In Dark Corners, Doing Dark Deeds

In Dark Corners, Doing Dark Deeds
Grand Theft Auto IV
Niko Bellic/Brucie Kibbutz
It's porn, so NC-17
Disclaimer: I own a copy of the game and the words below, that's pretty much it. Everything else belongs to Rockstar Games.
A/N: Spoilers for... the whole "ball" thing. This is 2,000 words of shamelessly un-beta'd porn.

Summary: Niko learns a few things about himself and Brucie.

You had a couple drinks at that one bar in Algonquin and then few more at the strip club in Dukes so now, climbing into the back of a cab with your pal Brucie, you realize that yeah, you are really, really fucking drunk. And hornier than all fuck, too. Fucking strippers.

It's no big deal, though. You may not be "VIP" like Brucie thinks you need to be to get some action but you've done pretty well for yourself in the past couple months you've been in Liberty City so you've got the numbers of a few girls you could call for a nightcap. And if the girls you know are unwilling, well, let's just say you know a couple out of the way places where you can find a girl who's willing to trade affection for some quick cash, too.

It's not what you'd prefer but it's better than your right hand and an empty apartment so whatever happens you'll make do like always.

Either way, you slouch down in the cab, wrinkling the suit you put on special for the occasion -- Brucie likes to live it up and go to some pretty classy joints so he can flash his cash (among other things, at least he kept his shirt on this time) to all the ladies but you don't mind. He's crazy and annoying to a point where he'd drive you batshit insane if you let him but he knows how to have a good time and that's what's important.

You're so out of it you let Brucie give the cabbie directions to his place over in the Navy Yard first. Your place in Middle Park East is closer but you let it slide. Figure you can sober up on the way to Brucie's and head out to call up one of your girls on your own after.

The drive is quiet for the first few minutes until Brucie starts babbling drunkenly. He can't wait to get home so he can hop himself up on his newest shipment of bull shark testosterone and lift some weights. The words "ball shrinkage" are out of your mouth before you even have a chance to think about it and you regretfully spend the next ten minutes listening to a drunken rant about how "Brucie's Balls Are Fucking Badass" and how any and all "Red Army Motherfuckers" wouldn't know what the fuck they were talking about.

You don't even bother telling him that you weren't in the Red Army seeing as you aren't a fucking Russian but he says it all the time and you always let it slide. Knowing Brucie, he'd get that little look in his eyes like he does when he's disappointed. It only ever lasts a second or two before it's overcome with his oftentimes painful-to-watch attempts at bravado and shit-talking but for some reason you hate to see it there irregardless.

"--ch them, eh? Fucking feel them and find out the truth!" Shaking your head, you realize Brucie's still talking to you.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" You slur drunkenly. Light flickers through the suspension cables on the Broker Bridge and the cab's shocks are for shit so you feel every bump and pothole and fuck. You're still drunk like the McReary's on St. Patrick's Day.

Brucie doesn't answer you in words you can understand, not that you've been paying attention -- he's all snarls and growls about his balls being fucking perfect specimens of his manliness or some shit -- but he grabs your hand and drags it down towards his groin.

If you were anything but as soused as you are you'd do something, anything, to stop it because Christ; this is a road you've been down with Brucie a time or two before and he still doesn't fucking get it.

Brucie likes to talk about shit that you don't really want to know. Like that time he told you he once tried being celibate for 6 months and then told you how he hadn't jacked off either and. The idea of all that pent up energy was... really fucking disturbing.

And so the warning bells are going off in your head like a fucking car alarm. You want to jerk your hand away, curse at Brucie in Serbian, or maybe yank your hand back and smack him in the head but you are very, very drunk and so you don't. It's almost like you can't. You don't even have the presence of mind to come up with smart ass remark like you usually do, only manage a deep furrow your brow and an attempt at looking intimidating. (It doesn't work.)

Instead you watch in horror and what feels like slow motion as Brucie unzips his jeans and shoves your hand inside.

There's warm skin under your fingertips (you could have lived without the knowledge that Brucie likes to go fucking commando), a smattering of coarse hair and then? Little Brucie. Big Brucie shove's your hand down further and then you finally have it. Them.

Brucie's balls in your hand.

You want to groan at the sheer wrongness of this situation but you don't because groaning while palming another man's cock and balls would definitely send the wrong message.

This being the highly surreal situation that it is you go ahead and feel them. Because now you've got your hand down there Brucie's never going to shut up about the "ball thing" unless you tell him what you really think.

And, well.

They're warm. And... surprisingly plump. The skin is soft, slightly damp with sweat, and lightly furred. His balls are actually a little bigger than yours but they feel heavy and. It's not exactly a bad feeling. Holding them there. In your hand.

A frisson of heat runs up your spine.

So, no, they are not shriveled up from all the steroids like they probably should be. Then again, maybe that Bull Shark Testosterone Brucie mail-ordered from Chile is fake. But then that would mean that that crazy, exercise freak of a man is all Brucie, all the time.

That is a... very scary thought.

Either way, he's got his proof now and you... should really pull your hand out of his pants but you don't.

