(no subject)
and we breathe, short and heavy
dougie/robert downey jr. (mcfly/rps)
nc-17
+ mcflyslash fic-a-thon! entry and I swear I didn't think that I was going to get anything in - particularly this one. Because I knew I wanted smut but I can't write smut and this is me being ambitious and fucking stubborn because I wanted the prompt and got it. Needless to say, I'm happy with it. I finished it and I actually think it's an ounce of good.
Robert opens the bathroom door with his shoulder and almost - almost - falters over his own two feet.
He doesn’t like to think about how he gets himself into these situations, how he manages to fall into a compromising positioning with someone he didn’t know this morning, but he always does. And he isn’t complaining, won’t ever complain, but he just likes to know what draws random people (usually male) towards him. And he wishes he could ask but at this pressing time, this kid - 21, blond, and in some band - has his tongue shoved down his throat and yeah, he can’t breathe.
He’s a pro at this, Robert concludes, when he manages to push the two of them into a bathroom stall, lock the door, and keep his composure all while he’s got his bottom lip in between his teeth and his hands practically shoved down his pants. And all thoughts, all questions, almost go out the window when he feels his small fingers touch the base of his cock and his head tips back and rests against the door of the bathroom stall. But he manages to collect himself, manages to disconnect their lips, quick to enough to ask,
“What - what the fuck - what’s your name kid?”
And his lips are working down his chin, tongue scraping against his stubble and almost towards the base of his neck when the blond looks up. And Robert can almost make out the color of his eyes through the bleached fringe when he smirks. And he’s expecting, oh so wanting, to hear him say something cliché and dirty. Quick and perverted so they can just get this over with, but he doesn’t.
He says, “It’s Dougie,” and Robert doesn’t even get a chance to nod before his hands are settled on his belt loop.
Robert, for a split second, wonders if this kid - Dougie - knows who he is. Sure, they’re at his premier but, fuck (his hands are cold, too cold), he’s too young to remember Less Than Zero and he’s too old to be watching The Shaggy Dog. And he’s sure, doesn’t seem like the type, to watch any of his movies in between.
But it’s not like it makes any difference because within seconds his pants are pooled around his ankles and Dougie’s on his knees, palms pressing into the top of his sneakers as he leans in licks. From the base of his cock to the tip, he drags his tongue agonizingly slow and,
“Jesus.” Robert throws all coherent thinking out the door.
His hands are practically shaking at his sides, fingers tingling at the tips as he tries to figure out where. to. put. them. Because he doesn’t want to rush the kid, Dougie taking his time, licking random patches of skin - here and there - so he keeps his fists to himself. Bunches the bottom of his dress shirt.
His gaze is fixated on the ceiling, for a moment, and when he looks down, wondering - “Why doesn’t he hurry the fuck up?” - he’s looking straight at him, tongue out and wetting his bottom lip. And Robert can’t recall when he stopped licking his cock but, fuck, he doesn’t really care. He just wants him to,
“Come on kid. I don’t have all day,” and he’s sure that he doesn’t either.
The movie’s almost over and he saw the irritated look on the boy’s friends - band mates? - faces when he left the cinema to run to the toilets.
And he’s not sure - can’t fucking see through all the hair - but Dougie rolls his eyes before wetting his lips once more and parting them, slightly, and allowing his cock to push them open.
It gets harder, for Robert to keep his hands to himself, the back of his head pressing into the metal door as his eyes squeeze shut. He bites the inside of his cheek, to keep himself from yelling out, as his hands tug at his shirt tighter. And Dougie’s not even moving much - just engulfing it all - but his mouth’s so hot and tight and fuck he hasn’t gotten a blow job in months.
He feels himself hit the back of his throat and thank god he didn’t move his hips and Dougie, he starts to pull back. His movement is slow and his bottom teeth are dragging across his underside and it hurts but, fuck, fuck, fuck, if it doesn’t feel good.
He pulls off, all the way, lips puckering around the head. His tongue stays darted between them, the muscle pressing into the head and the wave of pleasure feels almost unbearable, coursing through his thighs and to his knees, that Robert can’t help it. He grips the back the boy’s head - hand full of waves - as he tugs, softly.
Dougie doesn’t mind, doesn’t jerk, doesn’t move, just takes it a sign of encouragement and opens his mouth further, taking it all in. He hollows his cheeks this time, movements nice and steady as he, slowly, bobs his head up and down his cock. And Robert watches, through his eyelashes, as Dougie’s eyes slip close, as he concentrates and,
“Oh my...” it feels way too nice.
He feels himself settling into the feeling, head tipping back once more, but this time, a lot calmer. And no sound rings out when it hits the door - just an unbearably soft bang as he slips his eyes close and lets himself enjoy this.
It’s been months since his last blow job but fucking weeks since he’s got off.
