(no subject)
Title: What One Man Can Do
Pairing: Ray, Travis
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1603
Summary: After twenty years the world is just starting to go back to normal, and over half the citizens of the United States still have reservations about sex. Ray's part of a minority goverment group trying to reintroduce sex to the people.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Ray’s the last in his group of friends to join the government movement. Not because he doesn’t believe. He does. He was part of the silent majority that voted them in. Or at least that’s what the public has been told, that despite vocal protests the majority must have been ready for a change. James has never come right out and said it, and Ray has never asked, but James was a ballot counter. He was also one of the first thousand to join the PPFS, way before it became cool and edgy. You only need a few deck stackers to make everything go the way you want.
He does believe. He just doesn’t know where he fits in to their platform. Ray’s not sure he wants to be frontline like Jamia and Frank with their three children. Nothing says I have a lot of sex more than a couple with multiple children. Five years ago it would have been obscene, insane. The People’s Party For Sex won a hard battle when a few brave women started getting pregnant again. The courage it must have taken Jamia to not only have sex, but without a condom, is astonishing. Lily and Cherry are two and it still sometimes boggles Ray’s mind they exist.
But if not procreation, then how to show his support? It’s the question he throws back at Lindsey and Gerard when they ask if he’d consider activism, a little overwhelmed under the double stare. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. It’s not like I’m against it. I mean look at the group I hang out with. But it’s not like I can suddenly show off a kid. I’m not like Frank and Jamia. I don’t even have a girlfriend or boyfriend.”
“There are groups-”
“I don’t want to join a one night stand mailing group.” He’s not like Mikey and Alicia, who love each other but won’t betray the cause by moving in together and being two less bodies in an already sparse club. As Mikey says, ‘if just one person is attracted I’ve done my job for today’. He can’t begrudge them their commitment to the orgasmist movement, but he can’t follow them. He doesn’t want to fuck someone just to shout at society to change.
Lindsey pats his arm. “Just spread the word desire is safe again, then. The president only has another year, and who knows who’ll be ballot counters next time?”
For a while Ray contents himself with spreading the truth. There’s a lot of it the average citizen doesn’t know. Truffets disease was not sent by God to punish lusty souls, it was a genetically modified super bug created and paid for by Fundies that made the twenty first century’s Westboro church look positively rational. Concentration camps for the sexually active were evil, not the pilar of safety the Fundie media claimed. While it’s true that the massive population drop from the disease and the next to zero birth rate from the cure were good for resource expenditure, a halved population was horrible for industry. That the first administration to deal with the Truffets crisis put suppressants into the water so people wouldn’t ever feel arousal to be drawn in by, and each successive president did the same.
The truth is that yes, for a long time having sex did pretty much mean certain death. Painful, bloody, pus-filled rotting death. But it’s not like that anymore. People can feel safe having sex. And they should know that.
When Ray has the chance to participate in a infomercial, he takes it. It’s a cool experience, even though they end up cutting his soundbite from the finished product. That’s how he gets into his second wave of activism. One of the crew members Ray strikes up a conversation with starts telling him all about the subliminal messages he’s been helping film. He even offers Ray the chance to check it out. Ray writes down the address. He’s not sure if he’s going to follow through, but he might as well give himself the chance to. Less than a week later he’s ringing the buzzer waiting to be let inside some random apartment block.
He’s greeted at the door on the fifth floor by a short man with sweeping bangs. He introduces himself as Pete, and Ray returns the favour with his name, though he expects Matt would have passed it on for screening already.
“You know what you’re here for, right? You can’t get hard, that’s just fine. But no running out of the room screaming you were misled.”
Ray nods, then frowns. Is this a verbal contract? “Are you recording this for legal purposes?”
Pete shakes his head. “None of this is legal.”
“I’m here so something sexy can be spliced into prime time television.” Yeah, come to think of it, it doesn’t sound very legal.
Pete smiles again. “Masturbation, specifically. It’s phase two. Phase one was nude stills. Clandestine is hoping one day we’ll be the first new distributor of pornographic films. But for now, just go into the room and jerk off. And follow any instructions you’re given.”
The room Ray is directed to is small. It doesn’t have a bed, just an armchair. Beds are probably saved for phase three. Ray pulls his pants off, canting his hips from side to side when they get stuck on the fleshy part of his thighs. Hopefully he won’t look fat on camera. It really is mostly muscle, that’s not just an excuse. His underwear comes off next, which Ray puts down on the floral fabric of the chair. There’s no telling how many naked people have sat in it, he’d like a bit of a barrier between his balls and every other guys’.
The guy behind the camera tells him to go, so Ray puts his hand on his soft cock. It’s kind of weird jerking off with someone watching, but really no more so than jerking off altogether. He only started doing it two years ago. Mikey Way kissed him on the lips and there was this strange rushing inside him, and Mikey somehow knew what he was feeling and recommended Ray try touching himself. A lot of times Ray still forgets to do it, forgets that his body likes it. He makes up for those times of sinking into the national stupor with things like this, things that let him reaffirm his orgasmist stance.
In front of the camera Ray pumps his curled hand. Only on the shaft of his cock- the head is more sensitive and if he goes for that it’ll be game over too soon. He can’t help but wonder if the cameraman is watching him for lighting and angle, or if he’s watching him. The first is understandable, but the second would be hot, in a weird way. If the guy filming him likes it, maybe his subliminal comeshot really will spark desire in the at home audience. If Ray can arouse just one person, he’s done his duty.
“Could you make more noise?”
Ray tries to comply. Noisy orgasms don’t come naturally to him. When he’s aroused he doesn’t open his mouth, he bites his lip. But Pete said listen to the man, so Ray tries. He must do well enough because the man doesn’t interrupt again until Ray’s coming, instructing in a near shout not to stop jerking off. Before Ray can think to explain that overstimulation isn’t a kink of his the man is darting forward, pulling a water pistol out of his pocket. When he presses the trigger white sprays all over Ray’s t-shirt. Ray grimaces but keeps his hand on his cock. It’s been implied he should act out a slow comedown, and he can at least try.
“Aaaand cut,” the guy says after a minute.
Ray looks for a box of kleenex to wipe his hand with, but as he doesn’t spot one he realises he might as well just use the edge of his shirt. The rest of it is a nasty wet wreck anyway.
“They’ve got Clandestine shirts, if you wanna wear one home,” the cameraman offers, coming out from behind his equipment again.
“Thanks, uh-”
“Travie. It’s not like I was treating you wrong, messing you up. They do it to every guy. Skibs did the same to me my first time.”
“Oh yeah? What did you do?” Because shit eating grin or not, Travie looks like the kind of guy that could fuck someone up.
“I asked if it was actual come or just a look alike. Turns out Pete has a patented recipe. It’s no one’s leftover jizz.”
“It’s weird though. I don’t think I would have minded.” No one’s ever come on his face but the idea seems hot to him.
Travis shrugs. “Everyone loves a good facial, guy or girl.”
“So you’re bisexual?” Not really the point of the conversation but Ray finds himself asking anyway.
“More like, I am pro orgasms. I don’t really care who I get them with.” He hastens to add “not that I think people that have a preference are a traitor to the cause. That’s stupid. Orgasms are orgasms, bottom line.”
“I have to go to work, and you have to...do more of this, I guess? But if you want to continue this conversation later?”
“I’ll call you, for sure. Pete’s got your information. Tonight?”
“Tonight works for me.” Ray might not have a boyfriend by the end of the night, but at least he’ll have some real conversation before the sex.