braceforshock | (Coyote . Dan . Garcian) / nsfw

Skip to Main Content

Entry tags:

(Coyote . Dan . Garcian) / nsfw

A literal mindfuck.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

So, you're a guy. You're a regular guy aside from the gunning down some dudes and monsters in cold blood point, but honestly? That's not a big issue, considering the other lunatics you're caged in with for a good chunk of your time. It isn't too difficult to say that being a regular dude with regular dude-needs and lacking means to indulge in regular dude-needs, you have to resort to the age old method of doing shit yourself.

Which, by the way, is also a regular dude thing to do.

---

Coyote was watching a horror flick, one of those terrible and campy ones where everything was pretty much sexualized. He didn't care. He was mostly just watching the lead female protagonist run around with ripped up clothing for about half and hour, and it was just so natural of him to slid a hand down the front of his pants and just let it sit there for a moment. He honestly didn't notice.

And it wasn't just the girl that made his throat dry up just a little- it was also watching the psychotic murderer of the story brutally slay each side character with such stupidly easy efficiency ("That nerd deserved it if he couldn't even see that coming."), and his fingers twitched against rough denim, gripping it a little as his palm pressed down against his crotch. Again, it was a stupid movie with stupid acting and stupid characters, but it didn't detract from the fact that the girl was hot and there was a lot of murder going on in this scene.

Even if someone were to walk in on him right now, he wouldn't care. He has literally 0% shame. If anyone tried to get on his case, well, good luck getting out of the room without a bruise or two on your face.

Dan doesn't think about his existence. Because if he starts to think, then he remembers things, but mostly he remembers that's he trapped in a nut-house that was designed by M. C. Escher in a pocket dimension. So he doesn't think, he just...does.

Which was why, generally, he solely existed to antagonize. Annoying all the other Smiths, getting them mad, starting shit, that made him feel alive. That made him feel in the moment. It didn't leave time for thinking. You had to act, then and there.

So it was honestly a no-brainer what he should do, upon walking in on Coyote and his "alone time" with a shit, B-rated horror movie. Dan would've added 'sick fuck' to the mile-long list of insults he had for Coyote, but, well... Pot and kettle, after all. Leaning onto the couch from behind was his immediate course of action, followed swiftly by yanking on the thief's hair as a greeting.

"I bet you're real jealous of that killer, right now. Not only does he get to run after a hot girl, he's also actually killing people." The unlike you was unsaid, but clear as day.

Coyote should've expected this, in all honesty. Hell, he's been living- well, in some form or another- with the same bastards for years on end. Not to mention this wasn't the first time this has happened, so.

His body's initial reaction was always the same. The sting of his scalp makes him grit his teeth, hissing air between the cracks as he screws his eyes shut. It's only a split second however, because the voice that follows makes his face contort in disgust.

"Fuck off. Ain't like you got anything else on your mind." The hand on his lap doesn't move from its spot, but it remains still. His attention drifts back to the movie, his train of thought interrupted by a scream.

Edited 2014-12-02 16:18 (UTC)

And since they are both so intimately acquainted with how they act around each other, it should be no surprise that Dan doesn't just simply fuck off. In fact, now he's really committed to sticking around and wearing out his welcome in record speed. The moment Coyote opened his mouth was the moment Dan knew they'd get into a fight.

The psychopath currently leaning on the back of the couch doesn't let that hand go unnoticed, either. It's blatantly obvious what was about to happen, before he ever opened his mouth, which meant it was fair game to give the other Smith shit about.

"Can't you watch regular porn like everyone else?" Everyone else meaning, well, no one, of course. The other members of their group consisted of a woman, a man-child, Garcian (who Dan was pretty sure had no idea his dick even existed), a literal child, and a mute, gay guy. Basically, no one with any interest in porn. Unless Kaede was watching it in secret, in which case... "How can you even get off to this shit?"

Every single time he told Dan to fuck off, he sincerely wishes that this time is the one time he does- but alas, today wasn't that day.

"What, don't got an imagination or something, pendejo? Where there's a will, there's a fuckin' way." He rubs at his crotch again, but this time in a more casual manner as if he was adjusting himself rather than stimulating it. Again, hand doesn't move yet because even though Dan was annoying and trying to pick a fight with him, it doesn't distract him completely from the movie. It was getting to the good part, too.

