"Askance For Absolution"

Title: “Askance for Absolution”

Author: xof

Feedback: xof1013@gmail.com

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Stuart/Vince

Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, but damn it’s fun imagining I do….

Summary: Fuh-Q-Fest Challenge Fic - Vince’s past comes back to haunt him on a night out with the gang, leading to a change in both his and Stuart’s future.

Original Challenge by Farrah - “While Stuart was away at college/university Vince was really strapped for cash. Maybe Hazel needed help with the rent and they would be evicted. Whatever. So Vince gets a job as a porn star. He uses a porn name, something from Doctor Who. Maybe Doctor Cock! Lol. Anyway, Stuart finds out about it years later. Stuart always found it weird that Vince would get approached by people asking him for his autograph as Doctor Cock (?). Or say how much they loved his movies...how they were hooked on him...how they and their boyfriends used them as foreplay...whatever. So Stuart gets really curious, goes on line and finds out that his sweet boy was a gay porn star!!!! lol A big secret that not even Hazel knows about. And when Stuart confronts Vince, things happen. Maybe Stuart wants to make his own movie with Vincent Tyler, aka. Doctor Cock. Whatever you want. I would certainly like some naughty bits.”

Notes: I greatly altered the original challenge. To an extreme degree, but with good intentions. I couldn’t work the storyline provided, so I adapted it to be a more ready fit to the existing characterization of Vince and Stuart. One much less AU, but rather a missing scene set after the end of Season One. But don’t worry! I kept the request for sex…lol, and the techie voyeurism. Just added in an angst chaser for just the right kick! Many thanks to Margo for the beta!!! Thanks to her help this time around, Alexis gets to play reader without all the work…lol.

Dedicated to Alexis for the bad day she had, and the long week she’s having…hugs.

“Askance For Absolution”

By Xof

August 1, 2005

- - -

The night started off like any other. Stuart and the lads sitting at a table, finishing another round of drinks before heading off to whatever club was on the roaster for the evening. Or whatever two or three….

There was Alex - his blond spikes tipped at the edges just that day with chartreuse green - eating up any tidbit of silence that threatened to follow the latest tall tale with his own next and best story; playing one-ups-man like a kid scarping down candy with gleeful demand as he fed off the attention like a man starving for scraps. Hazel and Bernie - off to fetch another round of what-ever-you’re-havings; Stuart’s money in hand. Dane - looking purposefully bored, but hanging on every word. And Vince - sitting at Stuart’s side; his face glowing with amusement as he played spectator to the litany – completely at ease with being a witness to the fray. Laughing aloud with the group, even as he shared a look with Stuart that spoke to his being more entertained by who was speaking than what was being said.

And Stuart, sitting silent with a soft grin as he relaxed in his seat with his arm draped over the back of Vince’s chair. Enjoying the proximity of his friend and the radiating warmth of Vince’s body as he pressed into Stuart’s touch. The two having closed the distance that had existed between them following Vince’s 30^th. In the absence of Cameron’s judgments; his presence not at all something any of them missed. And following some podium penance just a fortnight past. Dancing like twats, the pair of them.

So again, it was a night like most. Until Stuart felt Vince tense up and freeze without a word, unnoticed by the rest of their lot as he looked past them towards the bar. And then without saying anything at all, Vince stood with enough force to almost knock down his chair – dislodging Stuart’s arm in the process.

The others hadn’t noticed anything amiss, all still listening to Alex or pretending to as he continued to put on a show with waving arms and grand gestures – their backs to the scene unfolding behind them. Stuart the only one watching as mild havoc seemed to explode across the room.

Used to being the one with a quick temper - wont to burn with sudden flares that quickly were doused and forgotten - Stuart was amazed at the suddenness of Vince’s anger. Or more by the way he demonstrated rather than hid his emotions; the barely caged fury crossing his face was clear even from a distance, causing Stuart to find himself halfway across the room without truly being aware that he’d gotten up to follow Vince.

Stopping just a few steps from the fracas, Stuart held back as he took in what he could and tried to mesh together what was happening. And whether it was something in which he needed to be involved.

