Crying Game: In His Nature (NC-17)

Summary: As the days are counted.
Pairing: Fergus/Dil
Notes and Warnings: If you haven't seen the film The Crying Game...well, to be honest, you've probably heard of it, especially the infamous twist. This takes place AFTER THE FILM, so there are spoilers aplenty, especially for the plot twist. Otherwise, part of this is irisbleu's fault, because she turned a vague desire for Fergus/Dil on my part into an actual story. But most of the credit goes to Mr. Neil Jordan, for creating the love story that inspired me.

IN HIS NATURE


Like that first night, then. He was no good at fantasy. He lay on his bunk and brought to mind how it felt to kiss Dil, not just sweetness for show but with a demand to it. Not such a shabby lover as he didn't know what that demand might be, so he'd slid his hand along her thighs, stockings unnaturally smooth under his fingers, and up, and up, pushing up her skirt with, and there was --

There was a --

Well, bugger that for a game of soldiers. He couldn't even force his mind into imagining a woman's cunt between Dil's legs. Where that left him, he didn't know, as he didn't fancy picturing Jude as he yanked off, not when he'd clearer mind of her blood on Dil's wall than he did of how she kissed.

Fergus rolled over onto his side. No good lying here and worrying at the matter, he told himself.

He lay there for an hour, staring into the darkness.

* * *

"You're very quiet today, darling."

"Don't call me that," Fergus said automatically.

"I'm sorry, dearest. But you haven't answered me. You have been taking your vitamins, haven't you? And eating properly?"

"Prison food," Fergus said with a shrug, giving up on the endearments for the moment -- every time, he protested, and every time, Dil only got more and more outrageous. "They're not likely to waste a chef on us."

"As soon as you're out of here, I'll fix you a proper meal," Dil said, bestowing a smile on him. "One thousand, nine hundred and seventy-six days -- there, see, I remembered the leap year this time."

"You can cook?"

"Of course I can cook, sweetheart. I can make the most amazing omelet you've ever tasted." Dil leaned forward, laying one hand gently against the glass. "Your eyes are all shadowed, my love. You haven't been sleeping properly."

"A few bad nights," Fergus said, but he couldn't keep Dil's gaze while he said it.

Dil tched her -- his tongue, dammit, Dil was a him, as Fergus should bloody well know. "What's wrong, my love?"

"Dil..." Jesus, she didn't know how to stop, did she? Fergus glanced over nervously at the stone-faced guard who always sat at the far end of the interview room. "I can't tell you."

"Can't, or won't?" Dil tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. If she -- he -- had caught Fergus's glance, he showed no sign of it.

"Can't," Fergus assured her. Him. Fuck.

"All right, darling." Dil sat back and folded his hands on his knee. "But you'll tell me when you have the chance, won't you?"

"Yeah," Fergus said. One thousand, nine hundred and seventy-six days -- with any luck, Dil would've forgotten it by then.

* * *

Lying on Dil's bed -- he remembered how that felt, though it took a bit to remember it without feeling phantom stockings wrapped around his wrists and ankles. He rolled over onto his back, shifting a bit so he'd be comfortable. The mattress here wasn't a patch on Dil's, but it was a bloody prison mattress, after all.

Lying on Dil's bed, then. Shirt unbuttoned, him or her, it didn't matter; belt undone, pants all open and loose around his hips. And Dil lying between his legs, propped up on her elbows, hands on his thighs, sucking him.

Fergus closed his eyes. Made it easier to remember. It hadn't quite gone like that, but it could've. It almost did.

Dil's mouth on him, Jesus. She didn't hesitate or tease at all, not like other girls he'd been with.

But Dil's not a girl, is he?

No hallucinations, no eyes closed. What if he'd looked down between his legs, and seen Dil naked? Fergus bit his tongue and stilled his hand on himself. Remember that, then -- that perfect mouth, only it belonged to a man. A man who wanted him.

In his mind, Dil sat up and looked at him, waiting. His lips looked red and wet, and Fergus didn't think it was the lip-paint. His cock -- if he wanted Fergus, he'd be at least half-hard, wouldn't he?

Fergus opened his eyes and stared up into the darkness. It didn't fucking matter. Dil wouldn't do anything he didn't want.

Behind his eyes, Dil bent back down and took him in his mouth again.

* * *

"Col sends his love."

"That's kind of him," Fergus said automatically, then, as his mind caught up with his mouth, "Didn't you say he was leaving the Metro?"

"I said he'd been offered an excellent position with a winery," Dil corrected him. "He went there for two days and came back to us. He said he'd been bored to tears. I told him it was nothing to the work you do, but he would only shake his head."

"Construction wasn't so bad." Except for the bloody stupid nasty names. Jody'd had the right of it, sure enough. He'd join the IRA all over again if it meant he never had to hear himself called 'Paddy' or 'Mick' another time.

"You never looked so tired when you worked there," Dil said triumphantly. "There's shadows under your eyes, darling: I can see them from here. You haven't been sleeping again, have you?"

"No. And don't call me that."

"Of course not, my love. Is something disturbing you?"

"You might say that."

"You're lucky I'm persistent,'" Dil said with a fond smile. "What's disturbing you, dearest? That man over there?"

"Not exactly." Fergus took a deep breath, then let it out. "It was easier when you were a girl."

"Are you thinking about that again?" Dil cocked his head. "You haven't mentioned it in so long--"

"Didn't say better," Fergus interrupted. Jesus, he wasn't good at this. "Said easier."

Dil didn't respond at all for a long moment. Then he breathed, "Oh, love."

Fergus couldn't bring himself to object to the endearment, not this time.

