GREAT BEAR 


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Web Page: http://www.squidge.org/~surrealarts/Annex.html 
Category:  Slash, Langly/Byers 
Rating:   NC/17
Spoilers:  minor for Maximum Byers and First Person Shooter
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc
Archive:   Lone Slasher, Basement, WWOMB, Gossamer, 
Ephemeral;  anywhere else, just ask
Summary:  Post-ep for Diagnosis Jimmy:  angst on the journey
back to Washington



Part 1/3



So we're on the road again, just John and me, going home.

Our road trips don't come any longer than this one.  Washington 
State to Washington DC, more than 2000 miles.  At least we're 
heading south, just a bit, and it should be getting warmer soon.  
I wasn't warm the whole time we were in the North West. I couldn't 
even cuddle up to John most of the time, because we had Jimmy No-
Brain with us.  Four of us cosying up in the van all the way from 
DC to the North West, and sharing a motel room at night.  Never 
again - and I'm gonna tell John so the first chance I get.  

I have a lot of things to tell him, the first chance I get.  This 
is the first time we've been alone together for a long time, and 
so much has happened.  It's given me a lot to think about.  

For one thing, I found out a lot more about my partner.  Got an 
insight into what makes him the way he is.  He told us things 
about himself, about his childhood, that he'd never told us 
before.  I should have known that he had a personal reason for 
being so obsessed about this particular case.  

It was one of John's projects from the start.  He dragged us out 
here on a case involving poaching protected animals - 
specifically, killing grizzly bears and selling their body parts 
to black market dealers to be used in Asian medicines.  So here we 
were in Washington state, not far from the Canadian border, hiding 
out in the van, freezing our nuts off, monitoring this guy's every 
move till we had the evidence.   

I stuck it for as long as I could, but after a while I just had to 
ask him what the hell it was all about.  I trust him, but he 
wasn't telling us WHY this was so important to him.  It was then 
he told us what the bears meant to him, about Gentle Ben, how it 
was one of the few things from his childhood that made him feel 
safe and secure.  That went straight to me.  I had a secret 
childhood hero too, and I knew just how he felt.

And then the only way we could get the evidence was to stake out 
the building where the deal was going down.  So there we were, 
hiding in the back of the building, watching this Stukas, this 
poacher creep, meeting his contacts and Johnny decides he has to 
get closer.  

And that's when the bottom falls out of our plan, when Johnny got 
caught.  There was Mel and me in back, and all we could do was 
watch as they dragged Johnny out in front and Stukas started 
questioning him.  

I was so scared, I couldn't move.  All I could think of was "it's 
happening again".  Just like Baltimore, just like Las Vegas.  John 
was in trouble, big trouble and I couldn't do a thing to help.

All I could do was watch him, standing there straight and tall, 
looking death in the face, and he's totally calm.  He looks back 
at this guy who's got a knife at his throat, and I KNOW he's 
scared.  But - and for me this is what real courage is about - he 
doesn't flinch, doesn't back down.  He stands firm.  And more than 
that - like in Baltimore - he goes on.  He's thinking, challenging, 
talking his way out of it.  If it was me, I'd be paralysed, my 
brain turns to mush.  But not John.  

He awes me.  He terrifies me.  I couldn't do that.  Anyone looking 
at the usual everyday quiet unassuming John would think, nah, he 
couldn't do that.  But there's something in him that, when the 
chips are down, when his back is to the wall, he shows the pure 
steel that is in the core of him.  

But what did I do?  Nothing.  My lover was facing death and I was 
so shit scared I couldn't move, couldn't think.  I was paralysed 
with fear for him and for me too.  I should have been moving, 
running to help him, doing something to rescue him.  And if it 
wasn't for Yves calling in the Mounties, God knows what would have 
happened.  They would have killed John in front of me while I 
looked on not lifting a finger, then they would have come looking 
for us.

When we walked out of the building afterwards, I was so sick with 
relief I couldn't look him in the eye.  I could tell he was 
looking at me, he wanted me to say *something*, do something even 
though we couldn't hug or touch or anything with so many people 
around.  But even then I let him down. He had just got out of 
nearly being killed and I couldn't even comfort him then.

So when it was all over, when we'd given our statements to the 
RCMP and got the hell out of there, it was too late to do anything 
till the morning, so we went back to the motel room to catch a 
couple hours sleep.  Usually, when we've been through an experience 
like this, it always ends the same way.  We fall into bed, usually 
even too tired to fuck, and sleep in each other's arms.  Then we 
wake up and fuck each other till we're exhausted, and sleep again.  

But this time  . . we were all pretty quiet on the way back to the 
motel.  Mel was tired and concentrating on the road, Johnny was 
quiet like he always gets after he's pulled something like this.  
It's like he has a reaction afterwards, he goes real quiet, 
withdraws into himself and doesn't speak to anyone.  He was turned 
away from me, staring out of the window into the dark. 

I wantd him to look at me, and then in another way I was scared of 
what I would see.  How could he feel anything but contempt for me 
after I'd let him down like that?  He would be wondering what he 
ever saw in me.  He needed me, and I let him down.

When we got back to the motel, he was out of the van almost before 
the wheels had stopped rolling, and headed off towards our room in 
front of me.  When I got into the room he was in the bathroom and 
it was then the penny dropped.  I could hear him retching 
violently into the toilet.  I'd forgotten, he's had this reaction 
before, a physical reaction to the stress and fear.  I heard the 
toilet flush and then there was silence.  I knocked on the door 
"Are you okay" and got a muttered "yes thanks"  in return, but he 
didn't come out.  

