On losing a job and A rare moment of honesty

There is nothing easy in losing one's job. There is never a reason for celebration. There is never relief. Above all, there is never a reason to smile. A job, no matter what it is and no matter if it sucks or not, is still something to consider precious. It is yours. To lose it beyond your control is like being the victim of a robbery. It eats at you especially when it wasn't even your fault in the first place and you haven't done anything wrong. In the end, you are left with the feeling that something has been stolen from you. It would feel tremendously personal. That's the first wave of emotion we would likely feel when such circumstance has befallen on us. It would take a ridiculous amount of courage to remain firm and positive and calm amidst such storm. The second emotion humans would feel then would be the financial burden: we think about the means of survival and how to feed the family. The third would be a blend of panic and stress and feeling of helplessness. We are at a lost. The ground has crumbled and we are falling down. I look up at the people who continue to stand their ground and brave through the ordeal instead of crying in a corner and whimpering helplessly. For one thing, crying would surely exist. It is natural to mope and feel gloomy, too... but it doesn't just stop there. People would not abandon themselves and surrender without a fight. We can all feel bitter after we have tried all our best and exhausted all possible means.


My friends right now are suffering from the loss of their jobs. While I am not in their shoes, my mother is. It's a snowball effect, I am therefore, affected too... but not from the first wave, mine--in contrast, is probably just a ripple, just an aftershock. I'm feeling panic slowly crippling my skin, I'm beginning to feel stressed too. I imagine how my friends are possibly feeling right now. They must be so terrified, their fear a bit greater than what I feel now, their stress tripled. As of this moment, they have more right to feel troubled than I am. To see them planning for secondary measures and counterattacks to salvage their ground amidst the unforgiving, sudden bomb of losing a job must've taken so much courage and bravery and will.


It is because of their optimism and show of humanity that I decided to show a rare moment of honesty. If I want to shred my skin and pave my path, I came to realize that the first step would be to stay honest with myself and look straight up at the ugly edges and dirty insides that make up my person... because the truth is, I have become hateful---I just didn't really realize it.


I am, most definitely, cynical and pessimistic by nature. I have known this since I was a kid. No matter what optimistic words bloom from my mouth, deep down I have this black hole full of sinister, abrasive and cruel thoughts. I am never at rest, never truly at peace. The rare moments of peace comes from things other people won't even recognize or understand. These moments of tranquility are so few that I treasure them greatly... but I have to be honest about myself now... as promised.


I want to get out of this country--both for selfish, personal reasons and for my broken family. If I want my brother to live with me and I want to have the means to support him, this country is not for it. Setting that aside, I knew from the moment I arrived here that the the desert country simply just doesn't sit well with me. I am thankful for my job here  ( and I truly love it) and for all the amazing, brilliant people I have come to know but I don't see myself wanting to stay here more than necessary. My family comes first. Lately I have been feeling bitter towards lots of things. I'm bitter and I somehow harbor resentment towards my relatives who are now enjoying their lives in the US. I have to realize and recognize that I somehow blame them that my mother's papers were neglected and forgotten by them, why we are where we are. I, too, realized that I am never truly thankful with their help and assistance thinking that they are just blood money, a compensation. In my eyes, they can never pay enough because even when I hear of their support and concern, I cannot believe it. They are mere words and I have become this hardened shell, a dark child who can't really believe that the world would give her something to celebrate for. I have become a monster that would only recognize effort when I see it. I take no comfort in words. My broken family taught me that. My relatives forgetting to do something potentially life changing for my mother taught me that. I am also bitter that I decided to pursue my career here in UAE instead of grabbing the chance to apply  to another country back then when I was still in the Philippines. I am bitter that our family's broken and with this comes the burden of never truly having a chance to focus on myself. I am bitter that none of my family knows how to save money--in fact, I am gravely stressed by it--that we don't fckng have savings.


Amongst this pile of bitterness, though, I realized how ultimately lazy and neglectful I have become. I stopped making plans. I stopped exerting effort. I was so focused towards the things I am bitter about, so held up by my surprisingly crippling resentment towards my mother's siblings that I have somehow learned to silently blame them along the way, so bitter towards the stagnant life I feel is now draining the life out of me...


In the end, no one is at fault but me. I have been so consumed with my arrogance and pride and laziness. I have been idling around. I cannot blame anybody else. There is no one else. I just have to forget about them. I just have to rely on myself and never expect support or help from them. I will try my damnest now. I would feel bitter later only after I have exhausted every means and every grain of possibility. Only thinking like this would salvage my relationship with my mom's siblings, then. I cannot blame them. It is irrational. It is something that's inside me for a long time but I didn't realize it. But I was a kid then when I found out about these things. I was a kid when I learned from the hard way how I cannot take comfort in mere words. I was a kid when I realized how I shouldn't easily believe that anyone would go out of their way just so they could help us. I was a kid when I was indoctrinated by the paragon of cynicism and pessimism. I was just so good in overwhelming this side of me back then that I managed to smile brightly when I was younger. My reign over the darkness broke, I suppose, when my family did. I cannot grow lax now... For my own brother and sister, I can be the devil for them. It is something I learned, too, when I was a kid. I will never forgive myself if we'll grow out of our bonds. I would desperately hold on to them..even when, for now, I should just focus on paving my path. I have to brave the oceans and take sail. I'll come back for them.


