Just keep breathing

[Jack Ripley]

It wasn't often that somebody understood. If he really took a look at his past relationships, Jack saw nothing but lines of people who didn't understand. Oh, they would pretend. They'd play at knowing what he meant but there was a false note in their words, a strange eagerness to please, little white lies to show that they were on the same page. That they understood.

For the first time in a long time, Jack felt understood. Alejo, it turned out, was not just the typical naive young clubber. There was something more to him, depths that weren't apparent until now, when they were alone together.

Jack gently stroked Alejo's cheek, his temple, his hair. His eyes closed. All Jack wanted was the same--to be a part of someone. To belong to somebody. Jack kissed him again, the careful, gentle kisses giving way to more passionate kisses.

"Be a part of me," he whispered after several breath-taking kisses, still close, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, lips brushing lips.

[Alejandro Riviera]

Yes, this—this was perfect. This was the moment he had been waiting for his whole life, the moment when he looked into someone's eyes and saw himself there. Jack was just like him. The knowledge filled him with indescribable joy. He wasn't alone. He wasn't the only one who felt empty and dissatisfied, who looked at other people as if they were aliens, unable to understand how they could live the way they did.

Even Judah... Alejo thought when they first met that Judah was like him too. There was something missing in him, a pain that Alejo thought he identified with. Now he knew that Judah's pain was meant for someone else. For that person he kept texting, the person he really loved. The pain was because of that other person; Judah was part of someone else.

Jack, though, was all his. Jack had been scorned by the same people. There were minute differences in their lives but they had experienced similar things. The people who were supposed to love them the most didn't love them at all. Jack's pain was Alejo's pain.

He poured himself into the kisses, elated beyond words. "I already am," he breathed softly, heart beating fit to burst in his chest. "And you're a part of me, right?" They were too alike not to be soul mates. Alejo's hands drifted down, removing clothing, removing barriers. He wanted to feel Jack skin-to-skin, to be warm and wanted, to feel understood but not judged. Was that too much to ask? It seemed so for the people he let in and out of his life, but he was sure Jack wouldn't ever do that. Jack wouldn't hurt him like those other people.

"You're a part of me." He whispered it as his head dropped low, kissing the side of Jack's throat, his clavicle, his shoulder and chest. Alejo felt as if a weight had been removed from his chest; he could finally breathe again. His fingers splayed across Jack's chest and dragged down, leading with nails, leaving faint lines. Past his chest, past his stomach, lower and lower it went until he grasped Jack, lips still at his throat, eyes ever on him and drinking him in.

[Jack Ripley]

Already? Jack smiled to himself. So he was a part of him. Who knew the evening would wind up this way? Certainly not Jack; he had gone to the club to loosen himself up, get drunk, and medicate himself into slumber. Sometimes, that meant a lot of drinks, sometimes that meant a warm body. Sometimes it was a combination of the two. But right now, he was pleasantly drunk and not grossly so. And he had a warm body, whose eyes looked at him as if he knew him all his life.

"I do believe so..." he said breathlessly as clothes were taken off and carelessly tossed away. No more clothing, just skin to skin. Warm bodies. And those eyes that kept watching him, kept looking at him, no longer searching. Alejo must have found what he was looking for and Jack... Jack smiled again as he kissed Alejo again, a kiss to his temple, a kiss to his nose, a kiss to his eyebrow, back to his lips.

It wasn't long before Alejo was administering kisses and touches of his own. Jack closed his eyes and held Alejo close as he reveled in the feel of warm lips, kissing what felt like every part of him, from throat to chest and downward.

"Mmm..." A soft hum left his throat as he arched his back. The feel of fingernails, the faint scratching sensation bringing up shivers across his skin--some people were afraid of that. Of a few scratches, a few bites. Jack laughed, shivering in pleasure as his body bucked in Alejo's eager hand.

"Naughty little minx," he said with a soft gaze and an impish smile on his lips. His eyes closed as he let his head fall back. "Ah, Alejo... you have the hands of a god."

