Saturday Skin
Title: Saturday Skin
Author: Amanda, who goes by the aliasapodiopsys
Pairing: Rilex
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Even though he isn’t looking at him, Rian can see Alex’s expression in his head. He can hear the tiny little hitches in his breath every time the sharpie presses a little harder, making the skin around the colored line turn pink.
Disclaimer: do not own, please don't steal etc. title and cut belong to Sparks the Rescue.
A/N: my current occupation is Gabe's personal writing bitch, I'm just writing whatever he wants pretty much. so more dedications to cantsaythursday yay~ i have a very very short epilogue idea for this that was originally going to be the ending scene for this fic, but i don't think it quite fit with the general vibe that this one had going on, so it'll potentially be posted later tonight or so if i can write it. also, in case you don't work it out, Alex has a kink for being written on.
tumblr is here, br0.
cum tell me what you think i will not be appreciative if you read it and then make like a tree and leave.
Alex wakes up to Rian leaned over him, wearing only a pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips. He’s got this concentrated expression on his face, for a split second Alex’s sleep addled brain thinks that he’s like, jerking off on him or something, and it wouldn’t surprise him because he’s done it before.
He realizes that he isn’t jerking off on him - he’s looking at a set of sharpie markers that are lying on the bedspread next to him, a whole range of colors. There’s light filtering in through the curtains, weak, grey light.
“Time’s it?” he croaks, voice scratchy with sleep.
Rian lifts his eyes to look at him, moving so he can straddle Alex’s hips. “A little bit before six,” he says, pulling the cap off of a black sharpie marker. Alex wants to ask him why he’s awake, why he’s even alive and functioning before eleven in the morning on a saturday, what he’s doing with the markers.
It’s too early for him to be doing simple math - two plus two equals four. Sharpie markers plus Rian equals?
The edge of his shirt is pushed up, falling right above his belly button. Alex is half asleep, watching Rian through slitted eyes. It is honestly too fucking early for anything right now. It’s like a jolt of electricity when the tip of the pen touches his skin, a black heart being traced around his navel.
He’s not quite wide awake, but he’s definitely not sleepy anymore, a gentle thrumming rushing through his veins, under his skin. Alex knows exactly what Rian is doing, but he doesn’t know why he’s doing it at six in the morning of all the possible times available to them during the day.
Rian’s lip is caught between his teeth, expression focused as he writes things next to the heart. He can’t read them, not in Rian’s semi-messy handwriting, and not upside-down. The press of the felt tip is smooth against his skin; it makes his eyelashes flutter and his skin burn.
Heat is uncurling slowly in the pit of his stomach, this tiny little fire that is going to building and build and build. Rian is still writing things on his skin, a spiral around the heart on his navel. Letters are decipherable - words aren’t quite. Alex can make out the word love, written in swirly cursive letters.
The cap makes a distinguishable sound as Rian covers the black one up, picking up another color and carefully putting the black sharpie down, making sure it doesn’t roll off the bed. This new one is red, he colors in the heart with careful lines, drawing another tiny little red heart on the inside of the creases of his hipbones.
Even though he isn’t looking at him, Rian can see Alex’s expression in his head. He can hear the tiny little hitches in his breath every time the sharpie presses a little harder, making the skin around the colored line turn pink.
The t-shirt Alex sleeps in is pushed further up, exposing his ribs and Rian draws along them, writes on them, words and letters and lyrics to songs that are stuck in his head. Hellogoodbye and Bowling For Soup and Duran Duran decorate his ribcage, swirls and hearts and smiles adorning the words.
There’s a space between the songs on his ribs and the spiral around his belly button. Rian fills it with words, starting on the left side and moving over to the right, color changing from red to blue half way through. Alex can’t read what he’s writing, but he sucks in a breath every time the marker leaves his skin, only to press back down and leave more ink in it’s wake.
He writes secrets on his skin, things that aren’t secrets to Alex but are to the rest of the world. Alex’s skin is like his diary, like the horcrux diary in Harry Potter, letting the ink sink into it and disappear so he can write more and more and more.
Words like love and always you and fucking perfect are traced around the edge of his boxers, y’s and g’s and p’s dipping under the waistband. Alex breathes slowly through his nose, fingers curled loosely into the sheets. Rian’s handwriting gets smaller and smaller as he keeps writing, keeps drawing little doodles of eyes and trees and cats.
Rian shuffles backwards, moving so he can kneel down by his feet instead. He picks up the pink sharpie marker, dropping the blue one without capping it. He’s not worried about the sheets, they can be washed and right now he just wants to decorate Alex’s skin.