In comparison to my friends who are suffering the crisis of losing their job, they now have more reason to feel bitter towards the world but I see them calculating plans outside the confines of their houses, walking the earth with steady eyes even when inside, they must be crumbling. I look up to them and even when I am pessimistic and cynical, I can be optimistic for them in the mean time. And while they are having their fight, I will fight too. I can be good with them and for them. I can find reasons to get out of this dark cloak.


I am a monster. And I am so very hateful. If having the silent thoughts I have mentioned above makes me a sinner and doesn't endear me to the dwindling number of relatives I remained endeared with, I am sorry. .. but writing is the only language I can speak without ever lying. And I have to do this to pay tribute to the courage and strength of my friends' facing the crisis of losing their jobs. They gave me the necessary push to stop being lazy and stop idling about, gave me a reason to want to try harder.


I have to mention that with all this bitterness and resentment and despite how truly hateful and disbelieving I am, I care for my family and by extension, my relatives. I mean, pick a fight with my relatives (even to those I unknowingly developed silent resentment towards) and I vow I'll wage war for their sake. Loyalty is something I cannot afford to be tarnished. I'd be a killer and a criminal but never in my life would I forsake family. I just take prioritization. My family comes first. Everything else fades in comparison, everything else could be irrelevant. I suppose I feel greatly when I think someone from my family has been wronged. Though it's just something from the past.


I am honestly stressed out right now, thinking of the repercussions of Maternity Hospital's closing and how it would affect my friends and even my own family...but for now, I can only say I'm a bit determined and I have to take advantage of this feeling.


All the bitterness that's suffocating and crippling me, I have to swim past them and somehow manage to take a guzzle of fresh, untainted air. I am an ugly person. I have to embrace it. Because even with all this bitterness and even with all the shits the universe somehow decided to throw at us, I still rather think I won't trade the person I am now and how battered my mind has become to someone else's.


To my friends, the heart I extend to you is genuine. I bare this ugliness to show my support. Be strong and steady for I feel like I can be, too, every time I see all of you who are now gloriously fighting and keeping your heads while the crisis is at its peak. I am impatient... but for now, patience is something we have to learn all the while riding the waves of time.


I suppose I have to mention here in the end how I have to see the blessings and the good things that have been bestowed on us but see..., thinking that other people are in worse conditions doesn't make our situation any better. I see the beautiful things in life and I know how to appreciate gifts and life and the great things... that just doesn't mean I don't have woes and troubles and plights.

Insomnia

Insomnia

Whoa. Apparently, the prospect of being able to go home to my country makes me unbearably happy and excited more than I thought it will. I've been getting consistently nocturnal this month of February and my busy mind has made it his (coz my brain is a he) job to concoct fantasies and plans for what my whole month this march would include; mind's been formulating plans even in my non waking hours. This is a feat considering my minds' been recently a clutter of mess-after-the-storm since the start of 2013 the time I proclaimed myself a yaoi/male slash pron fic writer. That's what a decade of advocating homosexuality and getting drowned with yaoi would do to a person,--that it, turn you into a professional. My sister's an artist/cartoonist now for yaoi... Though wanting to be a fic writer was mainly because of JOHNLOCK. Wooooh and now I'm jumping subjects again.. So, sleepless nights, yes. Been having these lately coz my neurons kept secreting epinephrines and happy hormones at the very thought of getting Home. Thrill. Exhilaration. Giddiness. Euphoria. Excitement. Apprehension. The usual dish.

on Homeland. and Sleep. and Gay Porn

My sleeping pattern's a total wreck. I just had to write an entry about it because it's a concrete testament to how the series HOMELAND has wholly captured the entire three days of my life. Been staying up all night watching episode over episodes in a marathon and the result was me and my mom being transformed yet again to nocturnal creatures. So yes, I had to write about HOMELAND in my blog since it's definitely one of the thousand beautiful things in life that has brushed mine. I've sacrificed a total of 72 precious hours when I could've used it to write chapters of my gay porn FAULT LINES (JOHNLOCK). This is another statement on its own, one that is ground in saying how HOMELAND's amazing! My sister's practically scrambling to memorize Allah Akbar in adoration of the wonderful, wonderful series. So yes, I had to to stop and dedicate some time to promote Homeland. Been totally lazy this mentioned 3 days that the last thing I see before I sleep is the sun and the first thing I see upon waking up is darkness. ^^

Calm Down, Heart

Calm down, my beating heart. All is not lost as was proven by a dear friend. I know how you’ve always believed that good things only happen to other people and never you. The thing is, you have to see and recognize all the blessings that have come your way so far. I know you want more, you can’t help it. But take a moment to stop and turn around and see the many good things that have been showered to you. Be thankful and grateful to the life, career, friends, and colleagues that were brought around you. Now another path has been opened and you just have to pave your way through it. The prize being offered is possibly one of the greenest you ever imagined. Aus? Not bad, right?. Walk forward because you will not be able to forgive yourself if you don’t. You need to test the waters and brave the tide should it appear and threaten to swallow you. There’s an opportunity being dangled and baited in front of your face. There is no shame in showing desperation and grabbing for it like a rabid dog whose tongue is hopelessly lolling about. Calm down, heart. I know how you fear rejection and failure. I know how you bristle at the thought of getting your hope so impossibly high only for it to later take the fall and crumble to irreparable pieces. That has always been your reason why you keep to yourself and learned not to hope.  It is better to have tried and failed instead of having done nothing at all. Move forward. Just bloody hell keep moving forward! It’ll get tiring, exhausting and draining. Things are bound to get real messy. You will bleed and weep. There’s no getting around the bushes this time. You have to run forward and ram straight to the thorns. All the woes and fear and apprehensions, lock them all away and focus completely on the tasks ahead. For you are made that way, molded to continuously bounce from place to place, grown to want only the best, and guided to always want. Going for this would not mean being ungrateful to the present and what it has bestowed upon you. This would not be a betrayal on your part. This would just be you being what you are and going for what the universe stated can be yours.