Not too rough but not too soft, deft touches but sure and certain, not too hesitant. That boyfriend that loved somebody else had no idea what he was letting go of. A fool. Jack's hands slid over the smooth skin of Alejo's back, downward, to massage the muscle of his well formed backside.

[Alejandro Riviera]

From darling to minx in such a short amount of time... but then elevated to the level of a god. Alejo revelled in the pet names, lapped up the attention that he had been starved for. He knew the pet names were marks of affection, albeit not as noticeable as the marks he was leaving along Jack's throat and chest. They wouldn't show up in the morning, he was sure; he didn't go that hard, though a large part of him wanted to.

Jack wouldn't mind the pain, would he? That pain in his heart had to be so much more intense than anything a pair of lips or a set of nails could do. But on the other hand, Alejo knew that showing up at work with hickies all over wasn't a good look. He wouldn't want his fellow officers to see that and he didn't think Jack went in for showing off that way, either. Not if he was a professor with a reputation to uphold.

He laughed low in the back of his throat as Jack's hands moved down too, and he pressed eagerly back into them to encourage their exploration. "I think you're the naughty one, Jack." His own hand was sure, still stroking and manipulating the warm, hard flesh, enjoying their closeness. He was playful but the need was building. A little taste here, a kiss there, the foreplay had to lead somewhere.

But as much as he wanted to feel Jack inside of him, to be a part of him, another part of him greedily wanted Jack to feel him.

Alejo's tongue rasped over a dark nipple, then the edge of his teeth grazed it, worrying it. His knee slipped between Jack's legs. Naughty little minx, Jack called him. Be careful what you wish for, they always said... He glanced up, questioning, even as he grasped Jack a little harder and pumped his hand a little faster, and his knee wedged itself higher between Jack's legs to see if they would open for him.

[Jack Ripley]

Damn... It had been a while since somebody had been so enthusiastic about this. No, no. They were enthusiastic in the past but they were people pleasers, probably because they were young. Alejo was young--he was definitely younger than Jack, he knew that. (Or did he? Who the hell knew these days.) Either way, Alejo seemed less about doing just what he thought Jack wanted. No, he was doing what he wanted and that was refreshing.

Not to mention, attractive as hell. It wasn't enthusiasm he hadn't seen in a while; it was somebody that knew what he wanted. Somebody that gave as much as he took. Somebody that didn't just wait for cues from Jack. And damn, did Alejo know what he wanted.

"...fuck."

Did he mention Alejo had the hands of a god? Fuck. Jack's legs slipped apart without much prompting and while he had been hinting at fucking Alejo, it seemed like Alejo had other plans. They weren't in the bedroom. Lube... Jack reached blindly with one hand for his discarded clothes, where was it... his hand slid through various clothes until his fingers grasped the bottle of lube. Always handy to have on his person, just in case somebody at the club wanted to have some fun without going home.

Arching up into another kiss, he smiled when it ended and he held up the bottle between them.

"Don't tell me you were hoping to go in dry. I may have masochistic tendencies but..."

[Alejandro Riviera]

They were part of one another now; there were no barriers separating them any longer. If Jack had been anyone else, Alejo might not have been so forward. He might have done what his partner wanted out of a desire to please—to be accepted. But Jack already accepted him; they were one and the same, really. Alejo knew that the things he did, the way his actions grew bolder and more aggressive, wouldn't be rejected. Jack wouldn't do that to him. Jack wouldn't use him and toss him off to the side once he got what he wanted.

He watched with a little smirk as Jack fumbled through their various discarded clothing. Taser? Bear spray? Ah—lube. Alejo laughed into and out of the kiss, the joy inside bubbling up and out and over. And Jack called him a minx, when he was packing all along! "Aren't we all a little masochistic on the inside?" He grinned, naughty and impish, as though he knew that he was a bad little boy and couldn't bring himself to be ashamed of it.

