out-of-control - Tumblr blog

[out-of-control]

commission for @evidencelocker >:3 st sebasjim.

[out-of-control]

happy birthday jimothy piss

[out-of-control]

reverence has been cleaned up and expanded a little!

REVERENCE

words: 5793 (sorry)

warnings: explicit sex (sorry again), injury ment (past)

summary: They go to a show together again and Jim takes Jax home.

Keep reading

[out-of-control]

TONIGHT

PREV: RED

NEXT: BOUND

words: 1911

warnings: sex

summary: jax makes an inquiry about a late-night delivery.

With one hand down his waistband, Jax thinks about a few things.

He's fully clothed still, supine on top of the bedsheets. His boot heels hang off the edge of the bed; his cell phone lies discarded on the nightstand. The apartment is empty and Jax is thinking about how Jim's fingertips are tough from years of playing bass. He's thinking about Jim's fingers warped around a fretboard, about how funny it is that when you have to cling to something to survive, it clings right back to you, in a way. About dead skin cells in layers upon layers. And about how things can so quickly go from soft to hard. 

His hand quickens, and his teeth clamp together on the inside of his lip. He extends and contracts his muscles, undulating alone on top of the bed. And at the last possible second he stills his body entirely. 

He feels his breaths, forcing his ribcage up and down like the handle of a bicycle pump, but he doesn't hear them so well. For a few seconds, he just lies there, allowing the air to cycle through his lungs. 

And then he lunges for the nightstand. 

He has the number on speed dial, because he's a stupid piece of work who should probably be put down for his own good. “Hey,” Jim’s voice floats through the tinny speaker, “What’s up.” Jax doesn't know where Jim is right now, and he doesn't care.

"Hey," he rasps, hand still down his pants. "I hope you're not busy, because I really can't act cool about this right now–" his fingers twitch almost involuntarily; he holds in a groan and goes on "–so I'm just gonna ask. Can you come over." He takes a deep breath in and holds it there, just long enough to start to feel it burn, and then he exhales it all at once and breathes, "Can you come over and fuck me tonight."

–

In the twenty-three minutes between hanging up and Jim's arrival, Jax occupies himself.

First, he takes a minute to lie still on the bed after clicking his phone shut. His hand slides out from inside his pants and very briefly slips under his shirt to toy with a nipple ring. Just briefly. And then he rolls off the bed. In the bathroom, he washes his hands, then his face, and spends a little while trying to slick his hair back with water; it only makes him look bedraggled, and so he gives up and scrubs his head dry with a bath towel. He leaves the bathroom for the kitchen, checking the fridge to make sure he has at least two beers in there already. He finds he has five and closes the fridge door. Then he opens it again and removes one of the bottles. A few more minutes are whiled away by rooting through the drawers for a bottle opener. He brings the now-opened beer with him to the couch: an anemic, floral thing which he had liberated from the sidewalk about a year ago, not long after having shuffled all his worldly positions into the current apartment. A few applications of baking soda had banished the curb smell but left powder in the cushions for weeks. Whenever Anna visited back then, she'd insisted on sitting on top of her purse. Tonight, leaning back against the ratty, pilling fabric, Jax takes a drink from his beer. Then he takes another. And he waits.

When the buzzer goes off, Jax scrambles to push the front door button, preemptively unlocks the apartment door, hurries back to the couch, and spends several seconds, if not an entire minute, carefully arranging himself on the cushions so as to most effectively convey an air of highly attractive nonchalance. He then immediately ruins it all by reflexively jumping up and rushing over to throw open the door as soon as he hears a knock.

"You're here," Jax breathes, inanely. 

“I’m here,” Jim agrees, sounding a little cautious– probably a response to how incredibly fucking normal Jax is being right now. The desperate energy that had compelled Jax to pick up the phone in the first place seems to abandon him as soon as Jim steps over the threshold, and Jax finds himself awkwardly sitting next to Jim on the floral couch after supplying him with one of the beers from the fridge, not sure exactly how to proceed. He'd already asked his big question; isn't the ball in Jim's court now? Jax is pretty sure it is, but you wouldn't know that from looking at Jim. Fucker's scrutinizing the label on the beer bottle like an art historian attempting to authenticate a possible Bosch.

It turns out to have been a stupid fucking idea to have started in on his beer before Jim arrived, because Jax finishes it about two minutes after Jim opens his, and then finds himself sitting there on the couch with his legs crossed, feeling like a bit of a fucking creeper watching Jim drink and not saying anything, and he knows he could just get up and grab another beer and ordinarily he really, really just would, but there's something about the energy Jim is giving off right now that seems to penetrate Jax's skin and worm through his nervous system and keep him rooted right to his spot on the couch cushion. That same vibe also seems to be preventing Jax from jumping Jim's bones right now, no matter how bad he wants to (very bad). Something– some kind of primordial sexual instinct, maybe– is simply telling him to stay put.