Thanks to my very dear friend,   Ryan,   for giving hope and sharing the love.

FAULT LINES Chapter 6

Summary:  John couldn’t pretend this man was Sherlock, there was no one like his consulting detective, but when he closed his eyes, all he could smell and think about was Sherlock and their time together and all the wonderful cases he thought he’d have for the rest of his life.

Fandom : Sherlock (BBC)

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, John Watson/Sebastian Moran,
John Watson/Greg Lestrade, John Watson/Mycroft Holmes, John Watson/Others

Warning: M/M Slash

Disclaimer:  Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to each other.

Link to Chapter 5: http://akistrife.blogspot.com/2013/01/fault-lines_5.html

You can also read the whole fic in ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN: "http://archiveofourown.org/works/616139/chapters/1111274"

Chapter 6

His Fall

Lost till you're found
Swim till you drown
Know that we all fall down
Love till you hate
Strong till you break
Know that we all fall down

All fall down, we all fall down, all fall down
We all fall down, all fall down, all fall down

-All Fall Down

The Way ward’s Shack, as it turned out, was horrendously difficult to find. He’d flagged down a total of five cabs that all turned out hadn’t heard of the place before John was forced to ring his sister up. From then on it took snaking alleys upon streets he hadn’t known existed in London before he reached the place. By then he was quarter past the time he’d agreed upon with the Colonel. John swallowed the trepidation that had formed at his throat.

The Shack was surreptitiously secluded among shadows, the entrance of the bar itself hidden at the back of a seemingly abandoned and renovation-due architecture. The bulbs were busted around the piece of carton left hanging before the metal rusted door, the carton itself the only effortless attempt at announcing the place.

John banged exactly four times at the door as Harry had suggested over the phone. What seemed to be a peeping hole opened and John stared unblinkingly at it and didn’t say a thing. Before long there was the sound of metal lock grating then the door was being pulled open before John. He slid in without a word and the door closed with a loud bang the soonest that all of his limbs entered the threshold. He looked up at the bulk of a man manning the door who did not bother with so much as a glance at him, before descending what seemed to be a narrow flight of stairs.

John wouldn’t have predicted the scene that greeted him with all his faculties. The place was a bloody den—an illegal one, he’d gamble. The room was covered with thick artificial smoke and mixed with the scent of tobacco. The music was blaringly loud enough to bust ear drums, the bass vibrating up to the cemented floor. What was most striking, however, were the people—lots and lots of them he thought he’d only see from films and imagination. Most were wearing leathers and latex that revealed more than hid and some were entirely nude he noticed as he silently made his way towards the bar, hoping against hope that it was the obvious place to meet up with someone. John thought he saw what seemed like syringes and pouches of powders being blatantly and boldly passed around the throngs of bodies. He squeezed himself between sweating and grinding flesh and looked about apprehensively. He felt decidedly out of place wearing his jumper and old jeans. Once or twice, people had stopped directly in front of him and leered invitingly, some groping at his ass and tugging at his shirt daringly, both men and women. He ignored them on and persisted.

He was going to fucking murder his sister repeatedly.

John gave out a startled cry as a stranger’s hand grabbed and squeezed at his groin—balls and cock all—from behind. The muscled bare arm that had snaked traitorously across his front kept him pinned securely against a wide, sturdy chest. With a grunt, John tried to flail away but the single arm was as unmovable as a rock. The hand at his groin started to stroke, fingers at the area below his balls and the mound of the palm at the base of his cock, sliding and rubbing confidently. John muttered a strangled cry of protest at the stranger’s assault and the other man answered by sliding his left hand onto the doctor’s left nipple and rubbed at it over the thick jumper. John whimpered helplessly and involuntarily submitted and leaned against the heated torso against his back. The experienced strokes had his body respond traitorously. He allowed his eyes to roll behind his lids and repressed a moan by biting his lips as the stranger’s experienced caress remained unyielding and merciless. John didn’t fail to notice how the other people at the place didn’t seem to pay any mind to what was being done to him. In fact, he thought to himself, they were doing something definitely more morbid and lewd and carnal. He craned his neck diagonally upwards in an attempt to dissuade the other man from further violating him when he felt what unmistakably were teeth clamp tight at his earlobes. John hissed a resounding ‘Shit’ and heard the other man chuckle, the rumble of silent laughter vibrating from the stranger’s chest to John’s back.

“Easy.” A deep, suave voice whispered against his ear and John’s heart stopped for a brief second before he recognized the voice and exhaled in relief. “You were so tense.’

