Title: Used

Author: Criss Moody

Date: September 28^th, 2000

Feedback: gimme <g>

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Tom and Dickie do more than talk in that bathtub scene.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, the writers and creators of The Talented Mr. Ripley own them. I just obey the muses, because if I don't, they pummel my toes with feathers <g>.

Dedication: I wrote this in part because of a story by Amatia that dealt with the same scene in the movie. So, I thank Amatia and her lovely story for this little bit of smut.

Used, by c.moody.

Tom had rarely been so nervous before. Usually, when he felt unsure, the feeling came from inside, from the certainty that he would fail, that nothing would go right, that he was in general a failure. But this time Tom's feelings of inadequacy were born of a desperate desire to touch restrained by an equally desperate desire not to disrupt the delicate balance he had found with his newfound friend, rich dilettante, Dickie Greenleaf. Tom knew that Dickie wasn't really interested in him as anything more than a diversion, a deliciously spiteful way to stick it to his stuck-up father. There were times though, times when Tom forgot that, forgot the vague look of derision Dickie gave him when Tom slipped in his Princeton boy façade, and started to believe that Tom Ripley had gone to Princeton, that Dickie Greenleaf was his brother, his best friend, and that the two men would sail the Mediterranean together, forever.

Right now, Tom burned to lower his hand into the fragrant emerald green water and hold onto his desire. Tom wanted to worship Dickie's cock with his fingers, cradling the flaccid flesh between his hands and coax it into growth. He dimly heard himself beg, like a child, to be allowed into the warmth, so close to the sun-dusted flesh he wanted for his own. Time stretched, snapped, as Dickie challenged Tom with his eyes, daring the other man to do something other than sit by the side of the tub, fully clothed. Dickie stood up, his soft length dangling against his upper thigh as he left the tub. Trembling now, Tom fixed his gaze on the mirror above the tub to drink in the hollowed curves of Dickie's buttocks. When Dickie's mocking eyes turned to Tom, he looked down at his hands, resting on his warm, stirring genitals.

"Do you want this, Tom?" Tom's head jerked up to see Dickie rubbing himself as he slowly walked towards the tub. Tom watched transfixes as Dickie ran one finger down the engorging length of his cock, rubbing over the cockhead ever so softly. Tom couldn't have looked way had Marge walked into the room. The cock, with cocky Dickie Greenleaf attached, came closer and closer until it came to a halt just before Tom's dry lips. Tom's mouth watered, his tongue darted out over his lips, at the luscious treat before him. Would Dickie? Would he?

Tom felt hands curve around his head, bringing it closer to the bath damp feast awaiting him. His mouth bumped against hot flesh, the clean, musky smell of Dickie rolling over him. "Well? What are you waiting for? I know you want it." Tom almost froze, unable to continue, but the soft hands tracing circles in his hair gave him courage. He wanted this so badly; he'd die without Dickie Greenleaf.

Licking his lips again, he took the mushroom-shaped head of Dickie's half-hard cock into his mouth. Before Tom could do more than lave the head with the tip of his wet tongue, causing the member to swell fully, Dickie roughly shoved his hardening cock further into Tom's soft passage, raping his throat. Tom dimly felt a sense of shame beneath his own manhood's enthusiastic response to the brutal treatment. Kneeling, he struggled to open his throat more, breathing heavily through his nose as Dickie grunted his way to completion. With a low grunt, the pretty man finished, but continued to thrust until Tom had suckled Dickie's cock free of slightly acrid come.

Just as quickly as he had begun this encounter, Dickie ended it by pulling away from Tom and walking back to his robe. Tom panted as he tried to recover his breath, his cock throbbing painfully. When he looked up into the mirror, Dickie looked back without saying a word. A whoosh of the door and Dickie was gone.

It hadn't been enough. Not nearly enough.

Tom had nearly burst just at having a rock hard cock ramming into his throat. But the action, the sheer overwhelming dominating of it all, had too quickly ended with Dickie's quick finish. Tom needed to hear about Dickie's distaste of him, how silly and clumsy and unworthy Tom was. Still, this only proved Dickie's true feelings for Tom.

They were brothers, as close as too human beings could be. They could share anything, even cock. Tom groaned at the thought of Dickie slapping him, telling him he didn't deserve his cock, his father's money, anything. Tom was worthless without Dickie to show him what to say. Tom lowered his hand to his manhood, his mouth making a soft 'o' as the rough skin of his palm brushed against the exquisitely tender flesh of his genitals. He began stroke himself, an image of Dickie slapping him for daring to call himself Dickie Greenleaf's friend filling his head. Tom began to fuck his hand's tight channel as the fantasy Dickie called Tom a whore, a slut for cock, a bourgeois pig who could never hope to be good enough for anything more than sucking a rich man's cock. When the Dickie in Tom's head began to whip him, the braided black leather whip appearing from nowhere, Tom's cock shot out long streams of come. As he came down from the orgasm, Tom's fogged mind cleared, and the Dickie of his dreams faded into his fantasies.

As it had begun, the fantasy faded out of the now silent, cold room, leaving only the reality of a man on his knees, begging to be used.