"And as if you watch regular porn anyway."

He felt his lips drying up again and ran his tongue across them, watching the girl on screen getting dragged along the rough ground of the woods by the leg. The murderer was taking her out back somewhere... a shack, from the looks of it. It was always some disgusting shady shack out in the woods, wasn't it? The insides were stained with blood, maybe a few souvenirs from past victims, and then he tied her up somewhere in there and gagged her with a dirty rag to keep her quiet. Yeah, he was practically reciting the movie at this point in his mind.

Alright, so maybe Dan wouldn't find run-of-the-mill, dicks in pussies all that interesting if you gave it to him to watch. He'd watch it, sure, because who would turn down porn? But Dan had grown-up an active boy, with a daredevil lifestyle. By the time he was an adult, sex wasn't as much of a thrill ride as it had been in his teenage years.

Of course, that had been about the time he had discovered guns and an intent to use them. With so much death and violence washing through his life, suddenly sex wasn't as great until he was clawing, biting, scratching. Until there was blood and pain, aches you'd feel for a week and be reminded again and again...

So, yeah, Dan totally understood what the freak next to him was finding so damn persuading about this stupid, horror bullshit. That didn't mean, though, crashing Coyote's little movie-marathon wasn't in the cards. In fact, that's exactly what he did; sat down right next to the thief on the couch. Coyote's attention was clearly 90% on the film, 5% on Dan, and 5% on his dick. Being who he was, an annoying shit-stirrer, the gun-toting disaster waiting to happen couldn't take that lying down. All of Coyote's undivided hatred would be his before Dan called it quits.

He watched the fucking movie. His thoughts kept slip-sliding between it and the asshat next to him, asking himself off-handedly if Coyote was somehow imagining himself in the position of the killer. Was it the blood and guts drawing him in, the half-naked girl, or...? The point is, so much time had slipped by that one might think that Dan had given up prematurely. Maybe he was interested in the shit-show, too.

But then, just as the killer was getting to the good part, Dan's hand slipped over and grabbed Coyote's crotch.

As much as Coyote hated the idea of Dan sitting his white ass down next to him and pretty much disrupting his me-time, which, com'n... wasn't really all too plentiful- he couldn't be arsed to pay him too much mind. There was a bit of shifting and knee-touching when he felt like splaying out even more lazily than he did before, but through most of the movie he was pretty much just, well, watching.

In the back of his mind, he knew Dan was fighting for his attention somehow. Whether it was just to be the most annoying piece of shit in the world or he was seriously that bored, he didn't know, but it made him think. It might've been the only reason why he let Dan get away with the shit that he pulled, though not in the way most would expect.

He let Dan get away with shit like rough-housing and whatnot by fighting back. There was gain in it for him because he had just bouts of uncontrollable energy that he had to release as well otherwise he'd go nuts. Sometimes he channeled that energy through porn. Whatever struck his mood at the time.

But grabbing his crotch? Well, he can't say that happened often but the protocol remained the same. It was all just a game they played without even realizing.

On instinct, his hand grabbed Dan's by the wrist and attempted to twist it off without letting go. Turning to face him, he leaned forward with a scowl.

"The fuck you think you doing, eh?

"Well, you were gonna do it, anyway," Dan drawled, a smirk sliding onto his face like oil. Just like Coyote had no shame, his Irish counterpart equally shared that sentiment. He especially had no shame when it came to grabbing other people, dicks or not. All of it amounted to the same game of Chicken, anyway, and Dan always won. It wasn't just a rise he was trying to get, after all. Well, maybe it was, but not an emotional one.

Grabbing Coyote's dick? Totally fair game, as far as the hellion was concerned. This wasn't exactly the first time this kinda thing had come up, either, in their long relationship with each other.

And anyway, so what? Maybe Dan was horny; thinking about all that killing got his own blood rushing, and bugging Coyote to death always put him in a better mood. Especially if it ended in bloody noses and deep-purple bruises. "So, why the fuck not?"

Cue grabbing denim-covered cock, take two. But it wasn't just grabbing, it was pressure.