“Couldn’t you just greet me properly?” John asked; his voice aloud in an attempt to get through the blaring music of the Shack.

“I AM greeting you properly.” The man punctuated every word with firm massages against John’s cock.

 “Moran—” John tried to break out of Moran’s hold but the Colonel did not budge an inch and instead pinched at John’s nipple.

“Ssshhh… I told you to relax, Captain.” Moran coaxed as his lips ghosted over the side of John’s pulse point, the rhythm of his strokes never getting interrupted. “You did know about this place, didn’t you?”

John dazedly looked about at the crowd of flesh grinding against each other, the throngs of sweat slicked flesh engaging in physical gratification. The doctor placed his dominant hand over the Colonel’s hand that was sliding up and down his groin and tried to overtake the rhythm. “I honestly didn’t. I just thought it’s like any other bar.”

“Oh, that’s just lovely, then.” The Colonel rumbled, his tongue swiping at the side of John’s neck.

John could feel his knees getting weaker and he would’ve doubled over if it wasn’t for Moran’s arms pinning them snuggly against each other. He was fully hard now, his own cock straining painfully inside his jeans. “I…” John began, finding it difficult to form words, “I think I already have an idea about this place.”

The Colonel hummed as he temporarily lifted his hand from rubbing at John’s groin only to slip it professionally and successfully inside the doctor’s jeans. It happened so quickly while the doctor was busy trying to catch up to what was being done to his nipple that he was relatively surprised. John’s breathing hitched and he moaned rather unashamedly as he felt Moran’s huge, warm hands wrap directly on his cock, the tip of the fingers flicking purposely at his balls. His knees wobbled and the Colonel supported his weight reassuringly. “No, you don’t” Moran murmured as his hand began sliding up and down the length of John’s manhood. The doctor, for the life of him could no longer follow the conversation for the entire world. “You haven’t really any idea, John, but I promise to show you.” The Colonel continued mercifully.

    

John recognized the fleeting feeling of consternation take over him. The feeling of foreboding had his heart hammering wildly inside his chest and had his limbs frighteningly numb and relaxed. His own breathing had become rapid and quiet yet with short take of inhales. /Danger./ It was the same mixed response he had always harbored to danger and Sebastian Moran was without doubt dangerous. His body prepared for it even as his own mind began to feel what the rational part of him should: trepidation and second thoughts. The call to the Colonel was rather rushed and reckless and it was made in a fit of anger and hurt but he supposed that had been the point, John told himself as he swallowed the lump on his throat. He just had to remember the point of all this even when he wasn’t confident about his decision any longer. It was the thought of getting a shag in front of so many people that dampened what could’ve been otherwise a steady resolution for this arrangement. “I don’t think I can…” John frowned helplessly, “Not with so many people you see—”

John’s words were cut off as a couple of clever fingers plundered his mouth unannounced, swiping at the hollow of his cheeks brashly before settling on top of his tongue. John had at first gurgled in surprise and attempted to shout a protest but learned quickly to control the muscles of his mouth lax and let the fingers do their job. It was only when the doctor remained silent that the Colonel deigned a reply.

“I know.” Moran simply said, his fingers slid slowly along John’s tongue as his other hand stroked at John’s cock. “I don’t know what you want—not yet—but you’ll get to tell me later.” He said matter-of-factly. “But I know how to take care of you John.”

John whimpered and nodded. Moran---Sebastian, for John had to call him Sebastian now if the Colonel was going to use his first name for this night, and had the upper hand at the moment. “Good man.” Moran continued, pleased. “This is what you called me for, isn’t it?”

John gave another short nod even as the fingers dangerously went up his tongue near his throat. His eyes glazed with tear as he valiantly tried not to gag.

“Now, Captain,” The Colonel purred, “ I think you were late for quite a while, about a quarter, so I suggest you start sucking at my fingers in return and I promise you I won’t do anything you’ll not like while we’re in public.” Moran said huskily, commandingly.

John obediently wrapped his lips at Moran’s middle and inner fingers that were already impaling his mouth and sucked promptly, instead of giving another nod. The Colonel pressed his own erection tighter against John’s ass as reward. He thought he couldn’t be more surprised at the moment when Moran suddenly started to sway with the music, dragging John’s body along, the rhythm of the Colonel’s stroking hand never faltering. Moran, oh god, Moran was fucking dancing with the music as he controllably grinded his cock against John and as he publicly gave the doctor an amazing hand job.

John didn’t stop at sucking Moran’s fingers in exchange but he thought he was going to come real soon if they continued like that—and he hadn’t even seen the Colonel’s face yet. His breathing must’ve hitched at some point or he must’ve sucked harder and out of rhythm for Moran seemed to have noticed. “You come without permission and I promise to fuck your ass right here in the open.” He said ever so lightly and John didn’t doubt the truth in those words.

John groaned from his throat and swirled his own tongue at the Colonel’s fingers in response. He thought he was gonna die from being so painfully hard if they don’t stop now and heavily considered braving Moran’s threats.

A naked man with erection against his liquid stained abdomen suddenly stood in front of John and stared brazenly at the doctor’s mouth sucking at fingers then down at the doctor’s cock being caressed under the jeans. John felt the dread and fear at the thought of this stranger assaulting him at the moment but didn’t let up with sucking Moran’s fingers.

