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brendan_vincent2010-11-01 12:57 am
Fic: Eidetic (NC-17)
This was written as a birthday gift for the wonderful ![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1){kind=small}
neevebrody
Title: Eidetic
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
vida_boheme
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~1879
Legal: Sadly, they don't belong to me; but they do belong together.
Beta: the always awesome mischief5
Summary: Imagine the mixed blessings of a photographic memory...
Brendan can’t imagine what life without an eidetic memory would be like, exactly, but he’s sure it would be simpler. For all it’s obvious benefits, and others only ever see the benefits, Brendan thinks he could live without the photographic recall of Lisette Moye’s moue of disgust as he (prematurely) ejaculated on her thigh during that fumbling attempt at losing their virginity in the back of a station wagon. Oh yes, if he never recalled that moment again it wouldn’t be a moment too soon. How about wiping out the endless, soul-crushing replays of the look of disappointment on his mother’s face? Yeah, that sounds pretty cool. Or maybe the too-vivid nightmares of the raid that went wrong in
Yes, Brendan could definitely live without those memories, would happily erase them from the hard drive in his brain, but most days he’d settle for complete control.
Like right now. Here. Not to have the adrenaline rush joyride of picturing Vince in the throes of passion underneath him, arching back into the pillows, panting and shuddering through the last gasp of an orgasm… while Special Agent Franklin is asking Brendan to outline the latest information on MS-13.
Jesus… Brendan can feel the surge of blood tightening in his groin, the flush of heat colouring up from his chest to his cheekbones. For a moment he freezes, breathless, wondering if he’s going to come right here in the conference room with everyone looking at him.
Brendan grips the edge of the table and shakes his head sharply, as though he could physically clear his mind, shake out the image of Vince smiling up at him, lazy and sated against the white sheets. His heartbeat is throbbing in his head and his cock, and the room feels like it’s spinning from the light-headedness of all that blood rushing south. Brendan wonders for a moment if he’d rather pass out before or after he comes in his pants.
Then Brendan feels the glass of water Terri has pressed into his hand and takes a gulp. Realises he’s been pushed down into the chair and that Terri has grabbed the folder from the nearby desk and is fanning him. God, could this get any more humiliating? And then he hears Dr Welles’s voice and realises the answer is yes, yes it could.
Welles is fumbling at Brendan’s wrist and saying his pulse seems okay, muttering about the flush in Brendan’s cheeks, the flu, and telling Terri he’ll drop him home on his way out to meet Freya. Brendan shakes his head again, feeling claustrophobic, and if they didn’t take their goddamn hands off of him this minute… He has to get out of here, now, but it sure as hell isn’t going to be sitting in a car next to Welles
“No, no. Call Vince, he’s at home, he can come and get me.” Brendan hands his phone to Terri and adds, “Could you all back up so I can get some air?”
It’s enough to make the crowd step back, start to pick up their notes and leave.
Brendan rubs his hand across his face. What a nightmare. At least the last time this had happened (age thirteen, at an upstairs window of their old house on Doveton, while watching next doors’ lawn guy take off his shirt and empty a bottle of water over his head to cool down…) he’d been in the privacy of his own bedroom. Terri rests her hip against the table, still fanning the red folder at Brendan as the room empties, and declares, “Well I’m not leaving you until Vince gets here, so sit still.”
Brendan makes himself promise not to use his gun.
By the time Terri has started her third anecdote about Welles having the hots for Freya, Brendan is ready to strangle himself with his own tie in order to make everything stop. Terri pauses for breath, and in the brief silence, Brendan hears the familiar slightly squeaky scuffing noise of Vince’s sneakers across the corridor floor.
Thank god.
A tousled head peeps around the doorframe and with a warm smile, Vince says, “Hey, here you are – how you doing, buddy?”
Terri beams back at him (she would. Brendan recalls all too well the way she checked Vince out the second time they met. Recalls her jaunty, “I like him, Bren, he’s like you, but with softer edges.”) and pats Vince on the arm in passing as she says, “Well, I’ll leave him in your capable hands.”
Brendan looks up into Vince’s concerned eyes and can’t help the snappish sound of the “Let’s just get out of here,” that hisses out as he swerves past Vince and heads for the door. He doesn’t need to look back to see the raised eyebrow that accompanies Vince’s bemused Oo-kaaay. Right now, he just wants to get out of this building in the quickest way possible.
The ride home is pretty tense. Vince makes the obvious jokes about man flu and bad patients before a glare makes him decide that music is a better choice than conversation and he flips the radio on. Brendan stares out of the window, his body language bristling with annoyance like a cat on the way to the vets. It’s like his brain has decided that anger is the best way of avoiding any dangerous touches. God, he really is thirteen again, but he’d rather be thirteen than get arrested for jumping his boyfriend in broad daylight and a moving car.