But honestly... not everyone was a little masochistic on the inside. Jack was. Alejo was. He needed sex to be spiced up a bit; otherwise it all felt so... bland. It felt like nothing. And he tried to repress that side of him with Judah, tried not to make too many demands for fear of driving Judah off, but in the end he found it terribly vanilla. Jack, though? How much damage could Jack take? How much damage could he do? A shiver ran pleasantly down Alejo's spine at the thought. Next time, maybe there would be lines down his own body, there would be a hand tormenting him, a leg nudging his legs apart.

Tonight, though, Jack was all his. And Jack wasn't shy about voicing his pleasure, which Alejo enjoyed as he delved into more kisses, more marks under the collar, one hand coated generously in lube penetrating into Jack's dark heat as the other grasped his hair, pulling his head to the side so that Alejo could ravage his throat with kisses. His tongue flicked over Jack's pulse, tasting something sweet in the way it throbbed. He rode against the side of Jack's leg with his lower body on fire, in agony—finally feeling something other than desperation. Sex always ended in desperation, loneliness. Even when he curled up with someone, he knew they wouldn't stay. Even Judah wasn't going to be a permanent fixture in his life.

Jack was different.

When he finally couldn't take it any more, as their sighs and groans mingled and the heat rose to unbearable heights, Alejo positioned himself. He pushed in slow, not to give Jack any chances to adjust but so that he could really feel him. Feel everything that Alejo had to offer, everything that he was condensed into one passionate act of possession. They were part of one another now and no one could take this from them.

[Jack Ripley]

Despite his gentle demeanor before, Jack's fingers were now raking lines over Alejo's skin. Still, he was careful, keeping any marks away from obvious places, places that could be hidden when Alejo was properly clothed again. What a sad prospect, to see Alejo back in his clothing because he had such a beautiful body. Jack always thought of himself as an amateur artist. There was something about the human body that was the most beautiful thing in the world. He knew he wasn't alone in that thought; ancient civilizations were always drawing them, painting them, sculpting them.

But what good was art that one couldn't interact with? A human being with a beautiful body, a beautiful voice, soft hair, bright but lonely eyes.

Part of the beauty was the wanton twist of bodies, the desire in their voices. Jack wasn't in the slightest shy about showing his feelings in that regard. Alejo really was quite the minx. An imp. The pleased sounds that escaped Jack were all honest, happy, content for once. His body moved, his hips upward, a hand grasping a perfectly shaped buttock, the other sliding over Alejo's side and down his hip, his leg to facilitate the way Alejo rode his leg.

"You..." he started to suggest that maybe he should move that part of his body somewhere else but it was as if Alejo read his mind. "Ohh..." He let out a low groan and his eyes fluttered closed again. Yes, yes. Perfect. Nothing felt better than the sensation of somebody inside of him. Well, other than being the one inside somebody. They both had their merits.

Jack pulled Alejo in closer by his hip. He thought Alejo was being nice and gentle and all but... God, he needed all of him now. His body met Alejo's and he bit his lip as he felt him inside, to the hilt. Jack's hands were everywhere, his head dropping so he could nip at a shoulder, at the base of Alejo's throat. All right, so much for leaving marks where they couldn't be seen...

[Alejandro Riviera]

All his life... All his life, Alejo had done what others wanted. He was a good son; he tried to repress his homosexuality for as long as he could in order to spare his parents the pain of having a gay child. Then when he couldn't take it any longer, he came out but he kept away, so that they wouldn't have to confront the shame of being related to him. He went off on his own, did what he had to do. When he finally settled down and found someone, he still tried so hard to be good. Better. Perfect.

Tonight, Alejo didn't feel the need to be perfect. It was true that he didn't follow Jack's cues, that he simply did what he wanted. Wasn't it about time for Alejo to think about Alejo? He knew, somehow, that Jack wouldn't hold it against him. And he did follow some of the cues—his eyes never left Jack, after all. He kept looking at him, staring, admiring him in all of his perfection. The imperfect man was perfect to Alejo. They always said that one man's trash was another's treasure...

