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Icarus	By : SolusNemo Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Good Charlotte Views: 1211 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Good Charlotte. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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- 1-Icarus
- 1
Title: Icarus
Author: “Solus Nemo”
Rating: NC-17
Summary: My wings are made of wax and although my father warned me not to fly too close to the sun, you beckon me to you. These wings will melt and I will fall to my death in this sea below me, you and I both know this, but you don’t cease smiling. Do you take joy in my impending doom?
Author’s Note: Don’t ask, don’t tell. I have no idea where this came from. This story is AU and told in Joel’s POV.
Disclaimer: This story never happened in real life. I do not own Good Charlotte and I have never met them. Everything goes to their respective owners, which would not be me. I am implying nothing about the members of the band.

My wings are made of wax and although my father warned me not to fly too close to the sun, you beckon me to you. These wings will melt and I will fall to my death in this sea below me, you and I both know this, but you don’t cease smiling. Do you take joy in my impending doom?

I was sitting on the curb that day. The setting sun was blinding me, but I wasn’t about to turn away without getting some sort of answer. You see, I like to stare into that giant ball of fire in the sky and think about my problems, try to solve them. Like an onion, I try to peel away the layers to the star until it’s nothing – when I have turned the sun into nothing I’m able to get up from wherever I am and move on with my life, not mull around and let a problem eat away at me. I haven’t gone blind yet, all these years and my vision is as strong as ever.

Over my nineteen years of living I’ve been able to deal with a lot of the things that plagued me, but you were one of the few things that still haunted me. No matter how hard I tired, I just couldn’t get my answers out of the sun that day, couldn’t pick away the layers and come to any type of conclusion. I hated you for that, I really did. I always ask myself why you have to be the only person to torment me so when we hardly ever spoke other than to say “paper or plastic?”.

You wanted me just as badly as I wanted you, but you were playing hard to get.

I saw you leaning up against the chain link fence on the edge of the lot, just over there to my right. You had that grin on your face as you watched me fetch the carts. I loved those pants you were wearing, but not as much as I admired the plaid ones you own. All black in that dogday heat, not a very wise choice, but you looked good. When do you not? It especially drives me wild when you sweat like that, glow rather. I want to make you sweat. Will you let me?

That was two months ago. You had gone inside the store and bought your soda and cigarettes, just like you did every day. It was like clockwork. I had set my watch by it before it broke. That was such a shame, for I loved that time piece. It was my father’s, you know. Not very attractive looking when it came to watches, but it was good enough for me. I’m getting off the subject.

Yes, every day at 4:15pm you would come into this modest store and get one bottle of Jones soda – that day was a Wednesday, FuFu Berry – and one package of Pall Mall smokes. I worry about you, smoking that much. I don’t want any form of cancer ravaging that beautiful body of yours, but I guess I shouldn’t be talking: my weakness is Salem.

I was smoking one of those expensive cigarettes while I was waiting for you. The day had been slow, just the usual costumers and a few out-of-towners, but not the rush I tend to thrive on. You were going to be late if you didn’t come into the parking lot within the next 45 seconds, and that’s just what you had done.

You drove that ratty old Chevy you’ve had for years. I was never able to tell whether it was painted that reddish color or if it had a serious case of rust. Whichever it was, it had clinked-glugged-popped its way into the black macadam parking lot and squeezed into an empty space right across from me. A more than half empty parking lot and you chose to park your dying car right there? I wasn’t complaining.

There had been a tune by an irritatingly loud punk band coming through the open windows of your truck, like chewing aluminum foil when one has fillings. I’m more partial to Oasis and Morrissey myself, but you had bopped your head along to the remaining few minutes of the song and beat the palms of your hands against the steering wheel, sang along with the throaty screaming-singing-mewling of the lead singer. Even with that sneer across your face, you had been beautiful. If I hadn’t been sitting on the curb in the front of the place of my employment, I would have jumped through those windows and fucked you right there in that disease ridden truck. Hot, rough, sex. You’d have screamed my name until your voice was gone, throat rawer than anything that punk rock singer could manage. I had been getting turned on just thinking about it.

Anyway, when the song ended you had shut the engine off and lifted your butt off the moldering red velvetish-looking seat cushions, pulled your wallet out of one of the back pockets and opened it, counted the bills within, and placed it back in the pocket you had gotten it from. Opening the driver’s door, you had gotten out of the truck and slammed the metal slab closed so hard the vehicle shook. You didn’t bother taking the keys from the ignition or even hiding them, you never did. Who’d want to steal that truck? One would get an infection that caused one’s dick to fall off just looking at it, that’s the best kind of security money could ever wish to buy.