The silence lasts until Vince closes the apartment door behind them. He barely gets his “Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on…” out before Brendan is on him. Vince is pressed against the wall and barely catches Brendan’s staccato
“This. Is. All. Your. Fault.” interspersed between a flurry of kisses.
Vince grabs Brendan’s shoulders and pushes him back a step. “Brendan, what the hell? You sit in the car glaring at me like I was personally responsible for whatever crawled up your ass and died today, and then we get through the door and you have more moves than a double jointed octopus!”
Brendan sighs, looks down and can barely bring himself to shape the words of explanation, except Vincent is looking pissed now and if he owes anyone the truth, it has to be Vince.
“I’m not ill. I don’t have the flu or anything else.”
“You’re not? Then what the hell happened at the office, Bren, because Terri sounded pretty worried on the phone and you looked like you were burning up when I walked through the door.”
Brendan rubs a hand over the soft spikes of his hair and closes his eyes. “I had a…moment.“
Vince stares back at him and quirks an eyebrow in silent question. Bren can feel the blush spreading across his face, but knows there’s no going back now.
“A moment. In a…a…sexual way. In the meeting. Thinking. About you.”
It takes a second or two to sink in, but Vince’s drawn out “Ooooh” of comprehension makes Brendan sigh with relief.
“When you say a moment, did you have the whole moment, or…?”
“No, Vince,” Brendan snaps “I managed not to completely humiliate myself by coming in front of the other agents. So I guess I only managed about 80%.”
And Vince, god help him, can’t stop the laughter bubbling up inside from spilling out.
“This isn’t funny Vince!” Brendan says, fighting the smile that’s pulling at his lips too.
“Oh, come on, it kind of is.”
“Maybe to you…”
Vince steps towards Brendan, slides his hands up to Bren’s shoulders and starts to reel him in. “So, has this ever happened before?” Vince whispers.
“No!“
“So it really is all my fault?”
“Yes.” says Brendan softly as Vince kisses across his jaw line.
“Well, Bren, I guess I better make it up to you and you better show me how.”
And just like that Brendan feels the surge of arousal pulsing through him, wants Vince like he has never wanted anything else.
Vince pulls back to look at Brendan. “So tell me, where was I in your moment?”
“You were on the bed, naked, underneath me.”
And almost before the words are finished. Vince is kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning his shirt, shucking off clothes as he walks towards the bedroom until he is completely naked and lounging across the bed.
Standing in the doorway, watching, and unbuttoning his white dress shirt, Brendan feels like all the breath is being sucked out of him. It’s not because Vince is breathtakingly beautiful against the white cotton – although he is – but because Brendan sees the acceptance in the easy way Vince listened and just responded to what had happened. Vincent’s face is etched on Brendan’s memory, and just like now, there’s no disappointment or disapproval written over it, only love.
Brendan eases himself down between Vincent’s legs, loving the soft gasp as he presses their naked bodies together. Vince is looking up at him, pupils blown, and the tip of his tongue worrying at that full bottom lip as he slides his hands up Brendan’s arms to curl around his neck and pull him closer. Brendan kisses Vincent’s panting mouth, licking in deeply and softly, the languid kissing and teasing soon turning to something more urgent.
Brendan’s tongue possesses every part of Vincent’s mouth as his hands smooth and tease across the tanned skin of Vincent’s chest and taut stomach. His thumbs stroke the soft skin at the crease of Vince’s thigh, splaying his hands out until they curl around the curve of Vincent’s hipbone to grasp the soft swell of his ass. Brendan pulls their bodies together until every last millimetre of space between them is lost in the slick slide of their cocks pressing against each other. He hears Vince gasp at the contact, and feels the rasp of hair-on-hair as Vince hooks his legs around the back of Brendan’s thighs to increase the pressure.
Brendan slides his arms under Vincent’s shoulders and rocks against him, feeling Vince shiver in his arms. They move against each other and the only sounds are the soft sighs of breath and skin on skin. Brendan presses and rubs and kisses like he needs to push himself under Vincent’s skin and live there. The frantic tempo is pushing both of them closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy, until Brendan feels Vincent stiffen underneath him and the shudder of heat spurt between them as Vincent comes. Brendan buries his face into the curve of Vince’s neck, feeling Vince’s still racing pulse against his lips as he thrusts into the crease of Vincent’s thigh and comes too.
They lie in each other’s arms, Brendan’s head resting on Vincent’s chest as they catch their breath. Brendan feels the soft stroke of Vince’s hand as fingers comb through the hair at the nap of his neck, and knows that this is just another moment with Vince that he will happily remember forever. Just like all the rest
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I know I said it before but I'll say it again. This is an excellent use of Brendan's eidetic memory. Whooboy, is it ever!
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