No, you don't.

Instead? You squeeze them.

Not hard, like you're trying to get the last of the ketchup out of the bottle but soft and firm like you're testing a fruit for ripeness at the market. Or like you're feeling up a tit. Different but the same. A soft, gentle squeeze and. Fuck.

Brucie grunts, legs falling open wider in the dark of the Taxi cab.

It's insane how fast you go from the half hard state you've been in since you left The Triangle Club to hard enough that you could pound nails into a steel fucking wall. You can feel Brucie's cock stir against the skin of your wrist and it sends a thrill through you that you don't know quite what to do with.

Brucie's thrown his head back against the headrest and his eyes are closed and you just. Have to. Squeeze them. One more time.

So you do.

Brucie groans this time and you feel somewhat triumphant at the knowledge that Brucie "I Like Pussy" Kibbutz might like a little more than he likes to let on. You've always thought he might be overcompensating and now it seems pretty much fact.

So you’re finding that you like the way he sounds when he groans but you're still drunk so having your hands all over a guy's dick doesn't bother you as much as it would otherwise. Your fingers have curled around Little Brucie -- who is not quite as long as yourself but thicker, definitely thicker -- and you try squeezing there. Brucie's hips jerk and his head tosses side to side. The sight of Brucie's muscled body sprawled over the seat makes you shudder with something that feels a lot like desire.

Giving up all pretenses otherwise, you start to jack him slowly. The angle is slightly awkward and you've never done this for another man, though you have thought about it a few times back home -- Darko’s betrayal hit you hard for more reasons than you ever wanted to consider but you shove that thought down and away because Brucie shifts his hips and breathes out a little moan and suddenly you need to hear that again.

It’s too dry so you stop and spit in the palm of your hand. Now that it’s slick and wet it's so much better. Your own cock throbs as you pull on his thick length, thumbing the tip on the upstroke and squeezing tightly on the down.

The dark interior of the cab is hot and stuffy and you wonder if the cab driver knows or even cares what you two are getting up to back here. The thought doesn't stop you as you jack off your friend in firm, quick strokes. Your other hand joins in, palming Brucie's sac again and squeezing his balls rhythmically in time with your other movements.

Brucie’s face is in shadow but the streetlights and headlights from passing cars give enough light for you to see it, the eyes squeezed tightly shut and the mouth that is so often the cause of countless headaches twisted in a grimace of pleasure. Brucie’s breath hitches as you stroke him and you’re closer to him than you’ve ever been, breathing in the air he exhales. His hands fisted tightly into your jacket letting you know how much he likes it and yeah, you like the way he feels against you. You like knowing that he’s bigger than you and yeah, even though you can still take him, stronger than you and yet somehow, even drunk, you’re in control.

Your own cock pushes insistently against your suit pants, begging for relief but you push your own need aside and focus on the one in your hand.

Blood rushes in your ears as you pull at Brucie's cock. Stroking him fast and then faster. Brucie's panting and groaning, back arching off the seat, filth spilling from his mouth like usual only not. Because this time he's talking to you about you and telling you fuck yeah how much he likes it just like that, Nicky, yeah yeah and you want to see him spread out naked on a bed somewhere. You want that big, muscled body under you and you wonder if Brucie might like that too.

He's getting close, you can tell, so you work his cock faster, squeezing and twisting your grip. Rub the skin just behind his balls a little and that's it. He's coming coming coming like a fucking freight train all over your hand and his shirt and you curse a little in Serbian because you find it a lot fucking hotter than you should. The need to see all of him intensifies but you shove it out of your mind. Ignore your own cock and the fact that you're on the verge just from jacking him off, as well.

Brucie lies passed out from orgasm so you tuck his softening cock back in his pants and let him be.

Looking out the window you see you're coming up on Brucie's apartment now.

The Navy Yard is dark and empty and quiet. You're still drunk but soon you'll get out of this cab and boost a ride of your own. And drunk or not, you'll blast something loud and distracting on the radio because you can’t stand the silence of your own thoughts and as your cock still lies hard and heavy between your legs you won't think, just drive back to your apartment alone where you'll probably jerk off in bed thinking thoughts you never knew you wanted until you pass out.

And who knows, it's possible you might not even even remember this in the morning.

You haven't decided if that's a good or bad thing yet.

Additional Note: Title comes from the game, when Roman first introduces Brucie to Niko.

Roman: [on the phone] -well, just get there. [hangs up] Damn these people.
Brucie: [in the background shadow boxing]
Niko: [walks in] Hey, Roman. /In Serbian: Who's the steroid junkie?/
Roman: Brucie! Have you met my cousin, Niko? This is Brucie, we met online.
Niko: Ohh, lovemeet.net?
Roman: Ha ha-
Brucie: No! In a dark corner, doing dark deeds. We're both players, my friend. Players. VIP. For real, classy but! Also sexy. That's how I like my women. I work at it so they should too, right?
Roman: Yeah, yeah!
Niko: What is he talking about?
Roman: Brucie's a dreamer. He understands my vision.
Niko: Ohh, so he's an idiot?
Brucie: Hey!