He gets bold a few minutes in, needing Dougie to go a little faster, but his mouth is too dry and his words aren’t coming out and he - he can’t speak. So he moves his hand and pushes the boy’s head further onto his cock and he feels himself, hitting the back of his throat and he fucking - he fucking gags. And Robert never knew he had a kink for that sort of thing but it feels, weird, and he wants. He wants to do it again, but,
“Fuck. S-sorry kid,” and he doesn’t.
Dougie, he mumbles something - an acceptance to his apology - fucking something that causes his words to hum around his cock and the vibrations speed through to his brain too fast. Way too fast. And he just,
“Kid - just...Faster, please.” And all he had to do was ask.
Dougie complies with his wishes as his darts out his tongue, swirls it around his member - fast but compliant to the speed of his mouth moving on and off the stretch of skin. And Robert feels himself getting closer and closer, his fingertips pressing into his scalp as the build up becomes more and more tense. And he can feel it, fucking, seconds away, and,
“Come on,” because screw tact - screw fucking stamina.
He’s almost. there. When his phone vibrates in his pocket on the bathroom.
Robert wants to tell him to forget about it and finish but Dougie; he’s already got his mouth off his cock. And, fuck, he wants to ask what kind of right he has - answering his phone - but it’s only a text message.
“It’s from Susan,” he says, showing him the screen.
The message is: discretion.
Fuck. He’s not screwed - Susan doesn’t get worked up over these types of things - but he has to fucking finish. But Dougie’s off his knees and he’s fixing his hair and he’s smirking. He’s two seconds away from speaking when Robert has one hand to the back of his neck and he’s pulling him into a kiss. Hot and heavy.
The boy knows how to take a hint - hand immediately going for his cock and wraps his fingers around and starts stroking. Two, long and slow, and the rest, fast and desperate. To get him off. And it doesn’t take long - just over the time it takes for them to run out of air - and he’s coming right. onto. the boy’s. pants.
He wishes he could fucking care but he’s too busy being spent, forehead pressing into his shoulder, as he breathes.
Then, then there’s another vibration. This time closer and pressing into his thigh. And Dougie shuffles, curses under his breath as his hand snakes into his pocket and he starts fumbling with his phone. He presses the keypad - fast - as he types out a message and hits send.
“Fuck you, Harry,” his says under his breath as he shows him the previous message:
Dipshit movie’s over. seriously. you did this tonight?
dougie/robert downey jr. (mcfly/rps)
nc-17
+ mcflyslash fic-a-thon! entry and I swear I didn't think that I was going to get anything in - particularly this one. Because I knew I wanted smut but I can't write smut and this is me being ambitious and fucking stubborn because I wanted the prompt and got it. Needless to say, I'm happy with it. I finished it and I actually think it's an ounce of good.
Robert opens the bathroom door with his shoulder and almost - almost - falters over his own two feet.
He doesn’t like to think about how he gets himself into these situations, how he manages to fall into a compromising positioning with someone he didn’t know this morning, but he always does. And he isn’t complaining, won’t ever complain, but he just likes to know what draws random people (usually male) towards him. And he wishes he could ask but at this pressing time, this kid - 21, blond, and in some band - has his tongue shoved down his throat and yeah, he can’t breathe.
He’s a pro at this, Robert concludes, when he manages to push the two of them into a bathroom stall, lock the door, and keep his composure all while he’s got his bottom lip in between his teeth and his hands practically shoved down his pants. And all thoughts, all questions, almost go out the window when he feels his small fingers touch the base of his cock and his head tips back and rests against the door of the bathroom stall. But he manages to collect himself, manages to disconnect their lips, quick to enough to ask,
“What - what the fuck - what’s your name kid?”
And his lips are working down his chin, tongue scraping against his stubble and almost towards the base of his neck when the blond looks up. And Robert can almost make out the color of his eyes through the bleached fringe when he smirks. And he’s expecting, oh so wanting, to hear him say something cliché and dirty. Quick and perverted so they can just get this over with, but he doesn’t.
He says, “It’s Dougie,” and Robert doesn’t even get a chance to nod before his hands are settled on his belt loop.
Robert, for a split second, wonders if this kid - Dougie - knows who he is. Sure, they’re at his premier but, fuck (his hands are cold, too cold), he’s too young to remember Less Than Zero and he’s too old to be watching The Shaggy Dog. And he’s sure, doesn’t seem like the type, to watch any of his movies in between.
But it’s not like it makes any difference because within seconds his pants are pooled around his ankles and Dougie’s on his knees, palms pressing into the top of his sneakers as he leans in licks. From the base of his cock to the tip, he drags his tongue agonizingly slow and,
“Jesus.” Robert throws all coherent thinking out the door.