I pushed open the door and he was sitting on the toilet, leaning 
forward with his head in his hands.  Oops. Yeah, his stomach was 
letting go in all directions.  "Sorry" and I backed out.

Ten minutes later he comes out of the bathroom, looking as white 
as a sheet.  He walked straight over to the bed and flopped down, 
face down and fully clothed on top of the blankets.  I sat down on 
the bed beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Can I get you anything?"

His voice was muffled in the pillow.  "No, thanks."

I rubbed his shoulder gently.  "Give you a back rub?"

"No thanks."

So I stayed sitting there, just gently rubbing his shoulder and 
upper arm.  He was so tense, I could feel the muscles in his 
shoulder hard as iron.  He was cold, too.  I rummaged in the 
closet and found a spare blanket, and laid it over him.  He turned 
his head. "Thanks".

I turned out the light and got in beside him, waiting.  This has 
happened before, but usually after a while he'll relax and talk.  
I hoped he'd feel like making love, that'll always relax him.  But 
not this time.  He stayed turned away from me, silent.

I shifted closer and slid my arm over his chest, nuzzling against 
his neck.  "John . . I can't sleep.  I need you."

He turned over and brushed his fingers over my cheek, smiling 
tiredly.  

"C'mon John, we've been cooped up together in the van for days, we 
need a workout."

He gave in, grinning and shaking his head.  "What WILL I do with 
you, Ringo Langly?"

I lay back beside him.  "Whatever you like.  Be inventive."

He rolled over on his stomach and looked at me intently.  It made 
me shiver, it wasn't the way he usually looks at me when we're 
going to make love.  He looked  . . . harder. I felt a ripple of 
apprehension suddenly, it was like being in bed with a stranger.  
I suddenly remembered what he had said in the van about Stukas 
"someone should shoot and skin him!"  I thought at the time that 
was so uncharacteristic of John.  A completely different side to 
him . . . harder, with almost the potential for violence. I 
shivered with excitement.  In this mood, he could do anything.  And
I wanted him even more;  just as he was, sweaty and dirty and
still in his filthy black sweater and jeans.

Then he was on top of me, his mouth on mine, kissing me 
desperately.  After a split second of surprise I gave in, 
realising it was exactly what I wanted anyway.  I wanted him to do 
whatever he wanted, punish me if that was what he wanted, take me 
and dominate me and use me as I deserved to be used.  

"Need you now . ." and I could feel him hard against me.  A wave 
of arousal rushed through me and I knew I needed him too, right 
away.  I shuddered with the force of it.  Inside me - I had to 
have him inside me right now.  I pulled away from him and 
struggled out of my boxers, pushing them down my legs.  He was
doing the same with his own clothes.  I spread my legs for him
and he rolled on top of me again, grunting hard and panting
in my ear.  

He pistoned his hips against mine, rubbing his cock against me 
with every stroke.  I heard myself moaning loudly, pleading with 
him to get inside me now, now, quickly.  He pushed my knees apart 
and knelt up, holding his swollen cock in one hand.  I wriggled 
closer to him, spreading my thighs and heard him gasp painfully at 
the sight of me.  Then his hand was on me, caressing my thighs 
briefly, his fingers were inside me and I gasped at the sensation 
as they went straight to my pleasure point, jabbing hard and 
sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.  My whole body shook 
uncontrollably, but it wasn't enough.  "Need you inside me, please 
John, now  . . "

He pushed my legs up roughly, need making him desperate.  For a 
brief second I felt the pain as he pushed against my entrance and 
then he was inside.  Hard and strong, filling me, pushing deeper 
inside me.  I yelled hoarsely with mingled pain and pleasure but I 
didn't want him to stop.  "More John, more, please . ."

He paused, buried so hard and deep inside me it was almost 
unbearable.  Then he started to move.  Pumping, thrusting, giving 
me no time to breathe, hard, hard, on and on, driving himself 
inside me, driving me insane with the need for him to go on.  I 
was screaming, begging him not to stop, to fuck me harder, harder.  
I could hear him grunting with every thrust, panting, gasping my 
name with the little breath he had to spare.  Waves of unendurable 
pleasure were rushing through me, rippling out from where he was 
inside me, ripping through my whole body.  On and on and I never 
wanted him to stop.

But I could feel my orgasm gathering, ready to break over me like 
a tidal wave.  Suspended on the brink, like a diver at the peak of 
his dive, then it broke over me, broke me in pieces as I felt he 
was splitting me in pieces with the force of his thrusts.  

I screamed once more, high and short, before I was drowning in it, 
washed away by the tide till I lay helpless, broken on the shore.  
I wasn't even aware of him coming, only felt him collapse on top 
of me as it overtook him.

A long, long time later I came round to find he had pulled himself 
out and off of me.  He lay beside me, one arm over my belly, 
unconscious.  I placed my hand against his side and I could feel 
his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage. I moved as close as 
I could, wanting to feel his body against mine.  

After a while, when I was nearly asleep, I heard his breathing 
change.  I sensed him move and turn and I knew he was looking at 
me.  I started to tremble, hoping he would want to fuck me again.

But he turned away.  Pulled away from me, away from my body and my 
warmth.  He shifted till he wasn't touching me at all.  I 
whispered "John?"  thinking maybe he thought I was asleep.

It didn't sound like his voice, replying.  Tired and remote and 
sad.  "Go to sleep, Ringo.  We got a long day tomorrow."


Continued in Part 2