A pink daisy chain is drawn across his left ankle, words and drawings filling the space as he works his way up. When he lifts his eyes, slowly, looking at the colors etched onto his canvas (it doesn’t even need to be permanent, but it’s there, even for a little while)
His boxers are tented, shirt edging further up as he squirms. Rian presses open mouthed kisses up his body, biting lightly at the insides of his thighs, mouthing slowly at the front of his boxers. Alex’s hips arch up, but Rian just looks up at him and smiles inanely, hands on his knees, pushing his legs apart.
The red sharpie finds it’s way back into his hands. He looks down at the pale skin on the inside of his thighs, a blank canvas for him to do what he wants. Alex props himself on his elbows, lips parted just slightly, just enough. Rian bends his head, watching as he writes words onto the insides of his thighs, tip of the pen making the skin turn white and then red, framing their secrets.
Even upsidedown, Alex can make out some of the words that Rian is writing. Cum and mouth and fuck and want. His hips arch up slightly, and Rian just shakes his head a little, uses his hand to push them back down and then slings the hand he’s not writing with across his hips so he can’t move. He doesn’t look at him while he does that, keeps filling the skin on his thighs with more and more words, not all of them sexual.
It takes fifteen more minutes for him to run out of space, his legs and chest and arms covered in words and thoughts and drawings. He’s watching Alex thoughtfully, watching the way he keeps shifting his hips, just a little bit. Rian puts the sharpie down, fingers clutching the edges of his boxers as he pulls them down. The front of them has a damp spot from where Alex’s cock is leaking.
Still Rian doesn’t touch him properly. He’s drawing this out, literally and figuratively, aqua-green sharpie marker pressing semi-permanent tattoos into the skin that his boxers had been covering. They curve over his hipbones, into the creases where his thighs meet his hips.
Alex skin is humming, heat curling in tendrils through his stomach. He can’t stay still, he wants.
“Over,” Rian says, voice velvety smooth as he taps Alex’s hip with his sharpie marker. Alex’s eyes follow the sharpie marker as it taps a slow beat against his hip. He turns over so he’s on his front, his back and thighs open, a brand new blank canvas for Rian to paint.
“Please.” is all Alex says, softly, head tucked into his arms.
He starts writing in black again, starting at the top of his left shoulder, words spilling across his skin and over the slope of his shoulder blades.
Yours forever mine always love you like woah never gonna give you up beautiful gorgeous sexy forever love your voice love the sounds you make love the way you walk the way you talk i love your words i love you lovelust always you right from the beginning yours mine ours
Rian writes down to the center of his back, words spilling out of the tip of the pen. They’re not even complete sentences, words and phrases decorating his back. Alex’s hips keep rolling in slow motions, against the mattress, perfect sounds coming out of his mouth. He skin is prickling and humming and it feels so good, the press of the pen and Rian’s words sinking slowly into his flesh.
“What are you writing?” Alex’s voice is loud in the quiet room, slightly high pitched. Rian pauses, looking up at him, bottom lip still caught between his teeth.
His lips curl up at the corners, eyes twinkling and it’s this look that’s so adoring and filled with love and affection. “Everything.” is his answer. It makes Alex giddy, almost, Rian is his everything and it works the same way around, vica versa: everything.
“Everything,” he repeats, voice quieter, but Rian has already looked back down, tip of the red sharpie pressing against his skin.
He picks up another sharpie, in pale pink, uncapping it and propping the lid between his lips. He’s encasing the words he’s written in a vine with roses on it, promising him forever and always. He adds details in other shades, pink and yellow and green and red.
“I’m almost done baby,” Rian promises, one hand holding his hip so he can’t move anymore, because it was impossible to write neatly while Alex kept circling his hips against the mattress.
He writes the last two words in black, carefully inking them onto his skin in cursive, the way his teachers taught him the whole way through grade school (they insisted he’d use cursive in life later on and this is the only time he actually has.)
Alex’s back arches as Rian ducks his head, blowing slowly on the ink to make it dry faster. His skin feels pulled tight underneath the ink, his blood humming and heart racing. He’s been mostly silent for the whole thing, save for the soft moans and gasps that escaped his mouth because he can’t help himself.
A soft whine escapes his throat. “Hey,” Rian murmurs, hands bracketing his hips, kissing his shoulder blade, tongue darting out to taste the skin (and ink) that’s under his lips. “Hey, I’ve got you,”
His hands are hot and heavy on Alex, turning him over so he’s on his back again. Rian leans forwards and catches his lips, sharing a kiss that’s dancing the line between chaste and dirtyhot. Alex’s skin tingles as his fingers chase up and down, tracing over the words and pictures that he put there.