Vince had reached the man standing at the bar; the stranger’s back was to the room which caused him to start all the more when he was jerked suddenly around by the tight grip Vince had on his arm. Looking on the young side of forty, the man was handsome at first look. Dark hair, tan skin and a bright smile. The smile shining over his face at his initial look Vince’s way; pleasure at seeing him evident for all the time it could last in the wake of Vince’s aggression and the shove that had the stranger pressed against the bar as Vince turned his eyes towards the person the man had been chatting up.

None other than Nathan Maloney, not long back from his London-run; who now stood with his mouth opened in shock at Vince’s anger. That or at the harsh rasp of his voice as he snapped at Nathan; the words, “Fuck off home,” said loud enough to reach Stuart’s ears as the Irishman stopped close by.

Nathan’s surprise was closely chorused by his own anger, and the indignance of youth. “Hey now, you haven’t a right to…”

Vince didn’t even spare Nathan the patience to see his protest through. Keeping his eyes fixed on the amusement that was shining from the trapped man’s face, Vince cut into Nathan’s words. “He’s fifteen. And while I know you’re a chicken hawk, even you aren’t that much of a bastard.” Giving the man another, lighter shove - Vince stepped back, looking as if even that touch had been distasteful. “Game’s over, Damon.”

Still looking amused, but cautious of Vince’s next potential move - the man named Damon threw Nathan a glance. “Too bad; he would have been perfect, don’t you think? Young, hungry for it and off on his own.” Turning to Vince, he added with a smile that would have seemed charming had it not seemed to make Vince even angrier. “Up for just about anything, yeah?”

Ignoring the implication of that last question, Vince shook his head. “He isn’t on his own; not in any way that would help you to your ends.” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, looking tired and sad under his burning ire. “Nathan, this one’s a miss. Go home, or up the street - I don’t care.” When Nathan began to argue again, Vince’s voice turned adamant but deadly soft as if calling for Nathan to believe what he had to say, “Being here, with him - it isn’t any where you want to be….”

Caught between Vince’s words and his own stubbornness, Nathan stood hanging on the brink of going or staying to stand his ground. That is until he turned his head to find Stuart watching from a distance. One nod of the Irishman’s head in the direction of the door - the command to leave more than evident in his face and eyes, and Nathan was out the door - stomping away in gangly affront.

Stuart didn’t turn to see him go; his gaze holding on the two that still remained locked in the tangle of their reunion.

“The years have played well with you, V.”

V….

Vince actually flinched at the sound of the nickname. “No, Damon. No small talk. Just straight to the point. I want you gone.”

Breaking out with a laugh, Damon moved forward and attempted to place his hand on Vince’s arm in what was probably meant as a conciliatory gesture but only served to crank up Vince’s anxiety. With a jerk, Vince stepped out of reach. Trying again, Damon leaned back against the bar and said, “I’m barely off the plane as it is, V. Besides, Manchester proved so . . . abundant last time I was here.”

“Fuck you.”

Again a laugh, this one colored in sarcasm. “You never did, remember. Nor I, you. So what’s with all the piss and vinegar? It‘s been years.”

“Not enough, I can tell you.”

“V, I never touched you. You know it’s not my…”

“Your thing, I know. You just watch.” Vince was getting progressively closer, and in Damon’s face. “You didn’t have to touch me for it to hurt. You’re a walking mind fuck hiding behind a camera lens.”

Damon stood up, body tense as Vince’s presence grew more menacing - Vince’s words filled with spite and pain. Responding in his own defense, Damon shook his head, “I never made you do a thing. You were there, V. With me all the way. You went for it, all out.” Leaning in, he stared Vince in the eye and added, “The tape doesn’t lie.”

The words landed like a blow as Vince froze. If it were possible to look pale as death and red with embarrassment at the same time, then there he stood as living proof. Dropping his head, Vince closed his eyes and took a breath to steady himself before looking back at Damon. “I’m not that kid anymore. And this is my home. My street. And you don’t belong.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m just playing tourist.”

Vince straightened up, holding his own bravely as he said, “A few words placed in the right ears, and your turn as tourist will end as pariah. Just a few, and all you’ll have to watch is one retreating back after another.”

