TLR: To Conjure Up The Ghost
Fandom: The Last Remnant
Main characters: David, Rush
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Rush/David
Contains: Angst, sex (masturbation)
Rating: NC17
Summary: Rush isn't gone, not quite; David can bring him back.
Notes: Seth Lakeman's The Ghost of You doesn't fit in tone, but it was on my mind somehow anyway. The title is from that.
"Can you feel this?" David asks. It still feels strange, talking to himself, but he can feel Rush there, taking shape, stronger every day. He knows it's real, that Rush is real, that soon he will come home -- that every time he speaks to him, with all the things he feels for him, he is making Rush stronger. So it's not so strange, really, to lie back on his bed, where he and Rush lay together so many times, and touch himself. Gently, gently at first, his cock hardening under the feather-light brushes of his fingertips.
'Yes,' Rush whispers at the back of his mind. He should not sound breathless, given that he is not corporeal, but something in his voice is just like the familiar breathlessness David loves.
Rush did not touch him like this. Rush would have thought it too much of a tease: he is direct, eager, relentless in his onslaught of David's senses. David takes a breath and wraps his hand around his cock, flicks his thumb over the tip. He finds the sensitive spot where, if he keeps rubbing, it is almost too much. He senses Rush's eagerness in the back of his mind, and he touches himself as Rush would, almost to the edge of pain but still so good, until his head presses back into the pillow and his hips arch up, and it's not just indulgent, letting Rush see how he wants him, but need.
'You never did let me watch you do this,' Rush says, overlaid with a sense of teasing.
"I will," David promises, and his voice is husky, deeper, and he wishes Rush's body were beneath his hands, pressed up against his own body, so he could feel the shiver that that always elicits. "Anything, Rush."
'I'm gonna hold you to that,' Rush says. 'Go on. Wanna feel you.'
David nods, squeezing his cock so that his breath comes out in a sharp little gasp. He draws his legs up, as he would to make space for Rush between them. He keeps one hand on his cock, thumb repeatedly brushing over that spot under the head, and trails one hand down -- slow, tracing the curves of his balls, just barely brushing over his hole.
'Get oil,' Rush says, impatient, so that it almost sounds like a command. David smiles, knowing that tone, and reaches for the oil he set ready. He gets it over his fingers, messy in his impatience, and in the back of his mind Rush makes a sound of approval.
"I'm becoming as careless as you, in your absence," David says, softly. The fact that he, instead of Rush, has spilt some of the oil should not be painful, but --
'Don't think about it,' Rush says. 'Go on. Touch yourself, Dave. It's gonna be so good.'
So David does, teasing for only a moment before pushing one finger in, going deep right away because Rush would, because Rush always wants so badly to make David moan, to undo him with the pleasure. He squeezes around his fingers, wondering how much of this Rush can sense. If his whole body is like a phantom limb, aching with the loss. He closes his eyes tightly, wills that away, and pushes a second finger in as well -- Rush would never hurt him, but he always goes just fast enough that it's always a bit of a push, a stretch, to open for him.
'Yeah,' Rush says, and other meaningless things like that, encouragement, warm and reassuringly real. David slides his fingers deeper, squeezes his cock, pushing his head back into the pillow again as he twists his fingers just right inside himself. The tip of his cock is slick now, wet with precome, and he spreads the slick with his thumb, finds the oil again to slick his hand more. It won't take long like this, especially with Rush's voice in the back of his mind, but David lets himself be indulgent all the same.
"Rush," he gasps aloud, rubbing his fingers over his prostate and feeling the tightening of all his muscles, the breathless jagged edge of orgasm close, closer --
'Come on, Dave -- '
He cries out something inarticulate when he comes, not Rush's name, a wordless plea, a close cousin to a sob. It is good, it is, sweeping through him like wildfire, but it's not enough, because it's not even a quarter of what he needs.
He lies quiet afterwards, wiping his hand clean on the sheet. He doesn't feel the same languor he feels when Rush lies in this bed with him: he's tired, yes, but it's not a comfortable tiredness, not something he wants to sink down into.
'Are you crying?' Rush asks, his voice quiet, hurt.
"No," David says, his face wet.
'I am coming back. You know that, right?'
David rolls over, burying his face in the pillow beside him, a poor substitute for the warm living curve of Rush's shoulder. "I know."
This was originally posted here, on Dreamwidth. I would prefer people to comment and subscribe to me there, if you already have an account; I'll happily share Dreamwidth invites, if you want to make an account. Comments aren't disabled here on LJ, though.