You had been wearing those red plaid pants I loved, the ones with the chains that clink together when you walk. The sound alone is enough to make me cum, but I had taken one last drag of my cigarette and dropped it to the ground, killed it with the heel of my shoe instead. I had remained seated as you walked toward me, that smile on your face.

When you stepped onto the concrete walkway and started for the electric doors, you looked down at me. I raised my head and met your gaze.

“Just got a new shipment of Jones in,” I had said, getting up and brushing my black pants of debris. “All your favorite flavors. I should know, I unpacked ‘em.”

Your smile had only faded to recite the slogan printed on all of the soda bottle caps. “I’ve got a jones for a Jones.” Then you had gone inside.

Normally I would have followed you inside and watched as you got your things, but that day I had decided to change things a bit. I leaned up against one of the cement pillars near the exit doors and waited casually for you to come out. It never took you more than five minutes to do your rounds, eight if that day had been one of the rushes.

Like always, there was a smile plastered on your face as you walked out of the store. Sometimes I wondered if you always smiled that much. You had been drinking the soda, your fingers slightly covering the label: a picture of two pieces of broccoli in a tiny bed, stalks covered by a small blanket. Or at least that’s what it had looked like.

“What’s your fortune say?”

You never put your things in a bag, so you had to do a small juggling act to read off the inside of the bottle cap for me. “‘Rearrange the furniture,’” you had told me. You had shrugged and laughed shortly. “Whatever the hell that means.”

“I got two of the same once, back-to-back. Neither of them came true.”

“Yeah?” That was by far the longest conversation we had ever had. “What’d they say?”

I had thought for a moment, pushed myself away from the pillar. “Something about receiving a pleasant surprise. Stevie Mitchell had knocked ketchup and baby food over, splattered on the floor and flew onto me those two days. Those weren’t pleasant, though; they were weird, cold, and awkward.”

There came that grin again. “What kind of baby food? Applesauce? ‘Cause if it was applesauce you just could’ve licked it off yourself, it wouldn’t’ve been weird and awkward.”

“Strained peas.”

“Bleck,” you had replied, making a face, but soon enough you smiled again.

I’ve always hated the kind of silence that befalls two people that don’t really know each other very well, that awkward silence you’re just itching for a way to get away from, which only makes it more awkward.

“Come with me.”

I think I had started choking on my own spit, that or it was just my overactive imagination. “Huh?”

“Come with me,” you had repeated. You were already starting to walk back to your truck, the sinking sun turning everything to an off shade of orange. “I’m not gonna get you fired or something, am I?”

I had shaken my head, following you without realizing it. God, I had dreamed that kind of scenario for so long it was hard to believe it was coming true. “Took a break. I have about a half hour left, maybe.”

You had been walking so fast, so eager to get where you wanted to go. I had been thrilled, for I had all kinds of ideas about what I wanted to do to you that day. Even if you had just wanted to talk, ask me why I was practically stalking you I would have cut your sentence short by kissing you.

Oh God, I had needed you so bad. My cock in that gorgeous ass of yours. I had wondered if you were as big as I had imagined. I didn’t care really, I just wanted to fuck you, suck you off and taste you, have your mouth around me and have your tongue dance around my length, scream my name while I pumped into you like some kind of animal. Oh God, I had wanted you in me, have you shoot me full of your beautiful seed. I wanted to hear your ragged breaths in my ear, hear you moaning and watch the world crumble around us as you fucked the life out of me.

“Did you say something?”

My eyes had popped open and I had looked around at my surroundings. I didn’t remember getting into the truck, I should have remembered because it smelled like all kinds of death, none of them good. The air freshener didn’t work or maybe it just didn’t want to – hell, maybe it died the second you hung it up on the rear view mirror.

We weren’t moving yet, just hanging out in the parking lot. You must have heard me moan or something as the images of our naked, thrusting, sucking bodies flashed through my mind like the best porno flickering on a movie screen.

I had looked at you, your brown eyes shinning as you looked back at me, the smile still on your face.

“No.”

“Oh, ‘cause I thought I heard you call my name or something.”

I had shaken my head. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Damn,” you had said. “I was really hoping you called my name.”

Even if I had wanted to answer, I couldn’t have. You had turned your head so that you were facing forward and pushed the keys forward, the engine turned. That punk music was even louder in that damned truck, the screeching voices and throbbing instruments nearly enough to blow my eardrums. You didn’t seem to notice my discomfort as you threw the gear to drive and shot the vehicle forward out of the parking space.

So I had sat there, gritting my teeth, as you drove us out of the parking lot and turned right. The road had been recently re-tarred, so the glumping noises of the tires had ceased to be. I still miss the sound cars make while driving over that road, like trotting horses.

