FNL -- Since Forever
Title: Since Forever
Rating: Adult (Here There Be Smut)
Pairing: Jason/Tim

Dedication: For my FNL crew -- Bone, Brynwulf, M'Lyn, Hafital.

Legalese: FNL is copyright its respective owner(s); this is a labor of love, not money.


Tim came over one Saturday morning as Jason was getting ready to lift. His mom showed Tim into the garage, murmured something in Tim's ear, then said, "Jay, your dad and I'll be running a few errands. We'll be back around lunch." Then she left.

Tim slouched against the doorjamb in that way of his, eyes downcast, except they flicked up from time to time. In the background Jason could hear the sounds of his mother getting her purse and keys and the rustling of the newspaper as she hustled his father out the door.

"Well?" Jason asked as soon as the car drove off.

"I came to say hey." So soft Jason had to strain to hear it.

"And?"

Tim sighed and flicked his eyes upwards then fixed Jason with a direct hazel stare. "Look, I know it's never going to be the same between us. I know we can't undo it."

"And you want me to forgive you?" Jason put an edge in his voice. Tim winced. Good.

Tim studied the cracks in the cement for a long moment, then he said, "Well, if that's -- um, I'll be going." He turned.

"No, don't." Jason reached for the bar on his bowflex. "I might need a spotter."

Tim pished at him. Then his eyes roved over everything, drinking it in, before settling back on Jason. "Alright." He gave that quirky grin of his, the one that Jason never could quite figure out, the one he thought of as Tim's "Mona Lisa" smile.

~oo(0)oo~

It turned out to be a good thing, having Tim stay over. They pushed each other, the way they used to, back in the day. Jason hadn't realized how much he had missed that.

After about 40 minutes, sweat drenched his shirt, so he peeled it off. "You sure you're okay?" Tim, already bare-chested, asked, passing him the Gatorade.

"Yeah," Jason said, mopping the sweat from his brow with his wristband, "But 10 more presses, and I'm done."

Tim nodded, went over to the free weights, picked up a bar and began doing shoulder curls.

Their eyes locked, like they used to in the old days, egging each other on. Pushing each other past the burn. Pushing those last five reps (when your muscles just screamed) out of each other. Gritting his teeth, Jason forced himself to find something, anything, and focus on it. For some reason, he ended up fixed on the way sweat dripped from Tim's hair where it flopped down in front of his face, hanging in long wet strings, brushing along the edge of his jaw and chin.

"And that's 10," Jason ground out between clenched teeth and sagged against the bench, arms trembling with exertion. Fuck. He had pushed himself too hard. It was going to be a bit before he could transfer to his chair by himself. But he needed to shower and check his bag, and get some more Gatorade in his body. "Uh, Tim, do you think?" He gestured to the chair.

"Yeah." Tim set the bar down, crossed over to where Jason lay on the bench, and crouched, reaching for him.

And that's when it happened.

Jason threw wood.

And there was no hiding it given the thinness of his old sweats and the way he was laying on the bench, and oh, fuck this fucking body of his. Nothing worked right at all any more. Nothing worked like it used to. It did weird shit when he least expected it, and wouldn't do what it was supposed to do when it was supposed to do it. Like now, instead of last night with Lyla ... things were so fucked up with how the various parts of himself talked to each other, that the "turn on the dick" messages were probably just now getting down there. At the worst possible time, of course.

Jason tried to will it away. Not that that had really worked all that well back when he first hit puberty and it came up and down all on its own at the worst times. Only now, since he really didn't have a direct line of communication any more, it was even more complicated. What he did have was more akin to the kind of reflex action that kept your bowels going, and gaining control over stuff like that was exponentially more difficult. He still hadn't mastered the art of crapping yet, much less turning the dick on and off.

Oh God, please somehow, let Tim not see.

Only he did. Jason saw the exact moment when he did. Tim's eyes widened and he drew in a quick breath.

"Jay," he whispered, looking at him. Eyes huge and amber, like a cat's.

Jason felt his face flame, and his tongue tripped over the words as he tried to explain about nerve impulses and his body's confused response to the adrenaline and endorphins floating through his bloodstream right about now.

