Discord Comics

The Cavern
by Emily Gould
http://segbookworm.blogspot.co.uk/p/writing.html
The first time Jamie enters The Cavern, he wonders if this is what hell is like. It’s dark, and his eyes can’t adjust because of the lights dancing crazily and coloured across the ceiling and the place is full of noise set to just too loud. Everyone is shouting or screaming, moving wildly, dressed crazily. There’s alcohol so strong he can almost taste it in the air and a faint smell of weed from one corner. The floor feels sticky under his feet.

It’s the single most intense moment of his life. All five senses scramble for sanity and then give up under the assault. He finds himself holding a plastic cup of something that burns on his tongue and makes him splutter. The taste is sickly sweet. He sips at it gently and then tilts his head back and knocks it down thinking *what the hell…*

Colin’s clothes feel strange and uncomfortable, the mesh shirt scratching awkwardly against his skin. But Jamie feels like a demi-god as the lights play crazy patterns off his hair and the music pounds dully against his ears. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to hear properly ever again, and he doesn’t particularly want to.

For one night in hell, it seems worth it.

He tries dancing, he’s not wonderfully good at it but it doesn’t matter because neither is anyone else and it’s too dark for anyone to see. It’s almost impossible to move in the crush of bodies, people are pressing in close, moving as one living being. An elbow crashes into his side and he slips on a spilt drink, almost falling over before his flailing hands snag onto someone’s shirt and gain momentary support.

For a moment he thinks he’s ripped the shirt because his fingers are all caught up in a tear but then he realises that the thing is *meant* to look like that, a half-torn piece of material with a skewed Union Jack just barely held together with safety pins. Then there’s a hand grabbing at his shoulder and a strong forearm covered in tattoos is yanking him back upright and he looks down to see a bright orange Mohawk glaring up at him and he thinks: *oh fuck…”

“Sorry…” he mutters and then repeats, “SORRY!” as a scream and he’s pretty sure even that can’t be heard above the music. The man just grins at him though, and helps him stand, yelling something inaudible back at him. Jamie lets his panicked terror recede, and pushes the visions of himself getting thoroughly roughed up by an angry punk out of his mind. He feels slightly ashamed at how quickly he went there, how much his mothers almost pathological hatred of *those kind of people* has influenced him.

“Do you want a DRINK!” He hears it this time, as the Mohawk-man’s lips are almost pressing up against his ear and Jamie nods quickly. Now the man is less terrifying he seems to have diminished in size, and Jamie realises that in all probability they’re both the same age. They fight their way through to the bar and the punk waves at the woman behind it, who seems if anything more tattooed than he is. Jamie tries not to stare, but he’s feeling the illicit thrill he gets in the coffee shop returning. It’s a whole different world, full of sights and sounds he’s never seen before, and he’s loving it so much it almost hurts.

The drink he gets looks disappointingly like a coke, but one mouthful in and he chokes. Coke is in there, sure, but it’s certainly not alone. The punk laughs and nudges up against him, taking a drink of his own. Jamie isn’t entirely used to this scene, hell he’s not used to it at all, but he wonders vaguely whether he should be letting some strange guy in a Mohawk buy him drinks.

He realises he doesn’t particularly care.

“You don’t do this kinda thing much, do you?” The punk’s lips are back at his ear and Jamie can feel hot breath ghosting on his neck. He shakes his head then almost swallows his tongue as he feels lips press gently against his ear. He turns, quickly, to find himself unexpectedly and uncomfortably close.

“I’m Tom.”

“U-uh…” Jamie waits for his brain to register but it seems to be too busy with the drinks, “Jamie.”

Tom raises an eyebrow, “Jamie? I was expecting something more … goth.”

Jamie glances down at himself and understanding dawns, “Oh, yeah, well. These aren’t my clothes. They’re Colin’s.”

“Oh?” The eyebrow hitches higher and Jamie suddenly notices that as well as a lip piercing, most of Tom’s ears are covered in little rings. The man is a tapestry, covered in art, and despite the torn punky clothes (or maybe because of them) Jamie thinks it looks beautiful. “Who’s Colin then… and does he know you’re accepting drinks from strange men?”

For a heartbeat Jamie doesn’t get it, and then suddenly he realises exactly what’s being insinuated and almost spits his drink out. “What! No … I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m not…”

“You’re not, hmm? Would you like to be?”

Jamie turns away slightly to stare at the dancers crashing together in the crazy lights. Anything to stop himself staring into Tom’s eyes and the wicked little grin below. He sort of wants to move away, but it feels nice having another warm body so close, and it feels strangely flattering to have a man like Tom interested in him. The nervous illicit thrill is back, shot through with some kind of fear that sends tingles up his spine as he feels a hand pressing on his back, just above where he’s leaning against the bar, and he doesn’t move away. If he’s going to hell, why not go all the way there?

Jamie thinks he might be too drunk for this. Or maybe just not drunk enough.

