he ever fantasize about sitting back and watching, through the lens of his stupid camera or just with those wide eyes like streetlights, watching other people make a space in the world for themselves where they can sit on their worst enemy's cock and not feel a thing except a warm, heady kind of satisfaction. god, tim aches.)
he sighs, breathy, more like a moan than he means it to be, and it isn't supposed to sound like anything, really, but that's tim's voice going, 'fuck, alex,' splitting the fuck down the middle like it's two words, drawing it out, and alex's fingers going flustered-clumsy on his cock, alex's stern features all soft and messy; all at once tim is close, hot hot hot with the sweet-sore stretch of alex inside him, the warm, muffled sound of brian's labored breathing, alex's grip tightening on his thigh when tim clenches around him, 'shit,' he gasps, 'alex-' his eyes close under the mask and he's alone with the dark and the wet wet heat of alex's pulse pounding inside him, the insistent pressure in all the places they're touching, where they're breaking each other apart, and when he finally finally shatters under the weight of it all at least no one can see, not really.
tim leans, gasping, on alex's chest, his breath in his throat almost painful. his heart is pounding in his ears.
(the wet noise when he pulls out is fucking gross, slick and porn-y- he takes his cigarette back with shakey hands and watches through heavy-lidded eyes as alex, wincing, tucks his cock back in his shorts.)
alex traces a sore spot on the meat of his thigh, somewhere that'll be bruised to hell and back, must already be shadowed purple, and he murmurs, 'sorry,' like they haven't done so much worse to each other.
'you should be sorry you don't carry condoms,' tim mutters, standing up on his wobbly legs, cigarette dangling from his lips, walking a couple feet out to piss in the woods- he'll be damned if he gets a UTI from fucking alex kralie- 'you shithead.'
and alex stammers something that makes brian laugh, there's a faint fiddling with the camera, and tim leans against a tree and wrangles his jeans back up, finishes his smoke, purposefully does not think about what comes after this. purposefully does not do anything besides unzip his jacket and settle in beside brian and say, 'get lost. don't fucking follow us anymore.'
'and say hi to jay,' brian murmurs, teasing.
alex's wide eyes go between the two of them for a second before he finally nods.
(and if they stay there nearly until the sun rises, the light blue-black, brian between tim's legs where he's wet and tender so he doesn't have to walk to his car with alex's cum dripping out of him, doesn't have to feel any dirtier than he already does- the camera's off. it doesn't count for anything.)