That goddamn smug-ass Irish sonuvabitch...and other insults fired off rapidly in his mind but he found himself just glaring at him silently. He just let him speak his mind for him, but it wasn't exactly untrue, so what was the point? Being a game came to mind again, and that just pissed him off more.

"If you know so much about me, then you already know you ain't getting shit that easy." His face drew closer, akin to how fighters do when trying to intimidate the other. But he exhaled deeply through his nose at the pressure, his expression unable to completely deny Dan's claim. He grabbed Dan by the front of his shirt now, pulling the cloth of his shirt and tie tightly around his neck, and it looked as if he was about to punch him in the nose, but no fists were raised. Yet.

It would've been easier to just get it over with, and normally he would've- but Dan just knew how to push his buttons. The last thing he wanted to do was give this asshole the satisfaction of him submitting to his taunts first.

The whole overly-macho display was about as intimidating as a chihuahua barking at him. In fact, the tie-pulling, the extreme invasion of his personal space? It all only served to push more adrenaline through his system, that electric-feeling of excitement thrumming right underneath his skin. A laugh fell out of him, more about challenging than being humorous.

"Yeah?" His eyes bored into the thief's, ready for anything and creeping further into Coyote's space. The movie was still playing in the background; some chump currently getting their body reconfigured like a shaken-up jigsaw puzzle. "Think you're gonna stop me? Like to see you try, motherfucker."

That laugh was probably the most irritating thing he's ever heard in his entire laugh. Even the Heaven Smiles couldn't touch that shit. He'd take an earful of them over Dan any day. He knew his intimidation attempts were a bit, well, futile, but he had to do something. He wouldn't just roll over, nor would he just jump straight to kicking out his teeth.

The more he thought about it, it was a lot like sex. Gotta have SOME form of foreplay or another, right? It builds up the tension and the need real nice-like, gets the blood pumping, and the adrenaline kicking and coursing through his veins.

"We already know that no matter what I do, nothing is stopping. It's not even the fucking point, asswipe. Shit's always moving--" Then with hardly a warning aside from the clenching of Dan's shirt in his fist, he tilts his head back a good ways before bashing it straight into Dan's.

A familiar pin-prick of pain explodes into a bloody mess once the hard bone of Coyote's forehead meets Dan's nose. He was expecting retaliation, sure, so he can't be all that surprised by this move. It's pretty painful, enough to make his eyes water in the corners and to visibly daze him. His nose being broken is not a first time-event; Dan's honestly shocked that the bridge of it isn't some fucked-up mess after all the times it's happened.

He groans in pain, but it might as well be pleasure, because this is what he wanted, right? This is practically fondling each other. Who gives a fuck about sex when there's a brawl to be had?

When Coyote becomes one person instead of two once more, the psychopath in the straight, black tie lunges across the couch. The movement is enough to knock both of their asses straight to the floor, legs in a tangle. One hand snakes into Coyote's thick hair, violently grabbing it and holding his head in place. After all, Dan doesn't want this friend to miss the return gift for his broken nose; a full-on sucker punch to his face.

The force of the tackle is met with a snarl, fingers groping at Dan's jacket, trying to get a hold of something as they both went tumbling to the ground in a mess of arms and legs. He feels strong fingers scrape across his scalp in an almost refreshing and amazing way before it snatches his hair up in a painful tug.

Unable to move his head, he has little choice but to just watch as the fist heads straight for his face. His head knocks back against the ground, the pain blooming in a white-hot wave across his cheek accompanying the dull ache in the back. Grunting in pain, his chest heaves with his heavy breathing, and his hands scramble to grab Dan's arm, the other balling up into a fist to drive into Dan's stomach and ribs.

It's all too fast, but fuck, it's probably the greatest rush he could ask for. The fact that he gets to punch the shit out of Dan helps, too. If anything, it'll make the transition to the inevitable a lot smoother and more exciting. Otherwise, he'd never agree to it. Ever.

For a moment, his vision blacks out at the edges, breath punched straight out of him. Pair that with a broken nose and his brain is screaming about the lack of oxygen. It takes him a moment to recuperate, one fist clenching to the front of his opposition's wife-beater (ha) just to ground himself to the present. It would be pretty piss-poor if he passed out then and there after all the build-up.