The new comer lifted his own hands and attempted to insert his fingers into John’s mouth when Sebastian had suddenly stopped both of them from swaying and growled at the naked man. “Go away. I’m not sharing this one.” His voice was laced intimately with years of experience at giving commands. John saw the man look at Moran’s direction, gauging and weighing the threat Moran posed, before retracting his offending limb to his side and with one fleeting and wanting eyes at John, walked away, slipping among other people.

John felt tremendous relief as they were both left alone with their own devices. He could’ve thanked Moran, he supposed, so instead he lapped lightly and teasingly on the other man’s fingers. He felt Moran’s thumb caress at the side of his chins in return. “Man, you’re in jumpers and all and people seem to want to jump you more.” The Colonel said against his ears. “I had wondered how you got permission in to this place you know—Oh! Yeah, it must be your eyes then.” Without further notice, Moran nudged the back of John’s knee lightly. He took his hand from John’s pants and swapped fingers with the ones on John’s mouth. John hissed at the loss of contact on his cock but was suddenly engulfed with the taste of his own pre-cum and salt, Moran’s new fingers now already slick and dirty. The Colonel placed his left hand over John’s hip. “Walk.” He said. “We’ll get to somewhere private now before another fucker tries to get to you again. You’re tense all over again.”

With Moran’s fingers on the doctor’s mouth and John sucking in return, they somehow made their way in between dancing, grinding and swaying flesh. Once or twice had there been others attempting to invite them but they both ignored them and remained stuck with each other. John didn’t really know where Moran wanted to go, the directions quite forgotten the soonest that he walked them. Before long he was being pushed gently into a non-descript, empty room. He heard the door click shut behind him then Moran was turning him around, a trace of saliva coating the side of his chin as the Colonel-he yet had to see- retracted his fingers from John’s mouth. Moran growled then quickly lapped a tongue once at the saliva on John’s chin and the doctor saw the face of his Colonel for the first time as the latter pulled back, eyes looking deviously at John’s eyes.

Moran looked rather fit, John thought. His face almost hadn’t changed from their army days, only cleaner and decorated with a few additional scars around his neck. His muscles were well defined beneath his snuggly fitted shirt and John thought that the Colonel must’ve been working out even after his days in Afghanistan. There was still the ever present controlled calmness and deliberate stillness in the way he carried himself. He’s a predator, a killer, a sniper with a steady aim. Moran still carried all of them and John wondered briefly how the man hadn’t seemed to change. Overall, the Colonel looked well in his own randy way.

“Hello, John.”

“Seb.” The ex-army doctor simply acknowledged, remembering how Moran liked to be called. He knew his own face was flushed now, the same way he was aware of the rapid thundering beats inside his chest. He bit out a traitorous moan as Moran raked his deep eyes up and down John’s person, pausing briefly at the doctor’s straining erection under the jeans.

“What do you want, John?” The Colonel asked softly, eyes flicking back at the doctor’s blue ones. John appreciated how Moran was always direct to the point, clean and swift like the sniper that he was. There was no beating around the bush with what they both had in mind.

Images of Sherlock flooded John’ mind. /Sherlock playing the violin, Sherlock in his silken dressing gown, Sherlock on the couch while visiting his Mind Palace, Sherlock running the alleyways in pursuit of clues and the culprits, Sherlock smiling, frowning, sleeping, looking at him./ Sherlock Holmes was undeniably and unshakably what John wanted, what he still wants and possibly would want for a very long time. Even now he wanted nothing more than to return to 221B and find the consulting detective on his bed and be able curl up and snuggle right next to him. That was what John wanted, to soak himself up with Sherlock’s scent and warmth; to be wrapped up securely with him. But then John remembered the last time that they’d made love, of Sherlock thanking him with finality, of Sherlock choosing another guy, and he thought of how Sherlock wasn’t his anymore. The rippling pain over his chest dictated the answer that John had to choose.

 “Make me forget.” John answered gently and decidedly as he wet his tongue that had stuck dryly at the roof of his mouth. He valiantly hoped that he didn’t sound as desperate as he truly felt. He saw the corners of the Colonel’s calculating eyes twitched in recognition. Moran never did like not having someone else’s attention.

He studied John for several more seconds before giving a crisp nod. “I want you to look around the room, John.”

John thought this wasn’t really the time to look around the room when he just wanted a good shag and his erection’s as painful as shit but otherwise did what was wanted of him. He had to get the deed done as soon as possible before his resolve crashes down on him, even when he knew full well that the bulk of the Colonel wouldn’t have allowed an escape for him any longer, being this too far gone in their path. John turned his back at Moran and quickly scanned the room. There was a queen sized bed with clean white linens at his left side; beside it was a wooden shelf of sorts with items he couldn’t really make out from his distance. On his right wall was a small sink; near it was a bench with contraptions of some sort. At the wall in front of him were metal rings and cuffs attached. With a sinking suspicion of what this place truly was, he slowly walked towards the shelf and recognized the myriads of sex toys and devices. He recognized only a few-- gag balls, duct tapes, vibrators, anal plugs, ropes, whips and candles.

He gave a startled cry as he felt the bigger form of Moran drape over his back, hands wrapped around his chest. John bit at his lip as the Colonel sniffed at his hair languidly. “Now you know what the Shack’s all about I think.”

