Fic: Sean Fucking Prick-tease Flanery
Title: Sean Fucking Prick-tease Flanery 1/1
Author: LadyJanelly
Pairing: Flandus
Rating: Probably NC-17 to be on the safe side.
Warnings: Slash, RPS, First time(ish), PWP
Disclaimer: I don't know them. Nothing I say is based on anything but the sick thoughts in my head.
Notes: Unbeta'ed. Sequel to "Fucken Brilliant," you'll probably want to read that first. http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=ladyjanelly&keyword=sfp/nr+rps&filter=all
"Sean Fucking Prick-tease Flanery," Norman swears under his breath. He drops the latch on the door of the narrow restroom stall. He frees his aching dick from his jeans with a deep sigh of relief. "Goddamn Sean." He hasn’t been this hard for this long since he was sixteen.
"'This isn't finished,' my ass." Three fucking hours of Professional-Sean, not an inappropriate touch, glance, word, had reduced him to this. Three fucking hours, lunch and a pack of cigarettes and he can still taste Sean's dick in his mouth, still hear Sean hissing his name in warning before he came.
The pea-green tile is cool under his left palm, his own skin hot in his right. Somewhere in that contrast is the promise of relief, and yeah, this isn't going to take long at all.
He's barely two strokes in when there's a clatter behind him--the latch flipping up, the door swinging in. He's jostled forward for a second, shins against the toilet, by the door and then by the warm body sliding in behind him. He has the barest glimpse of spiky hair and blue eyes before Sean cements himself against Norman's back, pulling them both to lean against the door.
"Starting without me?” Sean teases, his hands sliding over Norman’s chest, waist, down the front of his thighs, everywhere but the one place Norman would kill to have touched.
“Finishing without you too," he says, stroking himself like he expects Sean to stop him, which he really must, because he’s not surprised when Sean’s left arm snakes around the front of Norman’s shoulder, then around the back of his neck in a solid half-Nelson. Sean’s other hand grabs Norman’s wrist and, with just enough twist, just enough pressure, suddenly the hand Norman had been using to beat off with is held firmly behind his head in Sean’s left.
“Fuck!” he swears, and the air is cold and useless on his dick and there’s no friction at all and God he’s never had the patience for shit like this. He squirms, and thinks if he dropped his body weight while yanking his arm he could get out of this.
Norman thinks he must have struggled like he meant it, because Sean whispers “Tell me to stop and I will. Don’t, and you’re mine.”
There’s something so possessive, so hot when Sean says that, that all Norman can do is groan.
“That’s more like it.” Sean sounds so self-satisfied that Norman wants to smack him or suck him off, and he really wishes he knew which he wants more.
Sean takes full advantage of Norman’s completely exposed right side, grazing down the underside of his arm with his short fingernails, rubbing the palm of his hand over Norman's ribs. The frustratingly light touches continue until Norman's gasping and bucking in Sean's grip, desperate for something more, something real.
Just when he thinks he has to break Sean’s grip and take matters into his own hands, Sean offers his palm right in front of Norman’s mouth.
“Lick it,” Sean urges, and Norman would do just about anything to end this torture, so he does. Sean’s palm tastes like his cock, salt and smoke and skin.
“Wetter,” Sean whispers, and he tries again, shivering with anticipation. The mix of sexy and dirty is almost as arousing as the blend of safe and dangerous.
Then Sean's hand goes down and does this thing with the head of Norman's cock and every thought he may have had is burned out of his brain in one mind-frying instant.
Nobody has ever, ever, touched him like that, not even himself; he's not even sure he could. His entire body jumps as Sean cups the center of his hand around just the head of his penis and rolls it around like he's polishing the gear-shift knob of his '65 Cadillac.
Fuck, he thinks, not sure if he said it out loud. He'd never imagined something could be so good and intense that he can't even come, but it is.
Another roll and squeeze of Sean's hand and he feels every muscle in his body spasm. The back of his head whips back, but Sean's arm behind his neck keeps him from hitting the stall door.
"Easy, there," Sean teases him in Connor's voice.
"Oh, Fuck," Norman groans.
Sean takes pity on him then, and the hand on his cock shifts grip, stroking and pulling on him, swirling over the tip with each pass.
The orgasm sweeps over him like a white-hot wave, burning all thought away in front of it. For a second there is no grimy bathroom stall, no film crew wondering where the stars have gone, no Helena at home missing him. There's just him and Sean, and it's more than he can wrap his brain around.
Strong arms are holding him up, gently lowering Norman's hands, cleaning him with a wad of toilet paper before tucking him back in and zipping him up. Slow hands hold and pet him until he starts to come back down to himself, a vague sense of guilty disorientation nagging at the edges of his thoughts.
"I'm not gay," he rasps out. He feels Sean tense behind him, and maybe after one of the most intense orgasms of his life isn't the time to say that.
"Yeah?" He can hear the hurt, the defensiveness in his friend's voice, feel the heat of his breath on the back of his neck. "Yeah, me neither." Sean's hand slides into the front pocket of Norman's jeans. "And this isn't a key to my hotel room, and you aren't coming over after the shoot tonight, and I'm not going to show you ways to get off that you never dreamed of."
The warm support disappears from around Norman's waist as Sean jostles him forward again so he can get the door open to leave. He tenses for a Connor-like smack to the back of the head but it never comes.