Damon stood outwardly calm, but it was clear in the flash of his eyes and the clench of his jaw that he was anything but unaffected. Voice now chiseled and hard, he replied, “All this bravado is unnecessary, V. Manchester’s just a lay over. I’ll be gone come tomorrow afternoon. Satisfied?”

With a snort, Vince answered, “I’d have been better satisfied not to have ever seen you again.”

Damon quirked an eyebrow; his frown sliding off his face as a Cheshire cat smile oozed into its place. “Funny. I’m a big fan of revisiting the past.” Turning as if to go, he looked back and added, “How fortunate that due to modern technology, I can provide my own reruns courtesy of my tape collection and the hotel’s well placed VCR.” Pausing for emphasis, he ended with, “What was his name again? The one you talked so much about beforehand; the best friend whose name you screamed when you came?” When Vince stood silent, looking for all the world like he was either going to fall to the floor or throw a punch - Damon parted with one last line, “Never mind; I’ll just press play and answer the question myself.... As often as I please.”

In the moment that followed, Stuart stood stunned by all that he’d heard. Watching as if from outside himself as Vince turned to see Damon leaving the pub, only to find Stuart there just a few feet away. Close, so very close.

Close enough to have….

“Oh my god….” It was said in a rush, although in a whisper. And then Vince was gone, rushing out the back door and into the night. Stuart left to decide whether to turn left after Vince, or right after the reason why….

A measure of time, each second longer than the next - and then Stuart decided. And turned to the right.

- - - - - - -

He didn’t care.

Or more to the point, he didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to think . . . to feel. Not when feeling hurt so much.

His heart; his mind – he wanted them cut off. Cut out . . . distanced from his present reality.

Most of all, he wanted to forget. At least for now. Before he had to face Irish eyes of blue.

No. No, he refused to think about that; to have that wave of worry cloud his course. He would not turn from the refuge of his own escape as he put one foot in front of the other and ran and ran through the dark streets of Manchester. Unmindful of where he was heading, or how long it would take him to get there….

Rash winning over rational….

- - - - - - -

The flat echoed with the sound of a slamming door. Followed by the jingle and whack as owner and occupant, one Stuart Alan Jones, threw his keys in anger across the room before stomping through to his bedroom. Body tight with agitation and anger, he deposited the other item he’d been carrying onto the bed and then stood staring down at it intently before the sharpness of physical pain pulled him away from his thoughts.

Looking down at his hand, Stuart frowned at the damage that remained - skin swollen and raw; the calling card to his memory of the last hour of his night. “Fucker.” The word bit out through clenched teeth, sounding in a seethe that almost proved the adage that words could kill.

Funny how in that moment, Stuart didn’t know if he was referring to the twat he’d left sprawled on a hotel room floor clutching a hand to a rapidly swelling eye, or himself.

Looking back towards the bed and the black tape lying there, Stuart realized he was about to find out.

- - - - - - -

“Is it playing? I mean, on?” Nervous laugh, words a little hesitant as the tape began. The screen of Stuart’s television was filled with the swaying dizziness of a camera being shifted about as the focus was set, and finally fixed on the image of Vince’s face in close-up.

With a quick push, Stuart paused the tape and just looked. Taking it in. The expression, the appearance of Vince as youth caught in time.

He looked nothing less than beautiful. Almost innocent; though Stuart knew that to be an exaggeration on his part - especially judging from the flush that was warming Vince’s face and the context of the video he was watching. But still, seeing him again years younger - a new unseen moment of Vince set during the years when Stuart had been off at university; it was completely engaging. Familiar and yet not….

Intimate in a way that was as compelling as it was offsetting. A guilty pleasure for a man who didn’t do guilt. And despite the leaden weight in his gut that was now at war with the tingle going down his spine, Stuart took a breath and again pressed play.

“Oh yeah, we are definitely rolling.” Damon’s voice, too smooth and sounding more than a little too self-satisfied to be seductive. But judging by Vince’s high giggle and the way he wasn’t quite standing still as the camera’s focus was pulled back, Stuart had a feeling his friend had had one or two drinks too many to notice the other man’s ick factor.