John gave a short nod. “I don’t really think…”

“Kiss me.” Moran simply ordered as he let go of John. The doctor turned around obediently. He saw something in the Colonel’s eyes and decided to throw a little bit of caution away. He did want this from Moran, after all. Wrapping his arms around the back of the Colonel’s head, John Watson tipped on his toes and claimed Moran’s mouth, tongue and teeth and all. The other man’s mouth was already open and received all that he could offer. Their tongues were the first to meet, brushing steadily and unashamedly before their lips formed a sinful seal. The first few strokes of their kisses were clumsy at first and slow and bitingly strained. John was all forceful and desperate for contact having needed to strain to his full height to reach Moran’s mouth. The Colonel stood as straight as he could get and refused to lower himself for John’s reach, his own hands never touching John’s. It was only when John felt how the contact wasn’t enough, the kiss not really doing it for him that he pulled back, arms still wrapped around Moran.

“Kiss me.”

Moran grinned approvingly before he bent down and claimed John’s lips possessively and brutally, stealing the breath away from John down to the zilch. His firm hands were suddenly on the mounds of John’s ass as he grinded their jeans-clad erections. Moran bit off the hiss that came from John’s tongue with all the authority that he has. There wasn’t anything sweet with the Colonel’s kisses, they were all claiming and plundering and robbing. John briefly wondered if they had the right to be called kisses when they were this carnal and raw. The savage, abusing kisses continued as the taller man pushed John against the shelf and dry fucked the doctor, not heeding the groan elicited from him when his back hit the wood with a forceful thud.

John received all that he could get. He was all heaving and grasping for breath when Moran pulled back, leaving their erections pressed together. His mouth felt satisfyingly painful and well battered, the muscles of his cheeks all protesting at the carnal exercise. He watched as Moran removed his shirt and revealed erected nipples over a well sculptured chest. John dazedly leaned in and covered a nipple with open mouth and sucked. The Colonel grunted before hooking his left hand on John’s blond hair and pulled the doctor closer. John took his time and felt rather hazily as the other man fumbled over the items in the shelf with his free hand. John had a fleeting thought about how he should be worried enough about what Moran seemed to be looking for but decided that worrying defeated the purpose of their activity. That and he rather enjoyed lapping at Moran’s nipple. He was finally getting drunk with the power and high. This was something John was good at, something he could do for himself.

There was a dull thud as the bigger man threw a few items on the bed then he was pulling John’s face from his chest. The doctor latched on defiantly and gave one hard bite before he was yanked forcefully up. Moran growled before going at John’s mouth yet again for a deep kiss. The Colonel really did kiss like a man, all desire and instinct. There was nothing finesse with Moran’s kisses. Just as abruptly, Moran pulled back and stepped back.

“Take off your clothes, Captain.”

With aching mouth and straining lungs, John quickly removed his jumper and shirt. He shivered from the cold contact of air to his skin and from Moran’s eyes directed devotedly over his body. His jeans followed suit and the soonest that they fell on the floor and John had his shoes and socks removed, Moran’s mouth was trailing wet, sloppy kisses and licks over his star burst gun wound. “This one’s really mine, you know.” The Colonel growled. Remembering how he’d gotten the gunshot wound from the war, John gave a brief nod before placing a palm over the scar on the bigger man’s abdomen.

“And this one’s mine?” John asked.

“Don’t be silly, John.” Moran chuckled. “That one’s from Afghanistan.”

Without further notice, Moran slipped out of his jeans and John wasn’t really surprised that the other man was going commando. He felt a mixed signal of trepidation and thrill as he saw the familiar hugeness and bulkiness of Moran’s cock.  It was probably the biggest that he’d seen in his life time and the flashes of his intimate memories with it made his own cock stir wildly with more hardness. “Don’t look at my junior like that, Captain.” Moran smirked. “You’re the one with the handsome one.”

John flushed but otherwise remained staring at the Colonel. Moran grinned before he stalked towards John and pulled him towards the bed. The doctor stumbled over and Moran was quickly over him, kissing and grinding their bare cocks together, resulting to dry and painful, stinging friction. All the while, Moran plundered his mouth and somehow maneuvered both of their bodies so they fitted quite snuggly. John closed his eyes as he felt his body get used to the bigger man’s experienced caresses and strokes. God, how he needed this. He opened his eyes in surprise as he felt the cold touch of well lubricated hand on his cock. He looked down as Moran let go of his mouth and watched as the bigger man stroke both their erections together. The Colonel, sneaky and agile that he was, somehow managed to multi task with the lubricant. Eyes on John, Moran slid down the length of John’s body and without any warning of some sort, went directly to John’s puckered entrance and licked, having used his left hand to momentarily lift the doctor’s balls. John moaned loudly both at the sight and at the feel of wet, hot tongue on his sphincter. “God!” He gritted as he opened his legs wider for the Colonel’s access.

Moran had his right hand clamp at the base of John’s cock and squeezed. “God?” He mocked even as he sucked at John’s entrance before slipping the strong muscles of his tongue inside John’s hole. John squirmed helplessly and fisted his hands on the linen. “Seb.” The doctor moaned. Moran’s hand had remained still on his cock so John attempted to stroke himself but Moran batted his hand away, all the while the sucking and kissing on his entrance consistent and firm.