Dan snorts in an attempt to breathe again through his fucked-up nose, a fresh assortment of gunk running down his face to make way for air. The blood is everywhere, both of their shirts stained with gradually growing spots of crimson. His tie is askew, pulled too tight around his neck, and his jacket is hanging on by his elbows alone.

The half-hard bulge of his cock against his zipper is in the back of his mind, somewhere.

Dan doesn't growl or snarl as his fingers slide up around Coyote's neck, applying a threatening amount of pressure. He just smiles, licking the blood off his bottom lip and looking bright-eyed despite his injuries.

Coyote doesn't hide his disgust at the dripping blood. His teeth clench tight, body going slightly rigid at the sensation of fingers sliding up his neck- sensual for a brief moment- before they bear down on his pulse. It beats steadily against hot fingertips, speeding up and making Coyote gasp for air. It wasn't even that suffocating, but the heat makes him breathe hard, his skin all over tingling at the idea of Dan actually choking him to death. It's hard to not imagine something like that when he's this close.

PLEASE, NO, STAY AWAY--

The screams from the TV seemed to be a stark contrast of what was going on between the two. All that nasty red dripping off of Dan's chin and onto their clothes beckons to him and when Dan licks his lip, he does too. He doesn't lift his head because it feels too heavy, it feels like he can't right now, but his hands remain busy. One grips onto Dan's forearm while the other was splayed against the inside of Dan's thigh. He digs his fingers into the taut material of Dan's pants, bringing the other's attention back to the half-hard bulge in his pants.

For the longest moment, all the focus in the instigator's mind is solely on that throat. The jugular pulsing right under his thumb stirs something deep in his gut, causes him to breath in deep as a spike of arousal courses through him. It would be so easy to press down firmly on that vein, to watch the blood furiously try to pump past the blockage. He could, honestly, kill Coyote right here and now. It wouldn't even be hard; he wouldn't feel the slightest bit of regret.

There's a thing with dogs, Dan knows, that when they submit, they roll over. They bare their throats. They wait for whatever may come; waiting for the other dog to extend an olive branch. Coyote's not submitting, not by a long shot, but Dan can't help but think, with his throat in the hellion's hand like that, with his hand on Dan's thigh like that, that this is Coyote waiting. For whatever may come.

It just seems like the natural thing to do when Dan leans down, teeth and tongue catching on that erratic pulse-point.

Submitting probably isn't the right word for it, but seeing as their goals were mutual, it just seemed more like a "I did my turn, so it's your fucking turn now, bitch" and get on with it Dan did. They know the cues and the bastard didn't disappoint.

The sensation of teeth and tongue gets a long sharp intake of air from Coyote, as his hands shift and positions them flat against Dan's crotch. It's positioned in a way like he would if he was fingering a girl but instead his palm is rubbing up and down the length while fingers anchor down closer to where the balls would be and rub along with the movements of his palm. Dan's about to look a whole lot more disheveled soon enough.

There's another scream from the TV, and maybe it's the last or maybe it's not, but it prompts Dan to bite down on the skin under his tongue. He wants to leave a mark, because Coyote hates it, because why not, so he does and sucks it hard to make sure it stays. Dan hopes by the next time he sees it, it'll be huge and purple-red, like a target imprinted on his neck.

By the time he's hard, cock suddenly too uncomfortable in his tailored slacks, whatever blood was left on his mouth and chin had been smeared on Coyote's neck. It's a red swath, starting at his jugular and trailed down to his collar bone. The thief looks like the start of a murder scene and Dan can't really say it isn't a nice look on him.

The hand on his rival's throat had long since retracted to allow his mouth more space, unfocused in its roaming. But now it's sole purpose is to relieve the pressure he's building up, unzipping and unclasping his pants to let his cock fill out the space. Dan doesn't speak, because anything of his mouth will just ruin the atmosphere, but his eyes say it all; he'll show you his, if you show him yours.

"Mother fucker-!"