“Looks like you’re feeling good there, V.” The camera’s eye followed the line of Vince’s body from feet to face, showing the tight jeans with tears at the knees and the black t-shirt that looked a size too small.

Nodding a little, Vince gave a small smile as he shifted from foot to foot. He was self-conscious Stuart could tell, even with the alcohol. Moving his hands around like he didn’t know what to do with them; a hug around his own waist, fingers in his hair, palms stroking up and down his forearms. And then there was his nervous habit of trying to divert attention away from himself when he was the one being looked at, “Is that heavy? Doesn’t look heavy. Not like real cameras for the telly; saw some filming once. Summer holiday in Penzance. For ‘The Two Ronnies’ yeah, and those looked huge. The cameras I mean, but….”

“Easy, V. Shhh. It’s fine.” Damon soothed, drawing Vince along more with his plans as he encouraged, “Why don’t you have a seat on the bed, take off your shoes and relax.”

Vince complied, taking a couple of long moments to also pull off his socks before biting his lip and saying, “Sorry. I haven’t ever, uhmm. This isn’t my….”

“Thing, right? Most folks miss out on what a thrill it is to be on this side of the camera, but for me - it’s the best part. Watching hot men letting loose; collecting their pleasure on film. It’s wild.”

Vince smiled again, “But you don’t; I mean, what if I can’t….” He shook his head and then frowned. “I don’t know if I’ll be what you’re looking for.”

“I already know you’re what I’m looking for, V. I wouldn’t have offered the dosh if I had a doubt. But if you want to prove me right, why don’t you give us a look. Shirt, then the rest.”

Coloring a little more at the mention of money, Vince looked away as he did as told. There was a faint rustle as his black cotton tee fell to the floor, followed by the pop of the top snap on his jeans before Vince stopped with his fingers poised on the zipper.

Stuart watched the tape, torn between wanting to have Vince bare it all and wishing Vince hadn’t had to find himself in the position to begin with. Dosh. Damon - the bastard‘s word. It meant Vince had said yes to being paid for this. And the more Stuart thought about it, the more it made sense. Sad, somber sense. That Vince would have only agreed because it filled a need; one more than probably felt by someone other than himself. Like Hazel, the mortgage or some other wayward stray that Vince had taken on during Stuart’s absence.

It galled Stuart, knowing that it was so like his Vince to never say - to never ask, even to the point of sacrificing self. His time, his energy at a shite job year after year, and now to find out about this too.

Hands clenched so tight, he was amazed the remote hadn’t cracked - Stuart’s attention came back at the sounding of the bastard’s next words.

“Slow’s ok, V. We can do slow. Whatever makes this work for you.” When Vince didn’t respond, he added, “Need a break? Or a drink, maybe? I think I’ve got some whiskey left. A shot of Irish courage to hit just the right spot, yeah.”

Hell, as jaded as Stuart was thought to be - even he sucked in a harsh breath at hearing the last. One that echoed Vince’s onscreen. But while it shocked, and hit home with a sting - the words seemed to be the jolt Vince needed as he gave a nod and crossed to take a swallow from the bottle on the side table. He closed his eyes as the burn traveled down his throat, warming him from the inside out even as it mellowed his caution. Another swallow, and he put down the bottle to turn back to the camera. Leaning back against the wall, he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and then in a move that surprised Stuart, he licked the alcohol off his own skin - eyes never wavering as he dropped that same hand to draw the zipper down on his jeans in one smooth, quick glide.

The gesture had Stuart squirming into a more comfortable position due to the fullness at his groin, moving until he was resting on his side across his bed - head supported on his raised left hand as he held the remote in his right. Gaze locked on the television as Vince took things further with a push of denim and cotton down his thighs.

One mumbled, slightly husky word from Damon, “Brilliant,” - a sentiment Stuart found he could only agree with, and Vince stepped free, walking to the bed. Decidedly while not looking towards the camera, as though not seeing would allow him to hold fast to his newfound courage. Irish or otherwise….

He paused, standing in profile and looking down at the duvet. “What do I….”

Once again catching Vince mid-sentence, as if speaking over the questioning or doubts would push him through onto the next stage of the game, Damon interrupted him to say, “First times, V. No agenda, other than the obvious. So why don’t we stick to what comes naturally. What you would do on a typical night; just you and the hot man in your head.”