John knew how near he was as he felt his own pre-cum drip and slid down the length of his own cock. “Seb, please.” He did not want to think about how naturally good the Colonel was with torture—not when John already felt like dying already and Moran hasn’t even started with torture properly yet. He felt Moran grin at his anus, his nose buried at the area behind John’s balls. The Colonel then shifted focus and bit lightly at John’s ball before rising up on his elbows and pressing John’s cock at the side of his cheek.

“I tell you what, John,” Moran started persuasively. “We’ll finish this properly and quickly,” He promised as he gave a tease of a lick at the base of John’s cock. “But I get to take you home after this. Now, I know how the doctor in you will refuse any toys in this room but I have a plug somewhere in my flat I haven’t tried yet.” Moran was flicking his tongue at the slit of John’s cock and the doctor painfully thought about how things couldn’t really get any worse. Moran’s fucking tongue was playing him like an instrument. “What say you?”

John stared at the white washed ceiling and gave out a guttural moan. “Yes, Sir.” No sooner had he finished his answer when Moran’s mouth was suddenly eating his throbbing erection. Knowing how the Colonel wouldn’t mind it, John thrusted his hips upwards, efficiently fucking Moran’s mouth in and out. The bigger man took it all in stride, sucking and giving enough friction to John’s cock. Moran’s mouth was doing all sorts of mind blowing good things to him that John almost didn’t notice as two lubricated fingers were inserted into his already relaxed anus. John bit at his own wrist as he felt Moran’s fingers arched repeatedly and mercilessly at his prostrate.

“Come, John.” Moran said huskily as he deep throated John, fingers fucking the doctor’s hole. The Colonel grazed his teeth around the strained shaft. Then John allowed himself to let go and felt his eyeballs roll as the wash of release burst out from his body violently. He wasn’t finish emptying his release when he fleetingly and dazedly felt Moran’s mouth release his cock, having only swallowed the first spurts, then the bigger man was rapidly and expertly impaling John’s hole with the hugeness of his erected cock. Moran had his manhood inside John up to the hilt by the time that John had properly finished with his release.

Properly sated and in possession of his own faculties, John looked up at Moran’s face and groaned at the sight of his own milky come splattered at the bigger man’s face. Moran just grinned smugly at him before looking down at their adjoined bodies. John was feeling rather properly wasted and painful that he was contented to let Moran just fuck him around. The fullness inside him, stretching his muscles open were rather laced with dull ache but was otherwise pleasant. He raised his arms at Moran and taking the cue, the Colonel bent down on John’s face. The doctor lazily lapped at the come on Moran’s chin, tongue swiping slowly until all the drops were cleaned. Moran had stayed still and patient, granting John what he needed.

“You’re really good with your tongue, doctor.” Moran grinned.

“Says the man who finished me off with his mouth.”

“Oh, you aren’t really done in yet, John, but you will be once I’ve sorted you out after this.” Moran said as he licked at the side of John’s face in reciprocation. “Then I’ll have you tied on my bed 1 hour later.”

John clamped the muscles of his hole tight as an answer. With a hiss, Moran asked, “Tell me how you want it.”

“Hard, rough, fast…” John answered. “Fuck me like an animal.” He said honestly, calmly. He thought it sounded foreign and strange coming out of his mouth but felt like the moment posed for it. As Harry had said, he’d already dug his own grave. ‘Might as well go deeper’, John thought bitterly. He missed Sherlock and hated it that he could no longer think of the detective without associating the image of him doing something together with another guy whose face John still hasn’t seen. John simply had to forget, had to bury all the shit he’d acquired for himself. He needed the harshness and brutality and pain to hold his attention and feelings all locked up.

Moran studied him shrewdly before pulling his cock almost out of John’s hole slowly and thrusting in fully, his thighs smacking against John’s bum. “Then I’m going to take it all away from you, John.” He said decidedly. “We’ll go at it like rabbits but only after I rob it all away from you.”

John didn’t understand Moran’s words until the Colonel fucked him slowly and lovingly then after. It was the sweet mockery of a lover’s caress. Contrary to what John said he wanted, Moran deliberately made love to him as if they were proper lovers, hands touching in reverence and lips kissing gently and passionately. John thought he was drowning and he choked as Moran’s tongue caressed his coaxingly and encouragingly. He wondered if it was possible to die of suffocation simply because your own chest constricted unbearably tight. Moran swallowed all of him tenderly. John thought, as a single line of tears slid down from his eyes treacherously, how Moran was a cruel, cruel man---not more than Sherlock—but cruel nonetheless. If the bigger man noticed the torment the doctor was silently suffering from, John didn’t know for Moran had religiously remained quiet and dedicated on kissing him and making love to him. John couldn’t pretend this man was Sherlock, there was no one like his consulting detective, but when he closed his eyes, all he could smell and think about was Sherlock and their time together and all the wonderful cases he thought he’d have for the rest of his life. All of these, all of these wonderful memories, John knew he had to say goodbye to. He had known so from the very beginning. Where he might’ve wistfully thought he could prepare for it, he’d also known he was a fool. Maybe one day he could finally talk to Sherlock again and be a friend since that’s what they originally were—but not today. He must never delude himself of being able to go back to how they’ve been before. No, John simply had to learn to move on and swallow all the bile and bitterness and hurt.