Just because he was used to the pain didn't mean it didn't get a good reaction out of him. His other hand scrabbled at the back of Dan's neck, snarling his fingers into the shaggy black hair and tugging a bit. The initial bite feels surprisingly good, it's a quick, sharp feeling that makes his body shudder. It's the sucking that makes him cringe and gasp, his already aching face twisting in discomfort. There was a fiery pain shooting through his neck and crawling up his cheek where the bruise from earlier was- he could feel the bleeding and tickling pain creeping just beneath the skin.

Dan might have the more visible injury, what with all that blood streaming down his chin, but Coyote had his fair share of hurt as well.

His hand clenches, squeezing at the hard cock still in Dan's pants, but move away once Dan starts to work at his zipper. It's a little quicker than usual, but they don't spend too much time building up to it- their first few moves are pretty damn effective as it is. If they fought too much, it'd just get way too tiring to fuck. Of course, if their original intention was to fight, it would probably end up just being a full-on fight rather than foreplay. Those ended up in death a good chunk of the time, and Garcian hated it.

One hand is still digging into the back of Dan's neck, scraping his nails across scalp and skin, but the other hand is also getting busy with unzipping his pants as well. It was just getting way too tight, and Dan's weight on top of him wasn't helping any.

There's something curious about the relationship between the Smiths. Their separate bodies are all still technically Harman's-- or so Garcian assumes, anyway. Their beings tied so closely together and their physical body still essentially one, every so often, things will start to... overlap. Emotions. Sensations.

Lucky for Garcian (and lucky for his suit), none of the bleeding that carries over to him. But he is feeling restless. And the sudden pain that cuts, stinging, dangerously close to the delicate artery below the skin of his neck is most definitely not from his tie. Garcian loosens it anyway.

Without much further resistance he sinks into a chair in his room. In the background, separated only by the trailer's thin walls, the Master screams: is something happening again, there, too? He has no time nor will to question it. He closes his eyes. Maybe he can sleep it off.

One hand is still digging into the back of Dan's neck, scraping his nails across scalp and skin, but the other hand is also getting busy with unzipping his pants--

Or not.

Garcian opens his eyes and blinks once. They're not trying to kill each other this time: they're doing something pretty damn different. And he can feel himself getting hard, a bulge already beginning to push insistently against the seam of his pants. It only takes him a moment to hesitate-- taking care of a physical need, was all this was going to be-- before he unzips (Coyote unzips; Coyote's nails dig into Dan and he can't chase the image away) and frees his cock (Dan's cock, firm in Coyote's grip).

Just the need of his body, no matter the circumstance. That was all.

If Dan had ever felt that mind-meld, that overlap, of emotions, he's never shown it. He pretends they're still people, still have lives; it lets him keep what shred of sanity he has left. A commodity, really, among the Smiths. If he feels the plus one to his and Coyote's fucked-up bonding session, then the notion is swimming in the very back of his thoughts, completely clouded over in the haze of want. Dan doesn't have the brain-power to process where that extra spike of arousal is coming from.

Instead, he focuses it all on Coyote, on grinding them together harder than he needed to. Lips wander, because they can, because he can leave more marks in random places. Ear, jaw, neck, collar bone, even that nice lump on the guy's cheek from where his fist made nice with Coyote's face. Bone glancing off bone. Just not the lips; lips on lips makes whatever this is take a step towards territory that Dan doesn't want to think about.

No kissing. It's always been like that.

There's only a small, teeny, tiny handfuls of things that Dan and Coyote see eye-to-eye on and this was one of them. He avoids the fact that they're all just psyches and likes to think he has his own life. That he does the shit that he does of his own accord. It's bad enough to be constantly reminded how fucked up they are, why rub it in by telling them they're barely even real?

The fact that their lips haven't even come close to each other is another thing that they agree on- no kissing. That shit's too intimate and emotional and while he won't admit it, he just can't handle that. Awkward. Another form of discomfort and annoying bullshit that he didn't want or need.

His knees come up to respond to the hard grinding, squeezing around Dan's middle with his knees, digging in hard as he could to alleviate the pressure. More hair gets gathered up in his fists as he kneads and pulls, growling low and rough at the sparks of pain lighting up all over his neck. He snarls at the teeth against cheekbone and he lashes out, snapping his teeth at Dan's ear to try and grind down on the cartilage for that satisfying crunch.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only