Shudder

This fic deals with sex and violence in a way that may be disturbing to some people. I'm not advocating anything that happens in the story, but I believe it to be in character. While that may not make it right, it makes it less gratuitous.
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He's not exactly asleep --it's something short of sleep, but something other than being awake, his mind is seeing pictures, but it's not dreams, it's his thoughts-- when he hears it. The sound of his front door opening and closing. Not loud, just loud enough to jolt him back into full consciousness. Looks at the clock and sees that it's four in the morning. It's not Lara. If she was coming over, she would have already.

He gets out of bed and feels absurdly naked in just his boxers, in his own home. But he feels open, exposed, and he's not sure to what. His fingers just touch the door knob right as the door swings open, hitting him in the face.

He stumbles back, tripping over the foot of his bed. He has enough time to think he's caught himself before a big mass of something slams into him, knocks him against the wall and the two of them --the other thing is a person-- fall on the floor between his dresser and his bed.

When movement stops, he sees that it's Brian. Any other day that would make him relax, but the look in Brian's eyes hasn't changed in the past few hours. That look terrifies him.

"What the fuck?" He asks, his voice not as steady as he'd like to it be.

"I wasn't finished, before." Brian says. He's got Jim's wrists pinned to his side, sitting on his stomach. Jim thinks he could maybe get out of the hold, knows he could, but he can't get himself to move.

"You left, not me." He snaps, tired and frustrated and his head hurts from before. This isn't helping.

Brian doesn't say anything right away. Just rocks back, shifting so his knees have Jim's arms trapped against his sides now, and chews his lip. The movement isn't making Jim exactly comfortable, and it's doing things to Jim that he'd much rather not happen at the moment. Not when Brian's mad at him and sitting on him while he's wearing a pair of boxers that's not doing much to hide his arousal.

Brian raises his eyebrows and grins at him. Jim struggles for the first time, heart pounding now, because he's seen that look on Brian's face. Any time they've been at a bar and Brian thinks his flirting with some random girl of the night is going to end with his getting laid, he gives that smirk.

"I've been doin' some thinkin'" Brian says, like he's not sitting on him, like he's not aware of Jim's reaction to him sitting there.

"Yeah?" Jim chokes out. Sounds scared, really scared. And --fuck-- turned on. Which he is.

"Yeah." Brian confirms, leaning forward just a little, reaching one hand into his pocket.

Jim's not sure, but he thinks he's more afraid of the look in Brian's eyes than the knife he pulls out. Either way, he stops moving.

"That's a small knife you've go there, partner." He says, because he can't just sit in silence with Brian staring down at him like that. And the knife is small.

Brian slides back just a little, wiggles a little. Jim represses a shudder. "You seem to be impressed." Brian's eyes go from scary to down right terrifying. "Partner." He spits out the word. Like a curse.

"Brian--" His voice is definitely shaking, even as Brian leans forwards and puts hand over his mouth.

Brian leans down, shifting his weight to his mostly on his hand over Jim's mouth, moves the knife in his other hand close to his neck, not touching the skin, but close. "Shut the fuck up."

This close, Jim can smell whiskey on Brian's breath. He can see it in his eyes that he's pretty drunk. Brian leans in even closer, the hand over his mouth sliding away. Putting some of his weight on that hand. There noses are only inches apart now. Jim swallows, licks his lips, tries to think of something to say. He can't.

Then Brian's mouth is on his, kissing him hard, not asking permission, not being gentle, it's violent and it hurts. But he's still painfully hard, despite the violence of the kiss and the knife at his neck. Brian shifts his weight again, so that he's got most of his weight on his right hand, holding the knife to the ground now, away from Jim's neck. He never breaks the kiss.

Jim is kissing back. Even if part of him is still scared of what Brian can do to him. Even if part of him knows he shouldn't be enjoying a kiss with his partner --his male partner that's got a fucking knife.

He stops breathing all together when Brian grabs him. Not feels, not touches, but fucking grabs him. Grabs him and squeezes, hard enough to bring tears to Jim's eyes, and then slides his hand up, from base to tip, he never stops kissing him, kissing him so deep that Jim's close to gagging.

He groans into Brian's mouth as when Brian slides his thumb across the tip of his erection. Even through the fabric of his boxers, the sensation raises goosebumps on his skin. He can feel Brian grin against his mouth --when did he close his eyes?-- feel the little puff of air that's Brian's amused laugh.

Then Brian squeezes again, harder than the first time, meaning to hurt, not tease. It snaps Jim back to reality.

He defends himself in the only way he can think to. He bites down on Brian's tongue. Hard. Some how gets one arm free. Blocks the knife when it curves at him, grabs the blade, struggling at the disadvantage, but struggling because this is wrong on so many levels.

Brian twists the knife, digging it into the palm of Jim's hand, but he refuses to let go. He tries pulling it, Brian turning it one way, him the other and it almost hurts --he's too high on adrenaline and fear to really feel the knife cutting his skin. Brian leans back, putting all his weight on his stomach, knocking what little breath he has out of his lungs and swings with his free hand.

The punch is a lot harder than Jim expected, it snaps his headthe the side, makes him see stars. His hand holding the knife goes limp for a second, and that's all Brian needs. Jim knows it. Knows from the look in Brian's eyes he's a dead man if he gives up now.

So he struggles more, twisting, bucking, managing to dislodge Brian. They roll, and Jim's on top. He stumbles to his feet, tripping over Brian. Rolls over the bed, smacks his head a good one agianst the nightstand as he falls over the side. His gun is right where he left it, in the night stand. Pulls it out and gets the clip in --thank god he had it right in the drawer-- right as his screaming ex-partner comes flying at him.

It's like in a movie. Brian sees the gun and seems to stop moving mid lung. Falls on his stomach in front of Jim, who's almost in a sitting position against the wall. Brian's eyes travel to the barrel of the gun and stay there.

"You wouldn't." Brian says slowly, sitting up. He sounds out of breath. Jim thinks he might be too.

"You had a knife to my neck." Like that explains it. Like that justifies this. Jim's hands are shaking. He hopes it's because of the wound, knows that it's not.

"You wouldn't kill me."

"But I'd shoot you. Don't have to kill you." He might even mean it. He cocks the gun.

Brian's eyes shift to his. Searches. He drops the knife.

"Get the fuck out." Calm, like he's in charge. But he has to use the wall for support when he stands. Both hands on the gun to keep it straight.

"Jim--"

"Get out!" Screams it.

"Fine."

Brian stands and it takes all of him to not hit him. He watches him walk to the door to his bedroom, can't seem to get up. To move away from the wall. Brian turns around when he gets to the door.

"This is your choice, Jimbo." Brian says, "I didn't want this. You did. Remember that."

Jim doesn't say anything back. After a full minute of silence, Brian leaves. Jim doesn't relax until he hears the door to his apartment slam. He drops the gun and slides down the wall.

He's still sitting there when Lara lets herself in at ten. She keeps asking questions about his hand, about the room being a mess, about the knife on the floor that has his blood on it and the gun at his feet. He doesn't answer them. He just gets up and goes into the bathroom and gets in the shower.
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The End.