John opened his eyes when he heard Moran’s cry as the bigger man climaxed inside him. He wrapped his legs encouragingly around the Colonel and smothered Moran’s moans with a firm, long kiss. Moran took over the kiss as soon as he’d emptied himself in John’s hole. Hot mouth over his dry one. John was savoring the sensation of wet liquid dripping along his perineum and the softening fullness inside him when Moran brushed his lips against the doctor’s eyelids and cheeks. It was only by then that John realized he’d been crying.

TBC

We're a Mess; Free Flowing Thoughts

We're a mess. Our family's a mess. We're broken as we can be. Our family cannot be fixed;
But see we're functional and very much alive; We breathe just as much as anyone in the world do;
The pieces are all patched up the wrong ways; Sometimes i find it beautiful, sometimes it's a sore shit;
Nobody can truly understand all the beautiful and sad mess that we are, fragile yet strong, soft yet abrasive;
They all say they understand, but they haven't even reached half the effort that we've put up to stand still after our fall;
They all say they want to doctors us, treat us, fix us; but even when we make no sense to the world,
I wouldn't have us any other way.



The shackles on my neck are suffocating, invisible yet never forgettable, cold but is reassuring
Saw my mother crying tonight, because of the horrible, beautiful mess that we are,
We smile, we breathe, we live; We soar up, we run, we drift and dance around the thousands of people
but what we are through our core would always come back like the constant nightmare that it is;
We frown, we choke, we crumble; We fall down, we stumble, we get lost and cry inside round the thousands of people;
It truly makes no sense; we're desperate to get out of the frightening reality but we still condemn ourselves
To this beautiful mess of a family
We wouldn't have it any other way.



My brother's a militant atheist; he makes my mother weep; he says such utterly cruel things,
Like how her mental instability reaches a bitter end; I see my mom cry and I want to strangle my brother
But I'll think of him and know deep down how loyal to a fault I am to this family, so, so loyal i'd be a criminal for him;
We're all broken thoroughly and glued beautifully wrong; we get burned with ice and we get cold with fire;
No matter how socially we function, we live in an entire universe no one else can get through
We drown, we suffocate, we cry; We're hurt and we claw at each other like animals; But
We gasp, we struggle, we smile; We mend and we lick each other's wound like a desperate Pack
No one would want to live like this, And i
Never committed betrayal by wishing to be in someone else's family.



I wish I was always optimistic; lots of wonderful people surround us now, especially in my work
I'm almost desperate for them like an addict; their goodness and kindness I needed to keep mine living
Always thought of seeing the goodness in people, would it be a mess if i see the beauty of the brokenness of our family?
Always believed in understanding people's point of view, would it be a crime if in turn my moral compass is a bit jarred?
Condemn us, judge us;  we're as broken as anyone could be. We're a group mess, but we're a Pack, as solid and sharp
Mom and dad are torn, all the bonds ripped brutally; we watched the whole process unfold, me and my sister's eyes
And with my brother's innocence; Now he's all broken too, and he's one personification of rage and anger
Blame him not, blame us not; Even when his narrowed understanding and lack of self preservation's nil
We're broken, aren't we?
I remember how throughly today.


Wish I could always be optimistic; i breathe with the wonderful people outside the confines of my room,
i learn to be the better person
Then i'll come back to the prison that is my mind
then i'll remember the shackles and scars
then i see beauty and mess
then another person takes over
And suddenly the world's turning inside out
all in the wrong ways
but still beautifully

Breaking the Habit, Breaking the FamCode

Coming out  to a  straight, male friend  about writing porn-with-plot fanfics, I found out, was rather harder than coming out to the rest of the world about it. The world is quite anonymous, you can be indifferent with it and its creatures and care little to how it would respond to your secret little hobby. Coming out to a straight, male friend was way different compared to all the other interactions I've been through. With gay guys and gay girls, there's just an understanding and feeling of giddiness under the knowledge that they understand to the core by default. Coming out about it to straight girls just feel safe, sometimes just like sharing a meager gossip; you'd just be worried whether or not they'd persecute or damn you. At times, you'll just worry whether or not they'd paint your whole personality with one color because of that dirty little secret. Most of the time, you just wish real hard that they'd try to understand and not blindly see only that single face---for we all have many, many faces that could make out the whole. Coming out to a straight-male-friend, who already knew your hobbies and deep love for yaoi, that you're actually writing male to male slash porn fics and giving out the LINK so he could read it just feels... weird. There's an awkwardness, just a tinsy bit, but it was there. Just in passing, but definitely existent. In the end, I'm just rather proud and happy that the said friend would brave the dark waters he'd rather not tread upon. Seriously, thank you! i will not break my habit of giving code names, I'll call him Reindeer in this entry.



Will not even compare all of these to coming out to fellow yaoi lovers, though. That's just incomparable, a HUGE SMILE at that.



~~




My brother. He quite blatantly steps over the Family Code over and over. it grates my nerves. Love him. Hate him. Wish he would expand his horizon and understanding of the things that matter and realize how our mother constantly worries about him. I want to grab a fist full of his har and shake him crazily and wildly. Want to hug him tight enough to break bones.