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05 March 2012 @ 06:52 pm
fic, Boardwalk Empire: my first love was a murderer (Jimmy/Richard), NC17  
Title: my first love was a murderer [AO3]
Pairing: Jimmy/Richard
Rating: NC17
Word count: 1500 ca
Spoilers: tag to 2x05
Warnings: er, codependency, people who kill others for a living, PTSD.
Disclaimer: Boardwalk Empire belongs to HBO and nothing is mine. Sadly for me.
SummaryRichard knows why he’s kissing Jimmy – because he’s the only one who gets it, because he can look at him and see more than just a missing half of his face, because they’re both the same kind of wreck and because Jimmy is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He just doesn’t know why he’s doing it now.
A/N: written for the latest porn battle round for the prompts masks and adrenaline; title stolen from The Horrible Crowes. Also hi, I had to write this damned pairing at some point.

The blood on Jimmy’s hands doesn’t make Richard feel sick, and Richard knows that for Jimmy is the same. After all, he’s seen worse than bloodied hands.

As they run towards Jimmy’s car, he feels his hear thrumming, so different from the nothingness of this morning when he had set out to that wood. He feels more dead than usual whenever this day rolls around, but now – now his own blood is boiling and his veins are throbbing, and he should feel more disturbed that he’s feeling this alive just after the both of them killed a man.

(With enough good reasons, from what Jimmy says, but Richard wouldn’t have questioned even if it hadn’t been the case. He’s sure that most people he killed during the war had been guilty at most of having been drafted – his ticket downstairs has been paid a while ago.)

What he doesn’t expect is that when Jimmy starts driving, his fingers still stained pink even after he quickly cleaned them on his coat, he doesn’t head for his home or for Richard’s; he stops the car in a wood just outside town, the one where he had gone this morning (but he couldn’t have known) and when he gets out of the car Richard follows.

“I had to do it,” Jimmy says, his voice tight.

“I never questioned it,” Richard croaks back, his throat feeling more sore than it usually is.

“And what does it say about us?” Jimmy shoots back, and Richard has nothing to answer.

He doesn’t expect Jimmy to move in front of him so that Richard’s back is against the car. There’s something strange in the way he’s staring at him. His hands are shaking as they reach up and grip Richard’s coat. “What does that fucking say about us?” he hisses again, but it’s obvious that he isn’t expecting an answer.

Not that Richard has one – what it says about them is that they’re soldiers and that they’re only good at killing others, but he isn’t sure that it’s what Jimmy needs to ear.

And then Jimmy reaches out and takes off his mask. “Look at that,” he almost snarls. “For the benefit of all the mighty men and women who didn’t fight a fucking war but that don’t want to see what it made to us.”

Richard doesn’t know why he reaches up with his hands and kisses Jimmy.

(No. He knows, actually. He has been wanting to do it since the day they met, but he has never even tried, not only because he hadn’t thought it would be welcome, but because Angela is too good of a woman and she didn’t deserve it. Even if she and Jimmy don’t really love each other, and isn’t that funny that Richard still envies the both of them, a little. Oh, he knows why he’s kissing Jimmy – because he’s the only one who gets it, because he can look at him and see more than just a missing half of his face, because they’re both the same kind of wreck and because Jimmy is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He just doesn’t know why he’s doing it now.)

He doesn’t even expect Jimmy to kiss him back, all teeth and tongue and harshness, their lips crushing against each other and Richard’s back pressed into the side of the car. His mask falls somewhere on the ground while Jimmy’s hands reach out and grab his head, forcing their mouths even closer. The scarred side of his mouth hurts, and when Jimmy bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood it hurts some more, but it’s pain that is barely worth mentioning. What’s that in comparison to a bomb exploding on his face? At least this is the kind of pain that brings also pleasure, and he knows that because he can feel his cock stirring against Jimmy’s thigh.

He keeps his hands on the side of Jimmy’s face when they part; Jimmy’s mouth is red and when Richard leans forward to lick blood away, Jimmy leans into it. And oh, Jimmy’s cock is rubbing against his own now, even if it’s just fabric against fabric for now, and he thinks he’d go on his knees in a moment if only he could (but with the way his mouth is, it’s not really something he’d look forward to); so he brings his hands down and puts them on Jimmy’s belt.