Either unaware of Jax's turmoil or incredibly, exceedingly aware of it, Jim hefts the bottle in his hand, again closely inspecting the label. A garden of earthly delights, alright. He turns the bottle, tilts it, then brings it up to his lips. Slowly, agonizingly, he sticks his tongue out and runs it up the neck of the bottle, leaving a trail in the condensation, before casually taking a swig.

Definitely aware. Incredibly, exceedingly aware. 

A few more minutes pass. It feels like forever. Casually, Jim sets his beer down on the floor, and Jax feels his stomach clench. There's a beat, before Jim simply leans over and breathes against Jax's jaw. Jax's eyes fall closed, almost as if in order for him to better feel Jim's hot breath on the side of his face, he needs to turn off his vision. Jim's soft puffs of breath move lower, to Jax's neck, and then Jim's lips replace them. A palm slides slowly up the inside of Jax's thigh. 

Right when Jim's hand meets Jax's bulge, Jax exhales and blurts, "Finally," while battling the strangest sensation of his throat trying to strangle itself.

Jim freezes. Completely stills all motion. 

Distraught by the turn of events, Jax forgets about his pride. "Christ, Jim, come on, please," he whines, trying to rock his hips up a little into Jim's hand. 

Jim says nothing. But Jax feels him smile against his skin.

Jax brings a hand up and fumbles at Jim's shirt, grasping the fabric ineffectually. "Please, man, c'mon," he begs, as his breathing gets heavier and his face hotter.

Jim still doesn't move. Not acceptable.

Jax discards a shred of pride that he didn't know he still had, something thin and ragged at the dusty bottom of a drawer squirreled away in the back of his skull. Into the heady silence between them, Jax confesses, quietly. "Come on, man. I stopped myself from getting off just so you could make me come instead.”

For one long moment, it's nothing but Jim's breath on the side of Jax’s neck.

“Were you thinking about me,” Jim asks in a low voice, breaking his vow of silence. “Were you thinking about me touching you.” It doesn't sound quite like a question. Jax thinks this is because Jim knows the answer. He parts his lips anyway.

“Yeah," Jax says, and even to his own ears, his voice sounds wrecked. 

So fast Jax can barely process it, Jim is in Jax’s lap, pulling Jax's shirt over his head. Jim's mouth connects with his, Jim's hips grind against his, and Jax thinks faintly that Jim might actually be trying to eat him alive. 

One of Jim's hands finds its way into Jax's waistband, and he whines openly at the touch, at finally feeling Jim's hand, which is so, so much better than Jax's own, no matter how hard he fantasizes. After only a couple strokes, Jim undoes his own belt, shoving Jax's jeans down, until their cocks are rubbing against each other in Jim's hand, and Jax can't seem to do much more than dig his nails into Jim's thighs, pushing his tiny embarrassing noises into Jim's mouth.

Jax gets shoved down, flat onto the couch cushions, and then Jim's shirt is gone. He starts leaving bite marks all over Jax's skin, from his neck all the way down to his hip bones, and then Jax is naked on his ugly floral couch, Jim positioned between his legs with one knee supporting him from the floor. Jax feels lightheaded with the knowledge that he’s going to be marked up for days after this– so obvious, so undeniable, practically an autograph. Jim's teeth sink into Jax's thigh and he gasps, arching his back and fisting a hand in Jim's hair.

Jim lets go and wetly kisses the indentation; the switch from sharp and jagged to gentle and soft is so sudden it makes Jax's head spin. Jim licks a stripe up Jax's cock before taking him in his mouth, slowly bobbing his head up and down with his eyes shut, and Jax just can't understand how serene Jim can look while tearing Jax apart like this, atom by atom by atom. Jax hooks a leg around Jim's back and pants hard, watching Jim's hand where it's splayed across Jax's chest, the two rising and falling in sync, and at some point he can't seem to remember, his gasps started sounding a whole lot like Jim, Jim, Jim.

He feels Jim's hip graze back and forth against his shin, realizes that Jim is rubbing himself against the couch cushions as he sucks Jax's brain out through the tip of his dick, and maybe it's that realization which can be blamed for finally shoving Jax over the edge. He clutches Jim's hair hard as he jerks and shivers on the couch. 

Through his eyelashes, Jax watches Jim pull off, wipe his mouth across the back of his hand. His hair is all in his face, blocking his eyes; Jax wants to reach out and brush it aside but his arms feel too heavy, all shaky and weak from tensing them so hard. Jim’s face is flushed, his nose pink where it peeks out from all the hair. The lull doesn’t last more than a few seconds; Jim is scrambling up his body, knees digging into the couch cushions on either side of Jax’s neck. Jax watches Jim’s thumb and forefinger above him, grasping the tab of his zipper and dragging it down the rest of the way with a high-pitched buzz that may as well be a dog whistle for how well Jax has been trained to respond to it. Jim’s hand fastens in Jax’s hair. Jax dutifully drops his jaw open, curls his hands around Jim’s thighs, and lets Jim keep on calling the shots tonight. 