He melted against Jack, against soft lips and hot kisses and the sting of teeth on his throat. Jack's mouth was godly, if anything, and Alejo didn't care that there were marks in obvious places. He wanted to wear them, all of the reddening marks on his body, proof of their intimate connection. Alejo left his own mark too, but down below where no one else could see. He left them with his hips, thrusting harder and harder into Jack as his breathing grew harsh, exploding out of his lungs. His hands slipped down to catch one of Jack's hands and he tugged it up to his throat, moulded Jack's fingers around his windpipe. Squeezed it.

Alejo couldn't seem to stop smiling, even through a haze of pleasure. He kissed Jack hard, setting a punishing rhythm as one of his own hands grasped Jack by the front of the throat too. They were part of one another. He needed to feel Jack and he needed Jack to feel his desperation... Alejo groaned his name aloud, kissing everywhere he could reach. The side of his jaw, rough with stubble. The cleft of his handsome chin, his brow, the corner of his mouth. Sloppy kisses, hurried kisses, he tried to devour Jack in every way that he could, as though somehow he could inhale Jack to make himself whole again.

[Jack Ripley]

In general, Jack was pretty good at this. At fucking. Usually, he was the one making somebody throw their head back, panting and gasping for air. He was good at a lot of things. Sex was one of those things but a lot of the time, he ended up with some naive, bright eyed college kid who tried too hard, or the occasional innocent virgin who absolutely had no idea what they were doing but were very, very vocal and easy to get off. It had been... a while since somebody had thoroughly fucked his brains out, for lack of a better term. Because that was exactly how it felt.

His mind was only on the sensations. He didn't have to think about his next move, he didn't have to dance around it. And as his hand was moved to Alejo's throat, his lips curved into a knowing smile, a dark smile. He didn't need the squeeze to know what Alejo wanted but it was cute.

"Devil," he whispered but his eyes were dancing as his own throat was grasped. Jack was wrong about dear Alejo. He was not a god but a devil. Squeezing tighter, he could feel the rapid pulse of Alejo's throat and the delicate bones of his throat. He knew how to squeeze tight enough to kill him. As his own breath left him, his mind exploded. Brains. Fucked. Lights popped into color all around him and it was better than any aphrodisiac. His legs tightened hard around Alejo to keep him in place before he jerked against him, heat bursting and spraying between the two of them.

His hands wrapped around Alejo's throat clawed at him, legs shivering before he tightened them around Alejo again. "Come," he gasped, "inside me."

[Alejandro Riviera]

Devil, yes, he was a devil. He had evil in him for wanting it this way, for being so wrong that he wasn't worth being loved by the people who brought him into this world. Alejo thought he could make up for his wayward desires by becoming a cop, by attending church and spilling out all of his sins to the priest who sat opposite him, listening with a sympathetic ear. But priests couldn't save him with their prayers. Saving others made him feel emptier somehow, lonelier.

Salvation only felt closer with Jack.

He moaned Jack's name over and over, breathless variations of it stuttering against his lips as their bodies collided with a sinful noise. With a hand at his throat, it was even harder to breathe. His vision swam as the pleasure heightened. He could see Jack's smile, that knowing devilish smile. Jack saw through him, didn't he? Jack knew him so painfully well...

Alejo redoubled his efforts as he felt Jack clenching around him. The hand at Jack's throat dug in. His free hand snaked down to rake dark red lines along the side of Jack's quivering thighs as he thrust in one more time and buried himself to the hilt. His hips ground against Jack, forcing himself in deeper even though it was no longer physically possible. Alejo wasn't lying when he said that he wanted to be a part of someone. He hated lying, hated deceit and little untruths meant to pave over the unpleasant reality of life. He hated liars the most.

Only Jack's body was honest. He smiled—devilish—as Jack came, smiled at the sticky warmth between them, at the nails and fingers clenching around his throat. It didn't take much to make him cum. Just a gasp. A few words that he followed on command, as if waiting for permission to thrust in so hard that he practically fucked Jack into the couch. But the sound he made as he came wasn't wholly out of pleasure. It was a cry of pain, of release, of all the pent-up rage and frustration and anger and hatred that he had been holding in all these years.