Minutes pass before Norman's ready to go back to work, and even then he's not sure what the hell just happened.
Author: LadyJanelly
Pairing: Flandus
Rating: Probably NC-17 to be on the safe side.
Warnings: Slash, RPS, First time(ish), PWP
Disclaimer: I don't know them. Nothing I say is based on anything but the sick thoughts in my head.
Notes: Unbeta'ed. Sequel to "Fucken Brilliant," you'll probably want to read that first. http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=ladyjanelly&keyword=sfp/nr+rps&filter=all
"Sean Fucking Prick-tease Flanery," Norman swears under his breath. He drops the latch on the door of the narrow restroom stall. He frees his aching dick from his jeans with a deep sigh of relief. "Goddamn Sean." He hasn’t been this hard for this long since he was sixteen.
"'This isn't finished,' my ass." Three fucking hours of Professional-Sean, not an inappropriate touch, glance, word, had reduced him to this. Three fucking hours, lunch and a pack of cigarettes and he can still taste Sean's dick in his mouth, still hear Sean hissing his name in warning before he came.
The pea-green tile is cool under his left palm, his own skin hot in his right. Somewhere in that contrast is the promise of relief, and yeah, this isn't going to take long at all.
He's barely two strokes in when there's a clatter behind him--the latch flipping up, the door swinging in. He's jostled forward for a second, shins against the toilet, by the door and then by the warm body sliding in behind him. He has the barest glimpse of spiky hair and blue eyes before Sean cements himself against Norman's back, pulling them both to lean against the door.
"Starting without me?” Sean teases, his hands sliding over Norman’s chest, waist, down the front of his thighs, everywhere but the one place Norman would kill to have touched.
“Finishing without you too," he says, stroking himself like he expects Sean to stop him, which he really must, because he’s not surprised when Sean’s left arm snakes around the front of Norman’s shoulder, then around the back of his neck in a solid half-Nelson. Sean’s other hand grabs Norman’s wrist and, with just enough twist, just enough pressure, suddenly the hand Norman had been using to beat off with is held firmly behind his head in Sean’s left.
“Fuck!” he swears, and the air is cold and useless on his dick and there’s no friction at all and God he’s never had the patience for shit like this. He squirms, and thinks if he dropped his body weight while yanking his arm he could get out of this.
Norman thinks he must have struggled like he meant it, because Sean whispers “Tell me to stop and I will. Don’t, and you’re mine.”
There’s something so possessive, so hot when Sean says that, that all Norman can do is groan.
“That’s more like it.” Sean sounds so self-satisfied that Norman wants to smack him or suck him off, and he really wishes he knew which he wants more.
Sean takes full advantage of Norman’s completely exposed right side, grazing down the underside of his arm with his short fingernails, rubbing the palm of his hand over Norman's ribs. The frustratingly light touches continue until Norman's gasping and bucking in Sean's grip, desperate for something more, something real.
Just when he thinks he has to break Sean’s grip and take matters into his own hands, Sean offers his palm right in front of Norman’s mouth.
“Lick it,” Sean urges, and Norman would do just about anything to end this torture, so he does. Sean’s palm tastes like his cock, salt and smoke and skin.
“Wetter,” Sean whispers, and he tries again, shivering with anticipation. The mix of sexy and dirty is almost as arousing as the blend of safe and dangerous.
Then Sean's hand goes down and does this thing with the head of Norman's cock and every thought he may have had is burned out of his brain in one mind-frying instant.
Nobody has ever, ever, touched him like that, not even himself; he's not even sure he could. His entire body jumps as Sean cups the center of his hand around just the head of his penis and rolls it around like he's polishing the gear-shift knob of his '65 Cadillac.
Fuck, he thinks, not sure if he said it out loud. He'd never imagined something could be so good and intense that he can't even come, but it is.
Another roll and squeeze of Sean's hand and he feels every muscle in his body spasm. The back of his head whips back, but Sean's arm behind his neck keeps him from hitting the stall door.
"Easy, there," Sean teases him in Connor's voice.
"Oh, Fuck," Norman groans.
Sean takes pity on him then, and the hand on his cock shifts grip, stroking and pulling on him, swirling over the tip with each pass.
The orgasm sweeps over him like a white-hot wave, burning all thought away in front of it. For a second there is no grimy bathroom stall, no film crew wondering where the stars have gone, no Helena at home missing him. There's just him and Sean, and it's more than he can wrap his brain around.
Strong arms are holding him up, gently lowering Norman's hands, cleaning him with a wad of toilet paper before tucking him back in and zipping him up. Slow hands hold and pet him until he starts to come back down to himself, a vague sense of guilty disorientation nagging at the edges of his thoughts.
"I'm not gay," he rasps out. He feels Sean tense behind him, and maybe after one of the most intense orgasms of his life isn't the time to say that.
"Yeah?" He can hear the hurt, the defensiveness in his friend's voice, feel the heat of his breath on the back of his neck. "Yeah, me neither." Sean's hand slides into the front pocket of Norman's jeans. "And this isn't a key to my hotel room, and you aren't coming over after the shoot tonight, and I'm not going to show you ways to get off that you never dreamed of."
The warm support disappears from around Norman's waist as Sean jostles him forward again so he can get the door open to leave. He tenses for a Connor-like smack to the back of the head but it never comes.
Minutes pass before Norman's ready to go back to work, and even then he's not sure what the hell just happened.