Title: Wind And Rain 1/1
Author: MsJingles
E-Mail: msjingles@angelfire.com
Webpage: http://www.angelfire.com/ut/msjingles/
Rating: NC-17 
Fandom: Playing God - a movie starring David 
Duchovny and Timothy Hutton.
Pairing: Eugene Sands (DD)/Raymond Blossom (TH)
Disclaimer: The characters of Eugene Sands and
Raymond Sands do not belong to me but the movie
"Playing God" and its creators.
Summary: Eugene Sands considers his life, the 
rain, and Raymond Blossom.
Author's Notes: I hope you like it, please tell
me what you think :) This was written because I
couldn't find a Sands/Blossom story out there for
myself, although I know there ARE some out there.
I don't think it's really necessary for you to of seen the
movie first, but it would definitely help. Basically, DD
plays Eugene Sands, a disgraced surgeon who lost a 
patient on the table because he was high during the 
surgery. He loses his license and is then subsequently 
hired by Tim Hutton's character - Raymond Blossom, a 
mob boss who wants Eugene to patch up his wounded.


===================
Wind and Rain 1/1
===================



The light pitter-pat-pat of rain on windows was 
a comforting sound to wake up to. Eugene Sands exited 
the dream world much the same way he did his drugged 
out states of nirvana: with a bitter realization of 
inevitability. Sprawled out on an unfamiliar couch in 
an unfamiliar room, he blinked his eyes into focus 
and sat half up from the leather cushions. 

His last high was nearly gone now, leaving 
behind dull gray where pink had once been. A bitter
taste was in his mouth, the corners of his lips sticky
with his last encounter with Raymond Blossom. He 
reached for the bottle of water on the glass coffee 
table, swallowed back as much as he could, as fast as 
he could. His eyes narrowed and his lips quirked in a 
Not Smile; he turned to look out sliding glass doors 
onto the crashing chaos of a stormy beach. 

Where the Hell was Raymond anyhow?

Who was he killing now?

Getting to his shaky, unreliable feet, Eugene
walked towards the balcony doors and rested first his
palm and then his forehead against the cool glass; head
tilted just enough that he could see his reflection.
But what he really was looking at was the ocean; black,
moving, fighting the wind and storm. Its waves were
sharp, vicious looking things that crashed down onto 
the beach where earlier that morning Raymond had sat
on a "Sex Pistols" beach towel and bathed under a cloud
covered sun. He shuddered. Thought of his boss, of 
his greatest fear. This man who now ruled his life.

//"Are you going to hurt me?"

"Are you asking because you're afraid or because 
you want me to?"//

Eugene hated the pain, he was sick of it. His
head, his body, his gums -- especially his gums, they 
always hurt. The withdrawals hit him more frequently 
now, the times between highs and lows was getting 
shorter and more abrupt in between. Raymond made sure 
to keep him on a short leash of his favorite brain 
candy; the sweet and bitter taste a permanent fixture 
on his lips, his tongue, his skin. A _stain_. A 
motherfucking stain. Not that he was faultless, he 
accepted each offering eagerly, desperately.

The sliding doors opened with little resistence,
and Eugene was nearly swept away by the sudden strength
of the wind that assaulted him. Immediately rain (cool
and so incredibly _clean_) washed over him, soaking him
instantly through the thin material of his t-shirt and
pants. A plant knocked over, the carpet became damp
beneath his bare feet, and Eugene walked out into the
storm.

It slapped him. Raindrops like knives pricked 
his cheeks and his neck. He craned his head back to
feel more, to take _more_. Thunder, lightening -- it
didn't matter. 

His arms stretched out to his sides, mock wings
that wouldn't fly, and eyes closed, for a moment,
Eugene felt a part of the storm. There was no pain,
there was no craving for _Sweet_, for pretty amber 
liquid. _This_. THIS, he thought. I could live like 
this. I could die like this.

He barely felt the arm that snaked around his
neck, the leather of the sleeve it was cased in, and
his eyes remained closed as he was pulled back into the
darkness of the beach house. The floor, damp and cold,
came up to meet him as he fell, and he felt the wind 
and rain all around him still.

"Doc, Doc, Doc..."

Open my eyes, or not open my eyes, Eugene debated.
The wind and rain brought the feeling of clean that only 
came with second chances.

He opened his eyes.

"There you are," Raymond Blossom smiled down at 
him. Danger and sex in a silk shirt and leather jacket.
Eugene could see the gun at his hip as the storm raged
behind his boss, getting fiercer. Raymond would not 
close the door, and his hair fell across his eyes in 
damp, blond clumps.

Moving slowly, his motorcycle boots with shiny
silver buckles sinking into the plush carpet, Raymond
stepped closer so that he was looming over the fallen
man. He smiled, a slow, calculated smile, before he
let himself fall, straddling his hips with hungry look.
He unholstered his gun, seemed to consider it for a
while before throwing it carelessly to the couch.

"Maybe you can help me, doc..." A kiss at his 
neck, a kiss at his lips, and Raymond ground his hips
down sharply, his fingers digging hard, painful welts
into Eugene's sides. "I got this compulsion..." He 
thrust against him. "I think I'm a chronic fucker."