The last was said with a laugh, meant to amuse and ease. The speaker too focused on running the camera lens tantalizingly slow up Vince’s body to notice how he shut his eyes and shook his head as if in self-deprivation, before clenching his jaw and with a quick nod, opening them again as he crawled onto the bed.

A moment to settle in, and then it began. Lying on his back, eyes blinking closed as he breathed out in a sigh and let his fingers play along a familiar path. Lighting low, but camera sure – the scene may have been amateurish but it was clear that Damon knew what he was doing. It was evident in the way he caught the line of Vince’s body, in the way he followed Vince’s hands as they moved and in the way he seemed to know just when Vince would react to his own touch enough to respond – the camera’s focus held on his face as he shifted and moaned, just a little. Only then to pull back again, as the lens captured still more of him and his actions as the time passed.

The longer it took, the more Vince became lost to the reality of what was taking place. New world, new planet. Over and out as the pleasure built and his tension mounted.

For Stuart, it was mesmerizing. Seeing his Vince, watching and learning as he touched himself. And all the while unconsciously remembering to what and how Vince responded the most. Nipples, light strokes and then harder pinches until his breathing hitched. Inner thighs, soft scratches and the soothing rubs until he’d drawn his legs up and apart with his feet flat on the bed – every downward pass just that much closer to the heat of his rising flesh. Closer, closer, still without a touch until he gave in and then that was all that Vince did hold. His length in his hand as he arched and thrust into the tight grip of his fingers, breath harsh and skin wet with sweat.

And just when it seemed that all was to be over in a driving demand of the end coming now, Vince stopped. Stopped and held in the moment, having found the control needed to ease back and take it on anew as he gently ran his fingers over his thighs and away from his sex. Blinking again, slowly opening his eyes to show that despite it all, he was still aware of who was there and why. But then with a few words, also giving more than Stuart had thought he would to the scene…

“Do you have lube?” He flushed as he said it, but still there was Vince – aroused, beautiful and brave enough to have asked.

Sounding a little gruff himself, Damon’s voice came, “Side drawer. There’s that and other things if you’re of a mind….” His words drifted off as Vince dug into the contents of the bureau, turned to the side so that his back was to the camera, leg drawn up for balance, leaving both camera and man with the perfect view of his bum. “Blimey, look at you…” Said low, it went unnoticed in Vince’s distraction.

“I am.” Stuart’s accent thick, the words left him without a thought as he spoke them aloud.

Again came Damon when he saw what Vince was pulling out of the stand, “Feeling adventurous?” When Vince didn’t answer - his attention still drawn to the object in his hand, Damon added, “Now that would be perfect, yeah? Feeling filled as you pop, imagining it happening for real behind those pretty closed blue eyes of yours.” Vince stroked his fingers over the length of the toy he’d found inside the drawer; a fair sized ivory colored malleable dildo with smooth circular ridges spun down its surface, designed to bring the user all the more sensation once inside. “Being both taker and taken….”

Trailing his free hand down, Vince cupped his hard-on for a moment before reaching back to place a touch along the crease of his ass. Pressing in, rubbing at the entrance to his body for just long enough to settle it all in his mind - his eyes having never left the toy, ignoring the camera and the man across the room. And then Vince reached back into the drawer without a word and pulled out both the lube and a condom by way of agreeing.

Stuart sat up, eyes wide. “Bloody hell, he isn’t.” The shock mixing with anticipatory hope as he saw that indeed, Vince Tyler - his Vince Tyler was about to do just what he suspected.

And then it was happening, right there before his eyes.

Magnetized into motion, Stuart left his bed with quick steps - drawn to the telly as he stopped and dropped to his knees before the screen. Concentration captured, he was surprised to find himself reaching towards the image of Vince - but managed to control the impulse before he made contact. Shaking his head, Stuart bit his lip - worrying it as his eyes shined with the reflective image of Vince; large, alive and arching, so close to giving himself his own sensual ending.