“Please,” Alex whispers again, and Rian nods, biting at his lower lip.
A sharpie marker catches his eye. He picks it up and uncaps it with his teeth, taking hold of Alex’s wrist and turning his hand over so the palm was facing the ceiling. He starts drawing a circle, tracing over it lazily and then pressing harder as he goes, a constant press of pen-tip to his skin. His other hand takes a hold of cock, stroking almost lazily at the same pace that the pen is drawing circles on the palm of his hand. Alex whines again, high pitched, his hips lifting in a thrusting motion to try and get Rian to do more.
He smears pre-come across the head of dick with his thumb, making the slide a little bit easier. Alex is already close (so fucking close) on the brink of falling into one of the best orgasms he’s had in a while: he’s being written on and has Rian’s hand on his dick and he is so close to falling apart.
“Rian,” he whimpers, hips raising desperately. His vision is starting to blur at the edges, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. RIan brings his mouth down to his shoulder, sucking a deep blue mark onto the skin. The pen is still moving, fast messy circles on the palm of his hand, almost completely black from where he’s gone out of the lines.
Alex comes with a broken whine, back arched like a bow. Rian keeps drawing on him through it, pressing the tip harder into his skin until his breathing has slowed down, leveled out. “Fuck, wow,” Alex whispers, one hand stroking vaguelly at Rian’s arm. He nods, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Rian’s let go of the pen and it’s lying on the bed now, a black line drawn on the sheets.
The clock’s face is blinking 6:59 a.m. in red; he’s half asleep when Rian gets out of the bed. “Where’re you going?” he asks, struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Bathroom. Or I could jerk off on your face, it’s up to you,” he teases, turning around with a raised eyebrow and, sure enough, he can tell he’s hard through his sweatpants.
“I can -” Alex starts, but he’s broken off by this huge, jaw splitting yawn which completely contradicts the sentence he’d started to make.
Rian laughs and shakes his head. “It’s cool. You owe me, though. Go back to sleep,” he says, and then turns around again. Alex is asleep before Rian’s hand touches the doorknob.
Epilogue.
Author: Amanda, who goes by the aliasapodiopsys
Pairing: Rilex
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Even though he isn’t looking at him, Rian can see Alex’s expression in his head. He can hear the tiny little hitches in his breath every time the sharpie presses a little harder, making the skin around the colored line turn pink.
Disclaimer: do not own, please don't steal etc. title and cut belong to Sparks the Rescue.
A/N: my current occupation is Gabe's personal writing bitch, I'm just writing whatever he wants pretty much. so more dedications to cantsaythursday yay~ i have a very very short epilogue idea for this that was originally going to be the ending scene for this fic, but i don't think it quite fit with the general vibe that this one had going on, so it'll potentially be posted later tonight or so if i can write it. also, in case you don't work it out, Alex has a kink for being written on.
tumblr is here, br0.
cum tell me what you think i will not be appreciative if you read it and then make like a tree and leave.
Alex wakes up to Rian leaned over him, wearing only a pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips. He’s got this concentrated expression on his face, for a split second Alex’s sleep addled brain thinks that he’s like, jerking off on him or something, and it wouldn’t surprise him because he’s done it before.
He realizes that he isn’t jerking off on him - he’s looking at a set of sharpie markers that are lying on the bedspread next to him, a whole range of colors. There’s light filtering in through the curtains, weak, grey light.
“Time’s it?” he croaks, voice scratchy with sleep.
Rian lifts his eyes to look at him, moving so he can straddle Alex’s hips. “A little bit before six,” he says, pulling the cap off of a black sharpie marker. Alex wants to ask him why he’s awake, why he’s even alive and functioning before eleven in the morning on a saturday, what he’s doing with the markers.
It’s too early for him to be doing simple math - two plus two equals four. Sharpie markers plus Rian equals?
The edge of his shirt is pushed up, falling right above his belly button. Alex is half asleep, watching Rian through slitted eyes. It is honestly too fucking early for anything right now. It’s like a jolt of electricity when the tip of the pen touches his skin, a black heart being traced around his navel.
He’s not quite wide awake, but he’s definitely not sleepy anymore, a gentle thrumming rushing through his veins, under his skin. Alex knows exactly what Rian is doing, but he doesn’t know why he’s doing it at six in the morning of all the possible times available to them during the day.