[out-of-control]

sometimes there's a girl. maybe even two

[out-of-control]

get the fuck out of there people need to piss

[out-of-control]

RUPTURE

PREV: POSSESSION

NEXT: DEATH

words: 447

warnings: sexual themes

summary: jax thinks about those nitrile gloves.

Don’t flinch, Jim says.

Jax doesn't, as Jim slides the needle into him. It pierces one edge, then the other. The middle of his back is getting numb from the cold tub. The string pulls taut, and the whisper of scissor blades echoes against tile.

Don't squirm, Jim says. 

Jax doesn't. The sting, again. The weight of Jim's body in Jax's lap. The curl of Jim's hair against his cheek. The tension of the thread through Jax's body. 

Don't wince, Jim says.

Jax doesn't. The smell of rubbing alcohol-- no, wrong, the smell of salt. The smell of metal? Of mildew? Of sweat? Blood, the smell of blood. So clearly the smell of blood.

Don't resist, Jim says. 

Jax wouldn't. Not a chance, not now, not like this. Jim stares at him, eyes hard, sharp, cutting, consuming. The thread is snipped, and Jax exhales shakily through his nose. 

A gloved hand snakes its way up Jax's arm, onto the side of his throat. Jax's chest heaves, and the stitches groan. Jim doesn't say anything, but he shifts in Jax's lap, just a little. Still staring. 

Jax presses his hips up, and Jim presses his hips down.

A sewing needle clinks quietly on the floor. When their mouths touch, it's perfect, and Jax can't help whimpering as Jim writhes and seethes on top of him, all over him. The porcelain is so cold it scorches.

Jim rears back: bare chest, tousled hair, shadows banished by fluorescence, white walls almost medical (institutional?), and blood, suddenly everywhere, on every surface. 

Jim presses a thumb in where his veins collect at his wrist, hooks it beneath blue nitrile-- or white? He can't remember, can't decide-- and Jax yelps, hiccups almost: Wait.

Jim pauses, and looks at him.

Keep them on, Jax rasps, throat arid, wounds throbbing. Just for a little bit.

I'm not touching your cock with bloody gloves, Jim says, unimpressed, impassive. He raises his left hand from Jax's shoulder and slips two fingers into Jax's mouth. So clean them off.

–

He tenses, and for a few seconds that tension is worth it all. Then he slumps, overbreathing, and he's not so sure anymore. The mirror is freezing against his forehead. The rim of the sink is cutting bluntly into his flesh. The hazy figure against the backs of his eyelids is fading already. 

There is blood soaking through the bandage hanging half-affixed to his chest, spilling over his index and middle fingers slipped underneath the adhesive edge, dripping down his ribs. There is come in the sink. 

He keeps his eyes shut for a few seconds more, then turns on the faucet, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror.

[out-of-control]

good luck

[out-of-control]

Some days, he even feels like the luckiest guy in the world.

[out-of-control]

greatest hits from discord FIVE

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love can be found in many places

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hospitality

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super fucking jimcore of me to be driving in new jersey late at night after a show minding my business and get hit by another car. AND i drive a toyota

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lot of stars out here huh

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incredibly stupid teenagers

[out-of-control]

FEO: hi I was busy all last week but now i have covid so. Jim's crash kind of defines the beginning, middle, and end of his relationship with jax. Jim played Jax's venue hours before he was in the crash. It's the reason he stayed in newark. it's the reason jax said hi to him. it's the reason jim was miserable enough standing around to say yes, he wants to get out of here with some complete stranger. it's what fully convinced him he just has bad luck in life, and that's why he cant be with jax. because he can't have nice things, so he can't have jax, or something bad will happen to jax. and something bad happening to jax will break jim. but of course languishing in the emotional limbo together like that isnt sustainable, and as jax clings on tighter jim tries to distance himself harder so jax clings on even tighter and repeat. until jim can finally see that in the end he IS breaking jax, and decides that for his sake he has to get out of his life for good. If jax had met jim at any other point of his life, it probably would've worked out fine. but at this point, jim is just a man with oceans more trauma than he can even tell, let alone knows how to carry, while jax thinks he's a holy figure. and jim is buckling just under the pressure of surviving day to day to begin with far more than he realizes.

hi i sent the original jaxjim theory anon and im keefed and i didnt realize that yoru discord usernames were usernames and i thought you were saying "dick game baptismal they fuck like crazy KILL YORUSELF they fuck like crazy dick game baptismal" and so on and so forth. can u guys elaborate on all the insano car crash metaphors in jaxjim divorce saga.