It was so hard to be good. It was so hard to keep smiling and pretending that he was okay, that he didn't mind if people screwed him over and dumped him and cheated on him. It was so, so hard...

Alejo's breathing was raspy and labored as he collapsed and curled up against Jack, shivering. Such a violent burst of emotion left him completely drained. He buried his face into the crook of Jack's neck and whispered his name, swallowing back the lump in his throat. "Jackie..." He was begging for something but he couldn't find the words to explain his feelings.

[Jack Ripley]

Oh... Everything felt so good. Maybe it was the meds and the alcohol still mixing. Maybe... just maybe, it was the wild difference of being with Alejo. Godly little devil. Jack's eyes closed tight and he breathed in through his nose, head back, spine arched, warmth spreading inside of him, like sin and sweet poison. It hurt so good. Fuck. His heart kept beating so hard that he swore his pulse fluttered in his throat.

"Mm... Allie," he said back, running a hand over Alejo's arm. He tilted his head so that he could cuddle Alejo. Jack always did like his poison sweet. Pain and pleasure, both. Why couldn't a man desire both a cuddle and a fuck so hard that he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to walk into class tomorrow without looking like a rigid statue?

Jack laughed softly, the weight that always seemed to be crushing his chest relieved and replaced by the buoyancy that not even alcohol could achieve. He pressed a kiss to Alejo's forehead and sifted his fingertips through his hair. He heard that sound Alejo made. A cry. Pain. Loneliness. Nothingness. Had it passed on or...?

Gently, he stroked idle, swirling patterns across Alejo's skin, his arm, his shoulder, the back of his neck. While he felt relief, it seemed as if Alejo was struggling with his feelings. Perhaps that devil inside of him. Maybe it was just the act of being so honest.

"Honey... do you still feel like nothing?"

[Alejandro Riviera]

Allie... heh. A pet name for a pet name? Such a cute-sounding nickname... for someone so ugly inside. He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry in that moment. A great weight had been lifted off his own chest but it only left him confused and unsure. He thought he was one way; now he felt another way, liberated at last, but completely at odds with who he thought he was.

Alejo wasn't pure or clean. He tried to lead a simple life but he was too complicated. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole; the jagged edges kept sticking out, making everything that much harder. No one in his life understood him or knew what it felt like to be steeped in sin. Nobody tried all that hard to find out what he was like inside, when they could take him at face value.

And here was Jack, a man he met less than an hour ago, whom he felt knew him inside and out.

He was silent for a long moment, musing over Jack's question as he laid with him in a warm tangle of limbs. The soft touches were nice, patterns against his sweat-prickled skin. His own hands were still but they kept Jack close and kept himself close. When he finally looked up, he was sure he wore some of that confusion on his face.

"I don't know."

But he did know that Jack saw him. And Jack accepted him for who he was. They both had a darkness inside. Was it the same kind of darkness? Jack, he was so comfortable. He looked comfortable and satiated but he, too, was two ways. He was the gentle man who spoiled Alejo with affectionate pet names—honey, Allie, dear—and kissed him like he was worth something. But the marks on Alejo's throat, the lines along his body? He still felt Jack's hands on his throat, squeezing, squeezing. Jack could have killed him easily—as easily as he came up with 'Allie.'

How did he do it? How did those two sides of him co-exist?

Idly Alejo traced a line down Jack's chest, following the crazed scratch marks that his own nails had left. "I think I feel... better."

[Jack Ripley]

"Better," Jack echoed idly, still tracing little marks on Alejo's skin. His eyes half closed, warm and content in the afterglow. Normally, it didn't feel this good. It was probably the extenuating circumstances. Things had gone a little upside down on him. Honestly, he had been a little worried when he felt something heavy and familiar hidden amongst Alejo's clothes when they were undressing one another. But he must have pegged Alejo wrongly, in more ways than one, actually.