He looks up at Jimmy for one second and when he gets a slight nod in permission he makes quick work of it, throwing it on his right – it hits something, probably the mask. Richard doesn’t care. Jimmy’s cock is hard already in his hand, and Jimmy feels it grow harder with a few strokes. And fine, he’s done it plenty of times on his own, but hearing Jimmy moan against his good cheek is making Richard harden further and fuck he hasn’t even taken his own belt off.

Not that it’s the point. He’ll take care of it later. Right now the only thing that matters is that Jimmy is muttering his name against his cheek and that his hands are gripping Richard’s shoulders so tight that they’ll leave bruises (and Richard wishes that all his bruises were because of Jimmy); when Jimmy bites into his shoulder a she comes all over Richard’s hand, hot and fast, his hips jerking erratically. The friction is driving Richard crazy, and he’s half-sure that he’ll come in his trousers before he has even time to take care of it himself, but then Jimmy slumps against him, almost spent, breathing hard against his neck, and Richard stays still. He’ll give him time, and then he’ll hide behind a tree while Jimmy cleans himself up. He can wait a minute, and meanwhile he can look at the way Jimmy’s cheeks are flushing and at that lovely bow of his lips, and memorize it so that he always has it with him (because fine, he knows he’s delusional every time he adds a picture to his book, but he isn’t so far gone to assume that this is going to happen again).

What he doesn’t expect is Jimmy’s shaking hands to move from his shoulders to his belt.

“Jimmy? What…”

“You can’t seriously think I haven’t noticed this,” he answers as he cups his hand over Richard’s crotch.

“You don’t need to –”

“Fuck, Richard, shut up,” Jimmy cuts him short, and then –

Jimmy’s knees hit the ground with a soft thud, and his hands are quick when they push down both trousers and underwear. Richard has barely the time to feel cold, because then Jimmy’s mouth is on the tip of his cock, his tongue licking a stripe under it, and it’s obvious that if Jimmy has ever done this with another man it wasn’t recently. But the wet heat around his hard-on feels better than Richard’s own hand ever did (or better than the whore Jimmy bought him ever did), and when Jimmy starts using his tongue after taking him in almost entirely Richard can’t help grunting out in approval, his hands going down to Jimmy’s head. He doesn’t push him forward, but he needs to touch him someplace and his head is the only one he’ll reach easily. He closes his eyes, tilts his head downwards, focusing only on the way Jimmy’s mouth and tongue and hands feel (because he’s touching what he couldn’t take in and it feels better than anything ever has), trying to keep himself from just pushing forward and forcing Jimmy to take it.

He doesn’t do that, though, also because he’s too close, too very close; he tugs on Jimmy’s hair, tries to say that he’s going to come and Jimmy should just move away, but then his control is gone and his body is shaking, and Jimmy is swallowing and Richard stops thinking and just lets himself shiver in pleasure as he comes harder than he can ever remember coming in his entire life.

When he opens his eyes, Jimmy moves back – and fuck, there’s come on his bottom lip and his chin; before he can wipe it away, Richard kneels as well and licks it clean, not even thinking it through.

“You didn’t have to,” Richard says, his voice more of a whisper than usual. Talking has never felt this hard.

“Who said I had to? I wanted to,” Jimmy answers before standing up and brushing dirt away from his clothes. Richard does the same – he tucks himself back in, straightens his trousers and stands up on unsteady feet, but before doing it he grabs both their belts and his mask from the ground.

When Jimmy starts the car, he raises it up towards his face after cleaning it as best as he could.

“Don’t put the fucking thing on,” Jimmy says as he drives back towards the city.


“Just don’t do it. It doesn’t suit you.”

Richard puts it back on his knees. Jimmy is driving slower than he usually does, and Richard doesn’t point it out.

When Jimmy drops him at his apartment and squeezes his wrist before Richard leaves the car, he squeezes back; as he walks up the stairs, he finds himself hopelessly wishing that it isn’t a one time thing.

feeling: coldcold
on rotation: american land - bruce springsteen