Still on his side, curled inward with his leg raised for access - there he was. Vince doing to himself what Stuart most wanted. There were no misgivings; no second-guesses could remain in the response Stuart was having as he watched. As he knew that his course was now altered; his future decided in the wake of Vince‘s past and the revelation of how much more Stuart wanted to have, to take, to give. To keep….

Face both a grimace and a grin, lips smiling from pleasure as he squeezed his eyes closed tight and panted - Vince worked the length inside himself with quick, determined snaps of his wrist. His other hand down between his thighs, circling as he stroked his cock and teased the wet tip with skill enough to drive himself closer and closer still. He moved, undulated and moaned; time no longer calling for a teasing ease, but for a must have now.

And just as he was nearing that now that he needed, more words from the man behind the view. “Feel it, V. Feel him; he’s there - the one you want. The one who wants you back. He’s inside you, taking you. Making you his.” Hoarse, heated and calling forth a new level of the seduction that touched Vince from the inside out, Damon’s voice continued to probe, continued to push. “He’s against you, a part of you. Hear his voice, your name on his lips. His scent tinged across your skin. Come on, that’s right. Faster, harder. Fucking you as you moan. As you call out to him, he’s here. Give it to him, give it all!”

“Stuart! Ahhh, fuck. Stuart,” Vince’s cry broke through and silenced him, echoing through the speakers as the words rung in Stuart’s ears.

Shaking now, Stuart’s body was tense with need. His heart was pounding as he saw Vince jerk and moan his name again and again as he came down from the brink, as he saw Vince becoming aware once more of the crisp glare of his reality, feeling the sharp edge of rediscovering himself to be without the one he most wanted to find beside him when he opened his eyes.

As Vince removed the toy with unsteady hands, he glanced at the lens with an expression of stunned, overwhelming dread and then turn away to hide his face in the nearest pillow - silent to Damon’s response. Silent for a long moment, until he cleared his throat and asked painfully for the man to turn off the camera.

It was with an atypical degree of kindness that Damon did so without a further word.

Seething, Stuart was locked then in the void of having seen but being unable to have helped or stopped the hurt he’d seen on Vince’s face at finding it had only been a fantasy - one tainted by a desperate circumstance. Quick to temper, he vented his rage by flinging the closest object he could reach - the remote that had fallen to the floor when he’d left the bed - across the room. “Fuck!”

Even the crash of it shattering against the wall didn’t serve to satisfy and left him in silence.

His mobile; where the hell had he put his phone? Stuart had to call, had to find….

“It’s his hobby, you see.”

“Shit! Vince?” Shooting up in shock from the floor, Stuart spun to find that he hadn‘t imagined it. That it was the man himself, his friend sitting on the steps with shoulders slumped forward and his back to Stuart at the entrance to the room. “How long have you….”

In muted tones, Vince ignored the start he’d caused, and Stuart’s question to say, “Just something to pass the time, he said; a visual walk down memory lane in each new town. And all for his audience of one.” He snorted, running a hand roughly through his already mussed hair. “Trust me to be the one drawing in the crap shags, yeah? Even an inheritance rich, world traveling purveyor of amateur anorak kink porn.” Finally turning to look Stuart’s way, Vince’s sad eyes turned harder - glancing from the television and back. Clipped and edged with blame, he accused, “Bastard.”

Flinching – because yes, even Stuart could flinch under the brunt of Vince’s quiet anger – he still managed to steel his ever-abundant nerve, and keep a level eye. Holding Vince’s gaze as he walked slowly closer, “As if there were a doubt. But you know me. After what was said, after what I’d heard - did you really think I wouldn’t have to know what happened?”

Vince turned his head away, shaking it as he answered. “Wasn’t thinking, was I? Not tonight, not back then.” He frowned, and shot Stuart a hard look. “And you, having to butt in. Couldn’t just give it back. Couldn’t just ignore it altogether. No.” He smiled wanly, somewhat bereft. “Must be a laugh; the knowing.”

“I’m not laughing.” Stuart shook his head, taking a closer step - more tentatively than most would supposed could be in his capacity; with a hesitancy that was both vulnerable and kind. “I’m glad; glad to have that image of you in my head.” Another step and another, until he was by Vince’s side close enough to murmur, “It’s not something I can regret.”