"...we're still nothing," he said, as he gazed up at the ceiling fan that swung in lazy circles above them. "But we're better."

What did it mean? The philosopher major in him wanted to suss it all out. What it all meant, why it was different tonight, when it should have been the same as every other time. Maybe it was the sincerity in Alejo when he spoke of being nothing. Most could say it and even mean it--or think they meant it--but it was hard to fake the way Alejo looked at him and that last cry for... something.

"Unfortunately," he said on a sigh, "nothing and nothing still makes nothing."

They were kindred spirits of a sort but he didn't know if it was understanding he wanted... or somebody to make him feel whole. And Alejo the nothing might not be enough for that, in the same way that Alejo wanted something desperately, he was probably clawing for something more than nothing... and what could Jack possibly give him in that regard?

[Alejandro Riviera]

Maybe he just needed to spend more time with Jack. Maybe this feeling of being better was only the start, and if he knew more about Jack—what he liked, what made him tick, all about his past and present and future—he might lose that emptiness inside, fill it with the kind of love that he had been searching for all his life. They had only been together for an hour or so. It was... kind of a crazy thought.

This was usually where Alejo grabbed his clothes, put them on and left. He wondered if Jack intended for him to leave eventually too, or if he would object to Alejo staying the night. Jack's fingers were still drawing things on him, his arms around him secure and warm. There was nothing to suggest that he was in a hurry for Alejo to vacate the premises.

So he settled back down, content to play it out to a natural end. Alejo was in no hurry. Judah was 'busy' tonight and wouldn't be picking up his phone—his words, not Alejo's. What did he have to go back to? An empty motel room? Case notes? A hard bed and lumpy pillows and moldy sheets? Alejo looked up at Jack, still with admiration in his gaze. It was no fault of Jack's, the conflict he felt inside. That was Alejo's cross to bear, so to speak; he needed to work that out for himself.

"Maybe one of us will become something." He half-smiled, tilting his head up to kiss Jack softly, nuzzling him afterwards. It still felt nice to be with him; it felt right, like they belonged together. "I feel like less of a nothing with you." Alejo laughed low, only partly amused. He propped himself up onto one elbow so that he could kiss Jack properly again, the fingers of his free hand settling against his throat. There was no squeeze this time, only a few gentle strokes.

"How do you feel?"

[Jack Ripley]

"Hmmm... and I wonder what makes a person something..."

Was it enough for one person to just look at him and tell him he wasn't nothing? Somebody that saw something, rather than nothing? Jack's heart beat a little faster at the idea and he closed his eyes to just soak that thought in. Could a nothing be something by virtue of another person? Was it really so simple, the answer? But... nobody could ever, ever look at Jack that way, not if they knew everything about him. The blood on his hands.

Jack didn't take particular pleasure in murder. Not exactly. He wasn't one of those pervs who couldn't get it up without bleeding somebody dry or anything so drastic. No... He didn't even like to think of the term as murder. Something... ended up breaking inside of him. With no understanding, with people looking at him like That, he had to stop it somehow. All they did was echo the nothingness he saw in himself and somehow, they weren't as "nothing" as they seemed. It was... it wasn't easy to explain. It would never be easy to explain.

His smile felt hollow when he opened his eyes and turned to look at Alejo. At least Alejo seemed happier. Jack's happiness felt fleeting. It always was. Still, he slid a hand over the hand on his throat.

"Hard to tell," he said. How did he feel?

"I suppose... a little happy, a little sad."

Still nothing. He wanted nothing more than to feel more than nothing but as good as it was to be close to another person, he felt as if there was some part of him that would always be missing. What did he expect, anyway? For Alejo to be the daddy he never had? To fix all the shitty men in his life that ground into him the fact that he was nothing? For Alejo to wipe away everything his mother ever made him feel?

He sighed as his fingertips found Alejo's cheek. Oh, he might as well ask what he had been wondering since his hand brushed it. There could be a million reasons why somebody backpacking across the country was packing, after all.

"I'm just curious... Why the gun, Allie?"