KATZ: before meeting Jim, Jax already has a relationship with car crashes. his mother was killed in a car crash and so even though he was never in it, it's become this thing that looms hugely over his whole life. like he and Erin were so close and he sees the crash not just as something that killed her but something that Took Her Away From Him and so since he feels so alienated from and by the crash and he's spent years and years trying to understand it/get closer to it. like when he was a teenager he dug up fucking police reports because he was obsessed with the idea that by understanding everything about her death he could sync up with her again somehow and maybe fill this hole that opened up inside him when she died. like. Jax didn't get Erin's birth date tattooed on his arm, he got her death date. so even before Jax ever meets him he has this whole thing going on where he's obsessed with the crash from his own past and. feels left behind by not having been in the car crash and so he tries to map out other violence onto his body to make up for it.

but in addition to having his weird like desire to manifest car crash stigmata to honor his dead mother, he also is deeply affected not only by the violence of her death but the isolation of it. she died alone and scared and in pain. and that breaks his heart. and it's that whole thing more than the violence aspect that first drives him towards Jim, actually. because he sees Jim as alone. and his brain sort of makes the connection between Jim the car crash victim and Erin the car crash victim, but ALSO between Jim as a literal car crash survivor and Jax as a more metaphorical car crash survivor (he wasn't in it, but it ruined his life regardless). and it was that sort of empathy of being like. so you went through this horrible traumatic pain and now there is no one to help you carry it. and subconsciously at least Jax wanted to shoulder that. just a little. he wanted Jim to not be so sad on a summer's evening. so he said do you wanna get out of here.

so that's the background. and although it's lovely that car crash related trauma brought them together it's also absolutely part of the reason it drove them apart. after Erin died, Jax sort of lost the ability to see her as a person. to an extent I think most people do that with their mothers but since she was dead too Jax heaped all of his misery into the same pile and really developed this belief that if only she had lived, his entire life would be perfect. which is of course silly. some things would undoubtedly be better, but some things are unavoidable. and although Erin can't really be affected by this on account of being dead, I think that the whole "let me sanctify you" thing freaked the fuck out of Jim. because well Jim is just some guy but Jax treats him like he's holy. lot of pressure there.

FEO: <- has nothing to add to this

[out-of-control]

hi i sent the original jaxjim theory anon and im keefed and i didnt realize that yoru discord usernames were usernames and i thought you were saying "dick game baptismal they fuck like crazy KILL YORUSELF they fuck like crazy dick game baptismal" and so on and so forth. can u guys elaborate on all the insano car crash metaphors in jaxjim divorce saga.

KATZ: before meeting Jim, Jax already has a relationship with car crashes. his mother was killed in a car crash and so even though he was never in it, it's become this thing that looms hugely over his whole life. like he and Erin were so close and he sees the crash not just as something that killed her but something that Took Her Away From Him and so since he feels so alienated from and by the crash and he's spent years and years trying to understand it/get closer to it. like when he was a teenager he dug up fucking police reports because he was obsessed with the idea that by understanding everything about her death he could sync up with her again somehow and maybe fill this hole that opened up inside him when she died. like. Jax didn't get Erin's birth date tattooed on his arm, he got her death date. so even before Jax ever meets him he has this whole thing going on where he's obsessed with the crash from his own past and. feels left behind by not having been in the car crash and so he tries to map out other violence onto his body to make up for it.

but in addition to having his weird like desire to manifest car crash stigmata to honor his dead mother, he also is deeply affected not only by the violence of her death but the isolation of it. she died alone and scared and in pain. and that breaks his heart. and it's that whole thing more than the violence aspect that first drives him towards Jim, actually. because he sees Jim as alone. and his brain sort of makes the connection between Jim the car crash victim and Erin the car crash victim, but ALSO between Jim as a literal car crash survivor and Jax as a more metaphorical car crash survivor (he wasn't in it, but it ruined his life regardless). and it was that sort of empathy of being like. so you went through this horrible traumatic pain and now there is no one to help you carry it. and subconsciously at least Jax wanted to shoulder that. just a little. he wanted Jim to not be so sad on a summer's evening. so he said do you wanna get out of here.

so that's the background. and although it's lovely that car crash related trauma brought them together it's also absolutely part of the reason it drove them apart. after Erin died, Jax sort of lost the ability to see her as a person. to an extent I think most people do that with their mothers but since she was dead too Jax heaped all of his misery into the same pile and really developed this belief that if only she had lived, his entire life would be perfect. which is of course silly. some things would undoubtedly be better, but some things are unavoidable. and although Erin can't really be affected by this on account of being dead, I think that the whole "let me sanctify you" thing freaked the fuck out of Jim. because well Jim is just some guy but Jax treats him like he's holy. lot of pressure there.

FEO: <- has nothing to add to this