Another flash of anger, turning blue irises to almost slate gray, and Vince was half way across the flat - the words, “Fuck all you know about regrets,” leaving him darkly - before Stuart managed to grab a hold of his arm. Throwing off the touch, Vince missed the sharp inhaled hiss Stuart couldn’t help but make when Vince’s arm knocked against his hurt hand. But even the pain that shot through him wasn’t enough to distract him from keeping Vince from leaving.

Because the pain of having Vince leave right then, for the night or forever, was unfathomable. “Vince, wait!” He reached out again, going after his friend - the pair of them almost to the door, and still Vince was going. Either too angry, hurt or embarrassed to hear Stuart’s plea.

And so in a rush, driven by instinct and not a small amount of fear, Stuart put himself between Vince and the door as words that blinded them both to anything but each other escaped him. “It’s you, Vince. Always you, behind my eyes.” Askance for absolution, he prayed to the one man who held the revelation of their lives half-lived, but now possibly made whole in his hands. “Yours is the face I see.”

Expression stunned, Vince shook his head. One count, the frantic beat of an aching heart on the brink of hoping - and then he shook it again, rambling out, “You don’t have to say… I’m not expecting you….”

Stuart pressed closer, touching his fingers to Vince’s mouth to stop the words. He leaned in, only the span of moment between them, and said, “You should, Vince. Expect it; expect me.” Angling his face until they were cheek to cheek, he murmured into Vince’s ear, “Then, that night. Mine was the face you saw.” Pulling back to catch the other man’s eye, he asked. “Do you still?”

Vince looked at him with eyes shining like a summer sky, clear and wide - but bright and moist with emotion. Emotion that tinged his reply, voice full and gruff. “’Til the day I die.”

Closing his eyes under the weight of his own admission, Vince sighed as Stuart cupped his face in both hands and brushed a kiss across his lips. Then another. And another, yet again. Until the two of them were locked in the warmth and fire of passion sweet. The longing coming through the more they played, opening each to the other as murmurs fell between their lips to be tasted on the other’s tongue.

And then Stuart pulled back to speak softly against Vince’s mouth, “It’s a promise, then. ‘Til the end, for you and me.”

Caught in the moment, all Vince could do was nod - gobsmacked by fortune’s favor and Stuart’s vow.

Stuart smiled at the wonder and heat he saw on Vince’s face, knowing that his own must look just this side of the same. Only one more thing; one last sand-written line to cross.

Taking Vince’s hand, he leaned in so close; a hair’s breath from touching Vince as he ghosted his mouth over the line of the other man’s face, across lips ready to give again and then up and over eyes closed to savor Stuart’s journey. Words burning like fire up his own spine then came, even as Vince shivered in their wake - the words leaving Stuart’s lips on the final pass of mouth against mouth, contact made as they came wet and moist against Vince’s skin. “The time’s come to open our eyes, yeah? Together.”

“Stuart,” the name was a rush of air, sounding as both possession and plea - evidenced by the tight grip of Vince’s arm as it circled Stuart’s waist. The pressure caused Stuart to grin; liking the sensation of Vince’s strength given the new context of things between them. It signified a measure of passion that Stuart wanted to experience firsthand.

Had this been with a shag, Stuart knew he would have been half way to naked and across the flat floor as the man followed like a dog after a bone. But this decidedly was NOT just a shag; it was Vince. And that called for more.

It called for everything.

So it was with the teasing glide of another kiss, and a pull on their still joined hands that Stuart led Vince through to the bedroom; never leaving off from the touch that held them both locked in the moment. Never widening the window to the possibility of any doubts getting in the way, or stopping their newfound discovery.

The mattress against the back of his legs, Stuart stopped before Vince and asked, “Let me?” Smiling back at Vince’s lowered eyes and small smile, the man flustered but agreeing as Stuart began to remove the barriers between them, one button at a time.

Impatient to feel, to taste again - Vince did not remain idle as Stuart’s hands swept his shirt off his shoulders. He buried his fingers in Stuart’s hair, framing his face as he kissed him hungrily - releasing an encouraging groan as Stuart gave his belt a hard pull before deftly working open his pants and passing inside. Breathing out a laugh at Stuart’s appreciative, “Nice,” at the feel of Vince’s length already hardening beneath the cotton of his underwear.