Except that Tim hooked his hands into Jason's waistband and hauled down so hard that Jason slid a few inches down the bench as his cock sprang free and into Tim's grasp.

"Tim, what are you --?" And he tried to push himself up to a sit, but his noodle arms couldn't muster the strength. Jason could only lift his neck and look down the length of his body as Tim yanked out the catheter and after a moment's pause, swallowed him down.

And then he couldn't lift his neck at all. It just flopped back on its own as his body decided that what was left of his central nervous system was reserved for the transmission of other, more important, information.

Jason's eyes registered the movement of the rafters overhead as Tim pulled him further down the bench, presumably to the end, the better to actually settle in between Jason's dead weight legs.

The feel of Tim's mouth and hands on his cock it ... it wasn't like anything else he had experienced before. Because he could feel it, but he couldn't feel it. He knew something was happening down there, but if you asked him, he couldn't exactly say what, only that something was building, building, building, like static, only good. And Tim was making these little noises. Gasps and moans, and slurps, and sounds Jason could only describe as "wet noises", and they were so good they made Jason's shoulders jitter and twitch, while his hands flexed and spasmed, and he gave a hysterical half-chuckle because a line from that stupid tape of Lyla's about the brain being "the largest sex organ" floated through his mind. And then his lungs sucked in a ragged gasp of air and pushed it out in a whoosh because everything in him clenched because he was coming-coming-coming. And Jason didn't know if not exactly feeling anything has ever felt so good in his life.

Jason's got a newborn baby's noodle-neck right now, and somehow managed to snap his head up just long enough to catch a glimpse of Tim wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and Tim's eyes were glowing like nothing Jason's ever seen before, and his head slammed back on the padding of the bench, and he can't say shit. He just laid there and breathed raggedly and shivered as his body tried to deal with processing all the information that's trying to grab what's left of his nervous system and funnel eight lanes of interstate traffic through a two lane county road, while his mind tried to bend itself around the fact that Tim Riggins just sucked his cock, and at the same time not explode over the irony that the last person to have sex with Lyla also happened to be the first person he ended up having sex with.

Tim's voice finally broke the spell. "Jason."

"Huh?" He glanced over and saw Tim holding up the pinched off end of the catheter.

"How do I get this back in?"

"Oh," Jason felt his face flame again, a mixture of embarrassment, and rage, and frustration. "I'll, uh, fix that in a -- Tim." He loaded that last word with meaning.

Tim looked down again, at nothing in particular, for what seemed like an eternity. When he looked up again, his eyes were utterly open, naked, vulnerable, and Jason felt something almost like a punch to the chest, knocking the wind out of him, because there was always something closed, something locked, in Tim's eyes, some part of him that he never shared with other people, only he was giving it to Jason right here, right now.

"Since forever, Jason," Tim murmured, voice both husky and reverent. "I've been in love with you ... and Lyla ... since forever."

---

Author's Note: I tried to do a bit of research for this, but it's (pardon the pun) hard. I have seen Murderball (where there's some frank discussion of sex), and that documentary on the Discovery channel about the quad woman (partial severing) who talks about wanting to have a baby and what sex was like for her. (Since her cord wasn't completely severed, she has some feeling, but very little strength and movement in anything below where her neck was broken. And she talked about how orgasms went on a long time and tended to overload her systems -- which is what happens when you put 8 lanes down to 2.)

But, speaking from both a basic knowledge of spinal anatomy and experience, the nerves that contol feeling in the groin branch out of the spine at L5/S1/S2/S3, far below the level of Jason's break. I had a herniated disk that pinched the nerve root at L5/S1, and towards the end (before surgery) I had pins and needles and flashes of numbness in my groin where I could feel/sense pressure but nothing else. (And I could watch/read something arousing and not feel myself get wet, but just know that I was.)

The nerves that control sexual response (erection, wetness, arousal) are partly the same sorts of nerves that control the movevents of the intestines, and partly the nerves that branch out of the lower spine. Which explains how you can get aroused even if you can't move or really feel down there.

So, what I'm getting at -- I couldn't find a direct answer to what it feels like for someone with Jason's kind of injury to have sex. I know that they have it and it's pleasurable. But there's no fucking way it feels the same as before.