Rian’s lip is caught between his teeth, expression focused as he writes things next to the heart. He can’t read them, not in Rian’s semi-messy handwriting, and not upside-down. The press of the felt tip is smooth against his skin; it makes his eyelashes flutter and his skin burn.
Heat is uncurling slowly in the pit of his stomach, this tiny little fire that is going to building and build and build. Rian is still writing things on his skin, a spiral around the heart on his navel. Letters are decipherable - words aren’t quite. Alex can make out the word love, written in swirly cursive letters.
The cap makes a distinguishable sound as Rian covers the black one up, picking up another color and carefully putting the black sharpie down, making sure it doesn’t roll off the bed. This new one is red, he colors in the heart with careful lines, drawing another tiny little red heart on the inside of the creases of his hipbones.
Even though he isn’t looking at him, Rian can see Alex’s expression in his head. He can hear the tiny little hitches in his breath every time the sharpie presses a little harder, making the skin around the colored line turn pink.
The t-shirt Alex sleeps in is pushed further up, exposing his ribs and Rian draws along them, writes on them, words and letters and lyrics to songs that are stuck in his head. Hellogoodbye and Bowling For Soup and Duran Duran decorate his ribcage, swirls and hearts and smiles adorning the words.
There’s a space between the songs on his ribs and the spiral around his belly button. Rian fills it with words, starting on the left side and moving over to the right, color changing from red to blue half way through. Alex can’t read what he’s writing, but he sucks in a breath every time the marker leaves his skin, only to press back down and leave more ink in it’s wake.
He writes secrets on his skin, things that aren’t secrets to Alex but are to the rest of the world. Alex’s skin is like his diary, like the horcrux diary in Harry Potter, letting the ink sink into it and disappear so he can write more and more and more.
Words like love and always you and fucking perfect are traced around the edge of his boxers, y’s and g’s and p’s dipping under the waistband. Alex breathes slowly through his nose, fingers curled loosely into the sheets. Rian’s handwriting gets smaller and smaller as he keeps writing, keeps drawing little doodles of eyes and trees and cats.
Rian shuffles backwards, moving so he can kneel down by his feet instead. He picks up the pink sharpie marker, dropping the blue one without capping it. He’s not worried about the sheets, they can be washed and right now he just wants to decorate Alex’s skin.
A pink daisy chain is drawn across his left ankle, words and drawings filling the space as he works his way up. When he lifts his eyes, slowly, looking at the colors etched onto his canvas (it doesn’t even need to be permanent, but it’s there, even for a little while)
His boxers are tented, shirt edging further up as he squirms. Rian presses open mouthed kisses up his body, biting lightly at the insides of his thighs, mouthing slowly at the front of his boxers. Alex’s hips arch up, but Rian just looks up at him and smiles inanely, hands on his knees, pushing his legs apart.
The red sharpie finds it’s way back into his hands. He looks down at the pale skin on the inside of his thighs, a blank canvas for him to do what he wants. Alex props himself on his elbows, lips parted just slightly, just enough. Rian bends his head, watching as he writes words onto the insides of his thighs, tip of the pen making the skin turn white and then red, framing their secrets.
Even upsidedown, Alex can make out some of the words that Rian is writing. Cum and mouth and fuck and want. His hips arch up slightly, and Rian just shakes his head a little, uses his hand to push them back down and then slings the hand he’s not writing with across his hips so he can’t move. He doesn’t look at him while he does that, keeps filling the skin on his thighs with more and more words, not all of them sexual.
It takes fifteen more minutes for him to run out of space, his legs and chest and arms covered in words and thoughts and drawings. He’s watching Alex thoughtfully, watching the way he keeps shifting his hips, just a little bit. Rian puts the sharpie down, fingers clutching the edges of his boxers as he pulls them down. The front of them has a damp spot from where Alex’s cock is leaking.
Still Rian doesn’t touch him properly. He’s drawing this out, literally and figuratively, aqua-green sharpie marker pressing semi-permanent tattoos into the skin that his boxers had been covering. They curve over his hipbones, into the creases where his thighs meet his hips.
Alex skin is humming, heat curling in tendrils through his stomach. He can’t stay still, he wants.
“Over,” Rian says, voice velvety smooth as he taps Alex’s hip with his sharpie marker. Alex’s eyes follow the sharpie marker as it taps a slow beat against his hip. He turns over so he’s on his front, his back and thighs open, a brand new blank canvas for Rian to paint.
“Please.” is all Alex says, softly, head tucked into his arms.