His hands are practically shaking at his sides, fingers tingling at the tips as he tries to figure out where. to. put. them. Because he doesn’t want to rush the kid, Dougie taking his time, licking random patches of skin - here and there - so he keeps his fists to himself. Bunches the bottom of his dress shirt.
His gaze is fixated on the ceiling, for a moment, and when he looks down, wondering - “Why doesn’t he hurry the fuck up?” - he’s looking straight at him, tongue out and wetting his bottom lip. And Robert can’t recall when he stopped licking his cock but, fuck, he doesn’t really care. He just wants him to,
“Come on kid. I don’t have all day,” and he’s sure that he doesn’t either.
The movie’s almost over and he saw the irritated look on the boy’s friends - band mates? - faces when he left the cinema to run to the toilets.
And he’s not sure - can’t fucking see through all the hair - but Dougie rolls his eyes before wetting his lips once more and parting them, slightly, and allowing his cock to push them open.
It gets harder, for Robert to keep his hands to himself, the back of his head pressing into the metal door as his eyes squeeze shut. He bites the inside of his cheek, to keep himself from yelling out, as his hands tug at his shirt tighter. And Dougie’s not even moving much - just engulfing it all - but his mouth’s so hot and tight and fuck he hasn’t gotten a blow job in months.
He feels himself hit the back of his throat and thank god he didn’t move his hips and Dougie, he starts to pull back. His movement is slow and his bottom teeth are dragging across his underside and it hurts but, fuck, fuck, fuck, if it doesn’t feel good.
He pulls off, all the way, lips puckering around the head. His tongue stays darted between them, the muscle pressing into the head and the wave of pleasure feels almost unbearable, coursing through his thighs and to his knees, that Robert can’t help it. He grips the back the boy’s head - hand full of waves - as he tugs, softly.
Dougie doesn’t mind, doesn’t jerk, doesn’t move, just takes it a sign of encouragement and opens his mouth further, taking it all in. He hollows his cheeks this time, movements nice and steady as he, slowly, bobs his head up and down his cock. And Robert watches, through his eyelashes, as Dougie’s eyes slip close, as he concentrates and,
“Oh my...” it feels way too nice.
He feels himself settling into the feeling, head tipping back once more, but this time, a lot calmer. And no sound rings out when it hits the door - just an unbearably soft bang as he slips his eyes close and lets himself enjoy this.
It’s been months since his last blow job but fucking weeks since he’s got off.
He gets bold a few minutes in, needing Dougie to go a little faster, but his mouth is too dry and his words aren’t coming out and he - he can’t speak. So he moves his hand and pushes the boy’s head further onto his cock and he feels himself, hitting the back of his throat and he fucking - he fucking gags. And Robert never knew he had a kink for that sort of thing but it feels, weird, and he wants. He wants to do it again, but,
“Fuck. S-sorry kid,” and he doesn’t.
Dougie, he mumbles something - an acceptance to his apology - fucking something that causes his words to hum around his cock and the vibrations speed through to his brain too fast. Way too fast. And he just,
“Kid - just...Faster, please.” And all he had to do was ask.
Dougie complies with his wishes as his darts out his tongue, swirls it around his member - fast but compliant to the speed of his mouth moving on and off the stretch of skin. And Robert feels himself getting closer and closer, his fingertips pressing into his scalp as the build up becomes more and more tense. And he can feel it, fucking, seconds away, and,
“Come on,” because screw tact - screw fucking stamina.
He’s almost. there. When his phone vibrates in his pocket on the bathroom.
Robert wants to tell him to forget about it and finish but Dougie; he’s already got his mouth off his cock. And, fuck, he wants to ask what kind of right he has - answering his phone - but it’s only a text message.
“It’s from Susan,” he says, showing him the screen.
The message is: discretion.
Fuck. He’s not screwed - Susan doesn’t get worked up over these types of things - but he has to fucking finish. But Dougie’s off his knees and he’s fixing his hair and he’s smirking. He’s two seconds away from speaking when Robert has one hand to the back of his neck and he’s pulling him into a kiss. Hot and heavy.
The boy knows how to take a hint - hand immediately going for his cock and wraps his fingers around and starts stroking. Two, long and slow, and the rest, fast and desperate. To get him off. And it doesn’t take long - just over the time it takes for them to run out of air - and he’s coming right. onto. the boy’s. pants.
He wishes he could fucking care but he’s too busy being spent, forehead pressing into his shoulder, as he breathes.
Then, then there’s another vibration. This time closer and pressing into his thigh. And Dougie shuffles, curses under his breath as his hand snakes into his pocket and he starts fumbling with his phone. He presses the keypad - fast - as he types out a message and hits send.
“Fuck you, Harry,” his says under his breath as he shows him the previous message:
Dipshit movie’s over. seriously. you did this tonight?