Growing restless under Stuart’s teasing, Vince started taking a little of his own back. He gave Stuart a shove until he was seated on the bed and then jerked the red jumper over his head, giving it a toss behind him before pulling Stuart back into another kiss.

“Mmm, lose the shoes,” Stuart hummed against Vince’s mouth before pushing the man’s pants off his hips so that they could be discarded with them. It left Vince in nothing but his underwear, watch and silver bracelet. One item of which Stuart was more than determined had to go… But not before having a little more fun first.

Drawing Vince in to stand between his spread thighs, Stuart wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his tummy - eyes twinkling with mischief as the flush of Vince’s face began to spread lower and lower still. Rasping his lightly stubbled face over the warm skin at Vince’s waist, he looked up through dark lashes and murmured, “Look at you.”

Inhaling sharply as Stuart’s hands found their way up the backs of his thighs and under the cotton that still covered him - fingers gliding over the curves of his bottom, Vince could only manage a quick shake of his head as he answered gruffly. “Can’t. All I see is you.”

Biting his lip and then grinning, Stuart gave Vince’s underwear a tug until the cotton graced his bedroom floor and then he lay back on the bed, hands caressing his chest as he replied, “There’s more of me to see, Vince. A lot more….” Kicking his shoes to the floor, he challenged with a teasing arch of his hips. “Best get cracking.”

With the laughter, there came a greater look of ease on Vince’s face - one that spoke to his enjoyment of the moment, and the release of emotional barriers he’d held as his sword and shield through too many a year. And with it, there was the need, the demand in his eyes that had Stuart reaching up for Vince even as he was rushing to cover Stuart’s body with his own.

They rolled back and forth; two men desperate for the friction and glide of flesh against flesh, fingers tangling between them as they both tore at the fastening of Stuart’s jeans - as they struggled to tear the denim down his legs. And then bared at last, Stuart flipped Vince onto his back and circled down against him until the two of them were groaning, hands roaming everywhere they could reach. Nipping at Vince’s mouth, Stuart shivered as Vince answered back in kind; strong hands clutching at his hips and ass as they moved.

Brushing his hands over Vince’s mussed hair, Stuart ignored the aching of his bruised knuckles; reveling instead on the soft spiky feel beneath his fingers as he leaned in and whispered, “Animal,” in Vince’s ear. Moaning loudly as just the sound of his voice had Vince clinging even closer; the feel of Vince sweat slick and hard beneath him doing things to Stuart that had him clutching back in turn. “I want you, inside you.”

At Vince’s answering moan, Stuart managed just enough clarity of mind to ease back and grab what they needed. He settled between Vince’s legs, on his knees and hands like a cat on the prowl - a predator menacing his prey. “Gonna be me there, Vince. In you, up you. Taking you ‘til I’m all you know.“ Reaching down between them, he stroked lightly over Vince’s cock before dropping his hand even lower. “Yes?”

Thrusting down against Stuart’s fingers, Vince threw his head back and gasped out, “Yes. Now.”

It was fast work thereafter, both from the mix of experience and the near zero tolerance either of them had left for patience. Lubed and frantic, Vince pulled him closer. Condom-sheathed and driven, Stuart pushed past all resistance until they were joined. Vince’s name on his lips both as a curse and a prayer. Stuart’s from Vince, the last and best Stuart would ever need to hear.

Locked and on the way to completely gone, they moved. Stuart over and in Vince; Vince under and around Stuart until they didn’t, couldn’t think past the passion and pleasure they’d found. Rough, quick - nothing mattered on the way to where they were; two souls found, two hearts merged. And then it came; white hot and lightening fast between them.

The beginning that came with an end; and end that was their new beginning….

“Stuart, Stuart….” His name repeated again and again, the hoarse rasp of Vince’s tired voice against his ear had Stuart humming, “Vince,” back in return. The two of them drifting in the space between, cuddled close after the minimal cleanup required. Content to remain….

Content to belong, each to the other. With eyes wide open.

Finis