He starts writing in black again, starting at the top of his left shoulder, words spilling across his skin and over the slope of his shoulder blades.
Yours forever mine always love you like woah never gonna give you up beautiful gorgeous sexy forever love your voice love the sounds you make love the way you walk the way you talk i love your words i love you lovelust always you right from the beginning yours mine ours
Rian writes down to the center of his back, words spilling out of the tip of the pen. They’re not even complete sentences, words and phrases decorating his back. Alex’s hips keep rolling in slow motions, against the mattress, perfect sounds coming out of his mouth. He skin is prickling and humming and it feels so good, the press of the pen and Rian’s words sinking slowly into his flesh.
“What are you writing?” Alex’s voice is loud in the quiet room, slightly high pitched. Rian pauses, looking up at him, bottom lip still caught between his teeth.
His lips curl up at the corners, eyes twinkling and it’s this look that’s so adoring and filled with love and affection. “Everything.” is his answer. It makes Alex giddy, almost, Rian is his everything and it works the same way around, vica versa: everything.
“Everything,” he repeats, voice quieter, but Rian has already looked back down, tip of the red sharpie pressing against his skin.
He picks up another sharpie, in pale pink, uncapping it and propping the lid between his lips. He’s encasing the words he’s written in a vine with roses on it, promising him forever and always. He adds details in other shades, pink and yellow and green and red.
“I’m almost done baby,” Rian promises, one hand holding his hip so he can’t move anymore, because it was impossible to write neatly while Alex kept circling his hips against the mattress.
He writes the last two words in black, carefully inking them onto his skin in cursive, the way his teachers taught him the whole way through grade school (they insisted he’d use cursive in life later on and this is the only time he actually has.)
Alex’s back arches as Rian ducks his head, blowing slowly on the ink to make it dry faster. His skin feels pulled tight underneath the ink, his blood humming and heart racing. He’s been mostly silent for the whole thing, save for the soft moans and gasps that escaped his mouth because he can’t help himself.
A soft whine escapes his throat. “Hey,” Rian murmurs, hands bracketing his hips, kissing his shoulder blade, tongue darting out to taste the skin (and ink) that’s under his lips. “Hey, I’ve got you,”
His hands are hot and heavy on Alex, turning him over so he’s on his back again. Rian leans forwards and catches his lips, sharing a kiss that’s dancing the line between chaste and dirtyhot. Alex’s skin tingles as his fingers chase up and down, tracing over the words and pictures that he put there.
“Please,” Alex whispers again, and Rian nods, biting at his lower lip.
A sharpie marker catches his eye. He picks it up and uncaps it with his teeth, taking hold of Alex’s wrist and turning his hand over so the palm was facing the ceiling. He starts drawing a circle, tracing over it lazily and then pressing harder as he goes, a constant press of pen-tip to his skin. His other hand takes a hold of cock, stroking almost lazily at the same pace that the pen is drawing circles on the palm of his hand. Alex whines again, high pitched, his hips lifting in a thrusting motion to try and get Rian to do more.
He smears pre-come across the head of dick with his thumb, making the slide a little bit easier. Alex is already close (so fucking close) on the brink of falling into one of the best orgasms he’s had in a while: he’s being written on and has Rian’s hand on his dick and he is so close to falling apart.
“Rian,” he whimpers, hips raising desperately. His vision is starting to blur at the edges, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. RIan brings his mouth down to his shoulder, sucking a deep blue mark onto the skin. The pen is still moving, fast messy circles on the palm of his hand, almost completely black from where he’s gone out of the lines.
Alex comes with a broken whine, back arched like a bow. Rian keeps drawing on him through it, pressing the tip harder into his skin until his breathing has slowed down, leveled out. “Fuck, wow,” Alex whispers, one hand stroking vaguelly at Rian’s arm. He nods, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Rian’s let go of the pen and it’s lying on the bed now, a black line drawn on the sheets.
The clock’s face is blinking 6:59 a.m. in red; he’s half asleep when Rian gets out of the bed. “Where’re you going?” he asks, struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Bathroom. Or I could jerk off on your face, it’s up to you,” he teases, turning around with a raised eyebrow and, sure enough, he can tell he’s hard through his sweatpants.
“I can -” Alex starts, but he’s broken off by this huge, jaw splitting yawn which completely contradicts the sentence he’d started to make.
Rian laughs and shakes his head. “It’s cool. You owe me, though. Go back to sleep,” he says, and then turns around again. Alex is asleep before Rian’s hand touches the doorknob.
Epilogue.