Main characters: David, Rush
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Rush/David
Contains: Angst, sex (masturbation)
Rating: NC17
Summary: Rush isn't gone, not quite; David can bring him back.
Notes: Seth Lakeman's The Ghost of You doesn't fit in tone, but it was on my mind somehow anyway. The title is from that.
"Can you feel this?" David asks. It still feels strange, talking to himself, but he can feel Rush there, taking shape, stronger every day. He knows it's real, that Rush is real, that soon he will come home -- that every time he speaks to him, with all the things he feels for him, he is making Rush stronger. So it's not so strange, really, to lie back on his bed, where he and Rush lay together so many times, and touch himself. Gently, gently at first, his cock hardening under the feather-light brushes of his fingertips.
'Yes,' Rush whispers at the back of his mind. He should not sound breathless, given that he is not corporeal, but something in his voice is just like the familiar breathlessness David loves.
Rush did not touch him like this. Rush would have thought it too much of a tease: he is direct, eager, relentless in his onslaught of David's senses. David takes a breath and wraps his hand around his cock, flicks his thumb over the tip. He finds the sensitive spot where, if he keeps rubbing, it is almost too much. He senses Rush's eagerness in the back of his mind, and he touches himself as Rush would, almost to the edge of pain but still so good, until his head presses back into the pillow and his hips arch up, and it's not just indulgent, letting Rush see how he wants him, but need.
'You never did let me watch you do this,' Rush says, overlaid with a sense of teasing.
"I will," David promises, and his voice is husky, deeper, and he wishes Rush's body were beneath his hands, pressed up against his own body, so he could feel the shiver that that always elicits. "Anything, Rush."
'I'm gonna hold you to that,' Rush says. 'Go on. Wanna feel you.'
David nods, squeezing his cock so that his breath comes out in a sharp little gasp. He draws his legs up, as he would to make space for Rush between them. He keeps one hand on his cock, thumb repeatedly brushing over that spot under the head, and trails one hand down -- slow, tracing the curves of his balls, just barely brushing over his hole.
'Get oil,' Rush says, impatient, so that it almost sounds like a command. David smiles, knowing that tone, and reaches for the oil he set ready. He gets it over his fingers, messy in his impatience, and in the back of his mind Rush makes a sound of approval.
"I'm becoming as careless as you, in your absence," David says, softly. The fact that he, instead of Rush, has spilt some of the oil should not be painful, but --
'Don't think about it,' Rush says. 'Go on. Touch yourself, Dave. It's gonna be so good.'
So David does, teasing for only a moment before pushing one finger in, going deep right away because Rush would, because Rush always wants so badly to make David moan, to undo him with the pleasure. He squeezes around his fingers, wondering how much of this Rush can sense. If his whole body is like a phantom limb, aching with the loss. He closes his eyes tightly, wills that away, and pushes a second finger in as well -- Rush would never hurt him, but he always goes just fast enough that it's always a bit of a push, a stretch, to open for him.
'Yeah,' Rush says, and other meaningless things like that, encouragement, warm and reassuringly real. David slides his fingers deeper, squeezes his cock, pushing his head back into the pillow again as he twists his fingers just right inside himself. The tip of his cock is slick now, wet with precome, and he spreads the slick with his thumb, finds the oil again to slick his hand more. It won't take long like this, especially with Rush's voice in the back of his mind, but David lets himself be indulgent all the same.
"Rush," he gasps aloud, rubbing his fingers over his prostate and feeling the tightening of all his muscles, the breathless jagged edge of orgasm close, closer --
'Come on, Dave -- '
He cries out something inarticulate when he comes, not Rush's name, a wordless plea, a close cousin to a sob. It is good, it is, sweeping through him like wildfire, but it's not enough, because it's not even a quarter of what he needs.
He lies quiet afterwards, wiping his hand clean on the sheet. He doesn't feel the same languor he feels when Rush lies in this bed with him: he's tired, yes, but it's not a comfortable tiredness, not something he wants to sink down into.
'Are you crying?' Rush asks, his voice quiet, hurt.
"No," David says, his face wet.
'I am coming back. You know that, right?'
David rolls over, burying his face in the pillow beside him, a poor substitute for the warm living curve of Rush's shoulder. "I know."
This was originally posted here, on Dreamwidth. I would prefer people to comment and subscribe to me there, if you already have an account; I'll happily share Dreamwidth invites, if you want to make an account. Comments aren't disabled here on LJ, though.