Written by EM
A "lost" scene between James Ballard and Vaughan from the novel, Crash. The characters do not belong to me.
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The external fixator covered nearly the entirety of Ballard's left leg. The metal pins and rods held together his bones that were so close to breaking under his weight. Underneath his metal exoskeleton was Ballard's skin, dotted with red marks where the rods penetrated into his body. The scars left behind on his skin were not just from the car crash, but the healing that needed to be done.
Vaughan walked into the room, suitcase in hand. His white coat laid upon him as if he was nothing more than a hanger, as if he did not realize it was there. He sat down besides Ballard on his left side, taking in the sight of Ballard's leg.
Neither of them said anything. Ballard looked at Vaughan, waiting for him to say something, but he looked back down at his left as soon as he realized there was nothing to say.
"Can I" Vaughan asked, with his hand already raised towards his leg. Ballard did not respond.
He winced as Vaughan dragged his calloused fingers along Ballard's leg, along the tender and open wounds that were unable to hold themselves together. Despite the pain, Ballard was unable to stop a warm feeling from pooling up in his chest. It resurfaced everytime he though of the crash, everytime he thought of the husband, everytime he thought of the widowed wife. It was not a warm feeling like love or satisfaction, but something deeper within him.
Vaugn stood up and leaned over, allowing him to take a closer look at the leg. Ballard looked into Vaughan's scarred face. He looks back at Ballard. Neither of them said anything. A moment of understanding crossed between them, linking their souls together in the aftermath of carnage. Their eyes and scarred faces were mirrors of each other, mirrors of their own desires.
Ballard had started to absent-mindedly palm at his erection from over his hospital gown. Despite its sterility, the hospital and its tendrils left an erotic resdiue upon everything it touched. Vaughan undid his belt and let his pants and undergarments drop to the floor. He stared at Ballard for a moment as he grabbed a hold of his cock and positioned it between Ballard's skin and a metal rod positioned right below his knee.
As Vaughan thrust his cock upwards, Ballard moaned from both the pleasure and pain Vaughan was bringing him. Ballard's hand was now around his own cock, pumping up and down in unison with Vaughan. The heat pooled in Ballard again, this time burning hotter and brighter than it ever had before. The collision of Vaughan and Ballard's bodies felt just like the crash Ballard had been in just days prior. It felt violent, painful, and incredibly arousing.
Vaughan finished right ontop of Ballard, spraying semen onto his leg which seeped into his open wounds. The sting pushed Ballard over the edge and he came as well. Vaughan got up, redressed himself, and walked over to grab some tissues. He cleaned the semen off of Ballard's leg and off of his hospital gown. He tucked Ballard's penis back into his gown and pulled it over him. His motions were so smooth, so calculated, as if this was just standard procedure for Vaughan, as if it was as common as draining fluid or redressing a wound. All Ballard could do was lay there, dazed.
Vaughan walked towards the door and opened up, he turned and smiled at Ballard, and then left without saying a word. It was over just as quickly as it started, but it wouldn't be the end for either of them.