“I don’t know.” He says eventually, because it seems the most honest thing to say. “I didn’t just come here to get laid.” A massive man in a leather jacket covered in studs pushes past them to the bar and they scoot along together until Jamie’s pressed up against the wall, Tom’s hand still on his back.

“Why did you come here?”

Jamie shrugs. It’s a bloody good question. It’s slightly quieter here away from the dance floor, although the music is still several decibels too high. “To see if I liked it, I guess. I’ve never come anywhere like this before.”

“And do you like it.” Jamie realises that the hand is starting to slide down his back, and he’s not entirely sure what to do about that. He settles for just leaning his shoulder against the wall, feeling the cool concrete press through the mesh of the shirt.

“Yeah. I love it.” And just like that the hand is resting against his arse. Another man’s hand. On his arse. Jamie takes another swallow of drink. Nothing in all his life has taught him to deal with this, *uh, excuse me, do you know your hand is?…I say, I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve grabbed…I don’t know if you’ve noticed but your fingers are pressing between my jeans…*

Tom’s still grinning at him and Jamie decides that he might as well just stay silent. Despite the fact that he knows this is a stupidly, *stupidly* bad move he’s still feeling that desperate illicit thrill and as Tom’s hands curl and squeeze gently at his jeans he almost feels his legs give way. Jamie’s not sure if he fancies men, he’s never even thought of a man that way before, but he knows that whatever happens tonight, his next few fantasies are going to involve tattoos, and piercings, and him being pressed up hard against a concrete wall.

He groans into his drink. And despite the hard heavy crazy music, he thinks he can hear Tom sniggering in the background.

—

Half an hour later, while he’s standing in an insanely messy room staring at a guitar as Tom fumbles around in the darkness swearing, Jamie decides that this is a spectacularly bad idea. He’s never even thought of men sexually before, and now here he is in some strange man’s room holding a half-empty bottle of Corona Extra while aforementioned strange man scrambles around for a condom. Part of him wants to put the lights on to bring some kind of reality back to the place, but he thinks this might be easier in the half-dark.

Teasing Alex Murphy is going to be a *lot* harder tomorrow.

“Come here.” Tom says from the darkness, and Jamie steps closer, hissing a swearword as he almost cracks his shin open on a half unpacked box. Staggering over, he tumbles down onto the bed, laying the bottle carefully down on the floor and gasping a little as Tom’s hands catch in his hair and tug his head back.

“You OK?” It sounds strange coming from a punk and Jamie doesn’t answer, just tilts his head back and then groans as Tom attacks it, licking kissing and biting and leaving marks that Jamie knows are going to show above a collared shirt. He grabs at the half-ripped shirt, ripping it even further and then Tom grabs his hands just as he starts scrambling at the jeans.

“Fuck you’re eager!”

Jamie shudders at that, but Tom’s voice sounded slightly strange, slightly worried. He tries to relax as Tom slides him over, dumping him face down in the bed and tugging at the back of Colin’s jeans. Jamie reaches down to help, scrambling at his zipper and moaning as Tom’s hand reaches around to squeeze gently at the hard length inside.

His underwear goes next, and Jamie doesn’t understand why he feels more naked like this; with his shirt still on and jeans bunched around his ankles, than he ever does when he’s merely wearing no clothes. He buries his face into the pillow, trying to stay within the moment and not loose it and panic as he hears Tom rummaging for something behind him. And then he almost jumps off the bed as he feels a long wet tongue with a metallic pointed stud running its way up the left side of his bum.

“You look … so hot.” Tom breaths from behind him, and Jamie clenches his hands into fists to stop himself from loosing it right there and then. The tongue slides over the small of his back and then back down the other side as Jamie squirms and shudders on the bed. His skin feels cold and somehow burning hot along the trail left behind.

Tom takes his time, dragging the tongue stud over every inch of his arse before dipping down gently between the curves. Jamie gives a yelp as he feels the metal stud drag down over the tight ring of muscle; he’s maybe experimented with a curious finger in the shower but this is worlds away, and he never would have guessed that it could feel so good.

Tom chuckles onto his skin, “You alright?”

“Y-yes… fuck.” it feels so incredibly intense, and he moans again as Tom’s hand clenches hard against his hip. He wants this, he wants more of this, he wants it to involve sliding and pushing and stretching and maybe slapping as well. But Tom just dips his head down and continues, flicking that teasing little stud all over everywhere until Jamie’s a little pool of desperate lust all over the bed.

He feels the bed move as Tom sits back, he hears the zipper go down and he thinks *oh God, this is it*. He’s going to see another man’s cock. He’s going to be impaled on another man. Jamie’s eyes flicker open and Tom grabs his hair and pushes his face a little roughly into the pillows. “Keep your eyes closed.”

“W-what?”

“Your eyes. Keep them closed.”

“Okay…”

He hears a bottle being opened, and blushes slightly as he hears Tom slicking up. Then he feels something cold and hard pressing between his arse and he whimpers into the pillow.