I couldn’t help turning in my seat, watching the store sit there behind us and then to our side when you had turned right again. I’m not stupid. I had known that you were taking us to your house where we could be alone. Finally. In my head I could hear what possible screaming-moaning-grunting noises we’d make when I could finally have you, my fantasies louder than that God forsaken music of yours.

With the windows rolled all the way down, the summer breeze had turned into a full fledged wind, fingering through my hair as I stared through the windshield. I hadn’t been paying attention to the goings on inside the truck, but that was just as well: apart from the irritating punk band blasting through the speakers and the howling of the wind, it had been completely silent. You didn’t say a word to me as you drove down the road, just sipped your soda with one hand and worked the steering wheel with the other. I remember I had wanted to ask you if you made collages out of the Jones soda labels like I did, using the bottle caps as a cheap kind of frame/border. I had never thought you were that artsy, so I had kept my mouth shut.

About two minutes later you had turned the truck onto a dirt driveway to our left, the building nestled right next to the highway. I might have gagged. Your truck looked brand spankin’ new compared to your house, and it was everything I had not to cry out in repulsion.

At one point in time the two-story could have been painted a crisp white, but over the years it had turned to a sickly gray, peeling away from the siding like it was smart enough to know that if it stayed attached to the house any longer it would catch its disease. I swear the house was literally sagging toward the east, trying to pull itself away from the foundation and run all the way to the ocean. I had passed your home a quarter of a million times, but I didn’t once think it might actually belong to someone like you. A beautiful creature should live in a beautiful home, not a fucking vile pit that turns my stomach even to this day.

I had still been gaping when you had cut the engine and opened your door, stuck your left leg out and gathered up your things. Your voice had brought me out of my disgusted awe.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

I had blinked myself back into the world and nodded, getting out of the truck myself. “No, I’m coming.” I didn’t want to go into your house. I had this irrational fear that it was going to eat me alive and use my blood as a new white-washing technique on the siding. My skin had been crawling, but somehow I managed the balls to follow you to the rotting steps that led to a side door.

When you had unlocked the door and opened it, walked inside without so much as a “welcome to my place, try not to breathe” the stink almost knocked me to my feet. At the time I hadn’t wanted to know what the fuck was decomposing within those walls, but thinking back on it I’m pretty sure the odor was a congealed mass of sex and more sex with some laziness sprinkled on the top. I had stifled my urge to run back to my apartment and bring back my HazMat cleaning supplies and followed you into your kitchen.

I couldn’t think up a single compliment as you led me through the kitchen – pausing only to set your things down on the small dining table – and into the small hallway, up the winding staircase immediately off the hallway to the left. I knew if I had said something it might have come out more like, “I wonder if there’s a number to call to put away people who destroy small Victorians like this one” so I had bitten my tongue.

On the second floor you had turned left again, heading for either the door on the north wall or one on the east. First door. Within four steps you opened the door and I had followed you into the master bedroom. Thankfully it didn’t stink as badly as the rest of the house.

I didn’t have much time to look around before you closed the door and kissed me, but I’m pretty sure I got the following: one closet door on the west wall and one on the east, on the north a nice set of French doors opening onto a roof deck, the large bed opposite the deck on the south wall. Hardly any furniture, just the bed, a dresser, and a pair of nightstands. Unlike the rest of your house you had kept your bedroom immaculate. But back to the more important details.

After I had walked into the bedroom you had stepped to the side and kicked the door shut with one of the boots on your feet. I had barely registered the room and the sound of the door closing before you planted one on me. I didn’t even hesitate kissing back. We had skipped all casualties and proper smooching edict by going right for the hot, passionate, needful kissing.

Your hands had been untying my smock by the time our tongues started molesting each other, breaking away only to slide part of my work uniform up and over my head. You had pulled away to whisper random nothingness into my ear, then bit down on my earlobe, soon starting a trail of sloppy, wet kisses down my jawline as your hands had unbuttoned my white shirt. I hadn’t realized how uncomfortable the cotton blend was until it began to feel like steel wool against my nipples.

I had snaked my arms around you somehow to work blindly on your belt, eventually undoing it and tearing the button out of the hole, tugging down on the zipper. With the help of gravity your pants had fallen down around your ankles with your boxers soon joining them. You hadn’t bothered with the rest of the buttons on my shirt when I started to rub your cock, just kind of tore my shirt apart and pushed the sleeves down my arms. You had grunted, pushing my hand away to pull off your shirt and work on your shoes. I had followed suit and quickly undressed myself.