* * *

Still lying on Dil's bed -- this would be a tricky enough matter without adding extras to it. Lying on Dil's bed, then. Dil sat on the bed next to him, leaned over him with one hand braced on the mattress, and kissed him. Oh -- if he hadn't had his mind clearly first on what he wanted, he'd have lost it under that hunger.

He pulled Dil gently back a space. "Just a moment," he whispered.

Dil tilted his head, hair falling in his face, but didn't try to close the distance between them again.

Fergus took a deep breath and opened his eyes for a moment. He wasn't touching himself yet. Not that it fucking mattered, did it? He thought about Dil and it woke up like he was a boy again.

Didn't make it any easier to imagine, though. He pictured himself reaching up, sliding his hand down over Dil's smooth chest, down, down to take Dil's cock in hand. Dil gasped. His head fell forward against Fergus's shoulder. Fergus could feel him trembling.

Jesus, he couldn't take it. Fergus fumbled with his jeans.

* * *

"Ten days, sweetheart. I drank champagne last night to celebrate."

"Really? Did you save any?"

"Of course. We needed something for when you come home. Maybe not the first night -- we could stop by the Metro. There's quite a lot of people who want to see you again."

"Not all at once!"

Dil laughed. "Then they'll wait, sweetheart."

"Dil--" Old reflex, now.

"Fergus." Dil's voice had gone husky. "When we're alone, I won't call you anything. There."

"That's not the promise I'd have you make," Fergus said.

Dil's smile broadened. "I thought you didn't want me to shock the nice man over there."

"Dil!"

"No promises, my love. It's not wise to start out with too many promises."

"I wouldn't say that," Fergus said. His belly felt tight, the way it used to before an operation. "Not 'starting out.' It's our seventh Christmas."

He expected a smile at that. Instead, Dil's eyes widened. "Christmas -- oh, Lord, I've hardly started shopping." He lowered his eyes and looked up at Fergus through his eyelashes. "Will you mind a bit of day-to-day before we reach the honeymoon?"

"No," Fergus said, and realized he was smiling himself.

* * *

By the time they reached home, Fergus had taken most of the bags, and was fair staggering with them as Dil opened the door. He took them away once they were inside, along with both of their coats, laughter bubbling in his eyes. "Dearest, you should have said something."

Fergus shrugged, and took the opportunity to look around the apartment. A few pictures of Jody yet, but not a patch on what used to be. Still felt like a woman's place. Dil had vanished into the other room, doing something with the presents she'd bought. He'd bought.

A bit past worrying about pronouns, aren't you, Fergus?

"Here," Dil said, appearing again. He had two wine glasses in his hands, filled with what must be that champagne he'd been talking about. Dil offered one to him. "In one."

Fergus swirled the champagne around in his glass for a moment. He'd had champagne once in his life, when he was a boy. Didn't even know if it was real champagne. But that wasn't a story for his first night free. "Cheers," he said, and they both drank.

Dil looked up at Fergus over the rim of his wineglass as he lowered it again, then set the glass aside -- Fergus didn't see where -- and kissed him. It burned more than Fergus had remembered, more than he'd pictured, and it wasn't enough.

Fergus put down his own empty glass on some shelf next to him, took Dil in his arms, and kissed him again, slow and lover-like. Dil's eyes drifted shut, and he moaned into the kiss.

They got to the bedroom by grace of Jesus and their own determination -- Dil drifted steadily that way, step by aimless step, and Fergus himself had set his mind to it from the first. Dil unbuttoned Fergus's shirt and pushed both it and Fergus's jacket back over his shoulders to fall carelessly on the floor; Fergus fumbled for the zip on Dil's dress for a long moment before he could return the favor. His heart pounded in his ears.

Dil guided him down onto the bed, then knelt down next to him. For a moment, the resemblance stole Fergus's breath. Then he pushed himself upright. "Turn around," he whispered. This part he hadn't remembered, the bloody awkwardness of stripping off. Something to be said for on the chaise or up against the wall after all.

None of Dil taking off into the next room this time, at least. Dil stepped out of his stockings and knickers, then knelt over Fergus again, without flinching when Fergus looked. Still male. More than half turned on, if he were any judge: he didn't have a lot of comparison. Then Dil leaned down and kissed him again, and Fergus let himself stop thinking under the touch of Dil's lips, following some invisible line down his body to finally --

Jesus. Memory was fucking nothing. Fergus tried to keep his eyes open, but then Dil swallowed around him and he lost it like a boy with his first, coming with hardly more than a gasp to warn Dil.

When Fergus managed his eyes open again, Dil hadn't moved, except to raise his head a little, watching him thoughtfully. Fergus took in a deep breath, and rasped, "Come here."

Dil's eyes widened when Fergus started moving downward himself. His hands rested lightly on Fergus's shoulders, and Fergus could feel them shaking, but Dil didn't protest. He moaned, and whispered more embarrassingly lavish endearments, mixed with guides what to do. "My only love" wasn't such a hardship when Dil gasped it out, on the edge of coming because of Fergus's mouth on his cock.

He didn't much care for the taste when Dil came, though, no more warning than a particularly loud moan. Fergus got up and went to the bathroom to rinse out his mouth. As he finished, he heard Dil laughing.

Fergus looked over at the door. "What?"

"Not exactly what I'd have chosen to re-enact, darling," Dil said from the bedroom. His voice was slightly slurred, like he hadn't recovered yet.

"First time's a bit of a shock," Fergus admitted. "Gets better after that, don't it?"

"Yes. Come to bed."

"Coming, love." To Fergus's surprise, it wasn't hard to say at all.

-end-