It’s big, it’s going to feel fucking amazing, but Jamie frowns slightly. It feels hard, and cold, and plasticy, and he can’t help his head turning around unbidden, to stare confused at Tom, and to see something he never would have guessed in a million years.

He feels a slight lurch as another piece of certainty from the world he thought he knew falls away slightly. Tom is staring back at him, a little worried, a little aggressive.

“You’ve opened your eyes.” Tom says bluntly. Jamie realises he’s trembling a little, and it suddenly hits him that he doesn’t care what the hell Tom is, or how he looks, or what’s being used to fuck him. All he wants is the strong confident punk back, the Mohawk-man with the smirk, and the control, and the fucking teasing tongue stud.

Jamie’s eyes close, instantly. “Sorry. Sorry, Sir.”

He hears a slight intake of breath from behind him, and the hands on his waist suddenly grip harder, “You open them again and you will be in so much fucking trouble.”

He groans, humping the sheets slightly, “Y-yes Sir.”

Jamie grits his teeth as Tom starts to slide inside him. Slow and hard and a slight burn as his muscles try desperately to relax. It feels strange; full and awkward, but so good. He realises he’s been holding his breath and lets it out in a little trembling rush that turns into a hard cry of pleasure as Tom’s hand slides around and starts stroking him again. Tom’s thighs press up against his arse and he’s given a few precious seconds to relax before the length inside him slides slowly out again, then presses in, harder and more insistent, setting off a fire somewhere deep inside him with every stroke.

Jamie’s hands fist tight around the sheets, he’s half worried he’ll tear them. Tom rakes nails down the sides of his arse, “You like this, yeah?”

“Y-yes…” It comes out as a desperate sob that Jamie would find utterly and completely embarrassing if he wasn’t currently more turned on than he’s ever been in his life.

“Fuck…” Tom starts moving faster and Jamie buckles his hips up to meet it, biting down on his bottom lip, curling fists into the sheets, doing everything he can to stave of the inevitable for as long as possible just to feel a few more of those sweet hard thrusts, for the moment when Tom’s body is flush against his.

He wants to wait for an order, but Jamie just can’t keep it together any more and he muffles his cries in the pillow as he curls up around Tom’s hand, nothing existing in the world for a moment but the heat between his legs and the hard length inside him. Tom reaches forward and tugs hard at his hair, lifting his head to watch the last few shuddering moments before Jamie collapses weakly onto the bed.

He gives a small whimper as Tom pulls out of him, keeping his eyes dutifully shut until he feels a hand tug gently at his hair, “Hey, you still alive?”

“Not sure…” Jamie mumbles. His arse feels strange; stretched and a little sore and he flushes as he feel the lube sliding between his thighs. Groaning, he just about manages to roll over, feeling an exhausted thrill run through him as one strong arm slides around his shoulders and pulls him up. Tom’s put his boxers back on and he’s wearing a white vest that shows off a lot more tattoos than the shirt did. Jamie rests his head against Tom’s side waiting for the world to re-align itself again.

It’s great for a bit, and then it starts getting slightly awkward as time passes in silence with the big unmentioned topic floating between them. It seems to Jamie that there’s more than one unmentioned topic floating around, as well as the, *So Tom, is there a reason your cock appears to be plastic?* there’s the hugely big *So Jamie, you like strong tattooed men fucking your arse then?*

Tom clears his throat eventually, “So, that was alright, yeah?”

“That was … yes.” Jamie reaches back to rub his arse gently. It’s going to be a little sore for a while but he rather likes that idea. “That was amazing. Did you … I mean…” He doesn’t know how to ask it and he’s not sure quite what went on at the end there, but he does know that he seems to be a lot more exhausted that Tom is.”

“I got to watch some awkward hot Goth kid completely loose it while I fucked him up with my cock.” Tom says in a self-satisfied voice and Jamie feels a mix of pride and shame rushing through him. Pride because he took it, and he loved it, and Tom doesn’t see him as weak or girlish because of it. Shame because part of him still feels he shouldn’t have enjoyed it, and it hates that part but can’t seem to get rid of it.

They haven’t addressed any of the big questions but somehow that brief conversation makes things less awkward. They lay in drowzy silence for a while before Jamie gets enough energy to shuffle himself upright and tug his boxers back up.

“You can stay if you want…” Tom says, but Jamie gets the feeling he isn’t hugely excited about the idea of having to awkwardly negotiate showers and breakfast in the morning.

“It’s fine.” Jamie whimpers a little as he tugs his jeans over his arse and then fumbles in the pocket for his phone. “I’ll get a taxi. My mum’ll worry if I get home too late.”

“Sure.” Tom leans back, hands behind his head, and watches as Jamie straightens himself up and tries to hide the evidence that he’s just been nicely fucked. “Maybe see you at The Cavern again some time?”

Jamie smiles, “Yes.” He needs to think this through, he knows. He needs to sit down and work out what the hell he’s doing and who he wants to do it with. But right now he’s not properly thinking, he’s just feeling.

He knows damn well what he *feels* like doing. “That would be great.”