"I heard they have institutions for that..."
Eugene gasped and shuddered as his cock was suddenly
held in a vice like grip, squeezing and pumping him
hard into erection. "Shit. Ray..."

"We can do this outside," the mobster crooned,
his hand continuing to travel, to make Eugene both 
hiss and hum. "You like the rain, Doc?"

The awareness of cold suddenly hit him, the 
puddle of rain water they were now laying in, and 
Eugene shivered from head to toe; lay passive as
Raymond worked a hand beneath his shirt and rubbed a
hand over rising gooseflesh. A touch possessive and
rough.

The rain washed in, the rain swept out, and
Eugene Sands closed his eyes against it all, lashes
fluttering against pale, drug-white, cheek bone. 
Fingers danced along his jaw, and _scraped_, blunt
fingernails tracking down, down, down until they
stopped at the base of his neck and dug. Raymond
seemed to sniff the air around him, to breathe in and
out with the rise of chest and the flutter of pulse.
He hummed thunder and lightening, and the buckle of 
his belt pressed a hard, silver knot against Eugene's
bare stomach.

Raymond rarely kissed him, but when he did it
was like everything else he did, with anger and 
intensity. Intensity so bright and hot that Eugene
feared it would just burn him straight through, touch
that place where even the drugs couldn't reach. 
Leave him scorched and burnt, unrecognizable as the
person he had been before. Not that he even really
remembered the person he had been before. Raymond
kissed him now, the heat from his lips warming his
entire body, spreading wet and soft across his mouth
and past his cheeks, and down straight to his cock 
where Raymond's hand still rested.

Denim clad thighs rubbed together, wet and 
heavy, and Eugene gasped again, tried to remember if
he had ever resisted this man. Tried to remember 
when he stopped wanting to. Raymond Blossom was a 
drug himself -- fatal, addictive, a beautiful kind 
of escape into a pink, fuzzy world.

Raymond pulled back long enough to flip the
'good doctor' onto his stomach, hands already working
at removing the pants. Eugene reeled, bucked. 
Raymond's tongue licked a trail from his back to his
ass, and he closed his eyes tightly and bit down on
his lip. He could feel _that_ wet, even through all
the _other_ wet of the rain.

Fingers, rough, callused, dry, pumped his ass,
stroking in and out, and leaving another burning 
trail inside his twisted body. Back arched, mouth 
open, Eugene cried out coarsely, and his fingers 
clawed faintly at the carpet as Raymond's deep laugh
resounded behind him.

Fighting, resisting, didn't even occur to him.
It hurt, God it hurt, but...Drug in mouth, cock in 
ass...no difference. Eugene twisted his hips, worked
his mouth against the carpet, tasting water and fabric.
His wrist had somehow gotten pinned beneath his body,
causing him to pinch himself painfully, his other hand
was held up high behind his back by Raymond's own.
Eugene could feel where the fingerprint bruises would
be the next day, and almost smiled. Needle tracks. It
was all evidence.

Over the rumble of thunder, and another *woosh*
of waves rising and falling, a zipper came down and the
fingers were pulled back. Eugene tensed himself, felt
his heart do a kinda-pleasant-but-I-could-do-without 
flip in his chest. Raymond's hand did a wet slide up
to the space between Eugene's shoulders and stopped 
there.

Hard, without request, he pushed in. A needle
finding a vein; a quick, ugly, *snort*. Eugene 
couldn't help his cry, or the way his hand raked and 
searched for..._something_ as he tensed. He could hear
Raymond's rapid breath, knew that even now he was 
holding back, knew that the fingers digging into his
shoulders would leave crescent shaped marks of red. 
Eugene moaned, tried to find that high, pleasant place
somewhere above the storm, before relaxing and giving
silent permission for Raymond to go on.

Thrusting now, moving back and forth with his 
hips in an abrupt but steady rhythm of hits and pulls,
Raymond groaned on top of him. His cock was hard and
hotter then should be humanly possible, pleasure and
pain mixed together strangely; waging a battle inside
of him. Eugene was hardly aware that he was thrusting
back, his groans sounding more like pleading as 
Raymond Blossom, the man that had both saved and 
damned him, fucked him as hard as he could, as it 
rained on them both.

Raymond's body went rigid before he came, cursing 
out loud as he did, and falling onto Eugene's back. He
reached around, almost as an afterthought, and started
to jerk the other man's cock, murmuring into his ear,
"come for me, doc, come for me..." and Eugene hardly
could resist a command like that.

For a moment they lay side by side, listening to
the rain, listening to the ocean, before Raymond 
finally crawled over to the coffee table to pick up the
carton of cigarettes that lay next to a book of matches.

Eugene watched as the other grunted in disgust 
and pursed his lips prettily at the utter dampness of 
both items. He threw them aside, noticed the look, and
holstered his gun.

"Was it good for you, doc?"

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and threw 
his head back. The rain raged, washing away everything.
Eugene almost smiled, and watched silently as Raymond
got up to close the glass doors.






***End