I hadn’t been able to stand being even a few feet away from you, what with my dreams all coming true I needed you or else it felt like I would’ve died. Your boots had taken too long to untie so I bent down and forced the legs of your pants and boxers down around the leather. I couldn’t remember where I threw those articles of clothing, but it doesn’t really matter.

You had been getting hard, but not hard enough. I stood up and did as I had done before, running my hand up and down your dick languidly, teasing your head with my thumb as my lips crashed back onto yours. The metal through those plump lips of yours had felt so good, I couldn’t get enough.

You had moaned into the kiss, your hands grazing my ass. You had started to walk forward and I back, the back of my knees soon bumping up against the bed. Leaning forward, pushing my down onto the sheets, you had bitten my lower lip and tugged, this time I moaned. I had to take my hand away to push myself farther up the bed and you had taken that time to get a bottle of lube from the nearest nightstand.

Tossing it onto the bed somewhere near my head, you had gotten on top of me, your hard member rubbing up against mine. Even on my best days, I could never have imagined your kisses to be that amazingly rough, your cock to be that big. I hadn’t been shocked that you weren’t soaking all of this in like some actual lover would do, I was guessing that you wanted it just as badly as I needed it – plus, I didn’t want to get fired from my job.

Fire had spread across my skin from every point you touched me, my nerve endings screaming with joy. I had tried to will my eyes not to roll back into my head as you bit and sucked one of my nipples then moved on to the other, tracing and playing with them with your tongue. Your hands were running all over my body, eventually finding their way to my thighs, gripping them when you kissed your way down to my aching member.

Your lip-piercings had been cold against the tip of my head, causing me to yelp meekly, but that soon morphed into a moan when your mouth slowly engulfed me. As much as I hadn’t wanted to, I had shut my eyes and dug my head deeper into the sheets. Your tongue had danced along me better than I could have ever dreamed. Up and down, up and down, your humming driving me crazy. You must have felt the pre-cum because you had removed your mouth from me and went back to hovering over me, that smile I had loved back on your face. I know because I had opened my eyes by then.

If I hadn’t heard you speaking before, I would have sworn that you were mute – only able to make those sexual noises from deep within you.

Without a word you had reached forward with your right hand and grabbed the bottle of lube, your eyes boring straight through me. It was like you had seen everything inside of me, right down to my soul. It was creepy in a way, but soon enough you had looked down to have your concentration on what you were doing. I had watched you put a healthy amount of lube in your hand and toss the bottle over your shoulder, simultaneously coating that lovely cock of yours.

When that task had been completed, you used the rest of the lube to coat your fingers. You had looked at me momentarily and I got the message. I spread my legs further apart.

It was hard to tell myself that this was truly been happening, for part of me had still been convinced that that was all a dream, that I would wake up any second with soiled sheets. Even if it had been a dream, there was no fucking way I had wanted to awake that soon.

There had been a sharp intake of breath on my part when you inserted one thick finger into my hole, slowly. You had pulled out just far enough to slide your middle finger in, slightly faster than your index, the same with the third finger. You had done this exercise until you thought I was stretched enough to be ready for your manhood. I had been biting down on my lower lip, probably would have chewed right through if you hadn’t placed your head at my opening a few moments after you removed your fingers.

I had waited until you coaxed yourself into me before moving my legs to wrap around your lower back. I had thought about propping myself up on my elbows – still don’t know why – but the ecstasy of the moment was too overwhelming. Instead I had lain with my lips parted, studying you and you me as you filled me. You pulled back and I might have screamed when you slammed back in. Words failed me, I couldn’t do anything but moan and make all of these other animalistic noises as you began thrusting. It was heaven.

You had been stronger than I thought you would’ve been, like a slick machine depicted in one of those late night cable sex shows.

My hand had shot forward and I began to stroke myself, matching your powerful rhythm. When you had hit my spot I would call out your name, cloaked in obscenities. Sometimes you had returned the favor, but most of the time you had only grunted. I didn’t care. My fantasies weren’t fantasies anymore.

For support your hands had been attached to my hips, like they were the last thing keeping you from Death and he’d have to saw your hands off if he wanted to take you. The pain had only added to the pleasure.

“Benji!” I had tried to scream, but my voice had been so hoarse from yelling so much that it had only come out as a croak.

Your breathing had become as labored as mine, your thrusting erratic. Fuck-God-Unghing your orgasm hit me like a tidal wave crashing down onto a sandcastle. You had ridden it out, pumping until I came all over my hand and chest, then you had pulled out of me and looked at the clock-radio sitting on the nearest night-stand.

“You’re going to be late,” you had forced out, taking in large deep breaths. “Get dressed and I’ll drive you back.”

I was sitting on the curb that day, the day I flew too close to the sun. I haven’t seen you since.
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Icarus