here, have an excerpt from the James/Michael thing...
Sigh. It'll probably be done tomorrow. It grew another scene, which I quite like, but then I ended up cutting out a different bit (which had Hugh Jackman in it! maybe I'll post it as a deleted or alternate scene, sometime), but then that has required some revision. However, this opening scene is done, and I think it reads pretty well on its own, so... here, enjoy, and thanks for patience about the rest of it!
Title: Need (working title; I don't have the parenthetical figured out yet)
Word Count: 2,054 (this excerpt)
Rating: um...to be safe, let's say NC-17, even though there's no real sex, just a vibrator and vaguely D/s themes and the other things that go along with this series.
Notes: fits into the Universe of Porn, eventually, in between Stay and Touch. Once it's done, of course.
“Where’re your shoes?”
“I…don’t remember. I think I need pants before shoes, though.”
“Yes, thank you, very helpful.” Michael grabbed the first visible pair out of James’s side of the closet. Old, a little worn, and comfortable-looking; good. James would probably need that.
The early morning, around them, practically crackled with crispness, obligingly coaxing them into clothing; a cold front had arrived during the previous night, and seemed to have settled down to stay. The hotel room, on the other hand, offered vivid coziness as a bulwark against the bite of the air; this week’s accommodations appeared to be fighting to include every color in the spectrum, and winning.
James had taken one look and started laughing; Michael had wondered briefly whether the cost of comprehensive redecoration would be worth his sanity.
He’d admitted, eventually, after leaving James panting and blissful among them the previous night, that the rainbow-hued sheets might not be so bad. The carpet, on the other hand, constantly threatened to induce violent headaches; James had tried to help by finding the spare blankets in the closet and flinging them dramatically across the floor, which had led to a continuation of previous enjoyable activities but hadn’t done much about the still-visible vertiginous patterns.
At the moment, though, for once, he wasn’t looking at the carpet. He was looking at James. Who was studying him with an indecipherable expression.
“What? I’m allowed to take care of you. You’re-you know what you’re doing, today. For me.”
“Yes, but you’ve just tried to help me put on my pants.” But James stood there and let him do the zipper and the top button, despite that comment.
They did both know exactly what James was doing, for him, today. He’d asked, the night before. Had reminded James of a certain promise. Something he’d said he’d wear. On set. All day.
He’d asked again, in the morning, after James had woken up, blinking sleepiness out of jewel-shaded eyes. And James had blushed, every inch of naked skin going self-consciously pink, and had agreed.
“I can get dressed by myself, you know.”
“Not today, you can’t.” He found the warmest grey sweater-the fuzzy one, slightly too big, with the tiny v-neck-and tugged it over James’s head. Amused blue eyes emerged, on the other side, and met his.
“Are you going to be like this all day? Because I don’t mind-mostly-but I think other people might notice.”
“Not all day. Just for now. While I-while we can. Are you sure you’re comfortable?”
“Yes.” James ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down; wayward wisps popped up again, in merry defiance. “It’s…interesting.”
“Interesting?” Michael picked up the closest set of James’s fingerless gloves. He recognized this particular pair; he’d seen them on camera the week before. He made a mental note to buy a few more of those; if James had resorted to stealing Charles’s wardrobe, he’d probably lost his own again. And James should never have cold hands.
He held up the left one; James started to take it from him, and Michael raised both eyebrows at him, and James sighed, and offered the hand for adornment.
When Michael touched him, thumb brushing the starburst scattering of freckles over that slim wrist, James looked at him, standing there beside the bed, and smiled.
And suddenly it wasn’t just about the gloves, or about James getting cold too easily on icy mornings. The slide of wool along pale skin, fingers slipping into place, felt breathless and somehow sacred, the most intimate touch in the world.
They both looked at those hands, after. Couldn’t help it. Especially not when James left them cradled in Michael’s, and curled fingers in and out, testing, displaying, inviting.
The air, in the room, got a little warmer. Even the hideous hotel furniture went silent and leaned in to watch, rainbow sheets and all.
Michael carefully transferred both of those gloved hands to one of his, where uncovered fingertips rested against his wrist. Set the other hand on James’s hip, and pulled him in closer. Walked the hand over to the waist of those jeans, and then under, searching. Found what he was looking for, buried there. It welcomed his touch.
Earlier, he’d said, amused, “Orange?” and James had glared, defensively. “I’ve had it for years, okay? And it was the best option. The black one was sort of ominous, and an orange vibrator seemed more normal than purple or hot pink or blue, and yes, I realize what a bizarre sentence that was.”
“I wasn’t going to comment. James?”
“Yes?”
“I bought you a black one…”
“Yes, I know.” James had scowled at the carpet, and muttered something that sounded like “you’re not ominous.”
Which Michael had figured couldn’t be directed at the carpet, because the interlocking geometric patterns were, in fact, rather foreboding. “What?”
“I said that one isn’t ominous. Because you bought it. For me. All right?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Are we doing this, then? Because if you wait much longer I’m going to think you didn’t mean it.”
“Oh,” Michael had said, emphatically, because he couldn’t have James thinking that, “I meant it,” and then had bent James over the bed, and collected the lube and the wonderfully orange vibrator, and listened to James moan, as Michael opened him up and made him ready, wet and waiting. And then filled him, gently, more slowly than he’d meant to.
He’d been holding his breath, without realizing it. They were doing this. James was doing this, for him. Would be walking around, all day, caressed by his own vibrator, the vibrator that he was letting Michael slide inside him, at that exact moment. Wouldn’t remove it, wouldn’t find release or relief in orgasm, unless Michael told him to.
Leaning over James, who’d stayed stretched out beneath his hands, he’d been tempted to find his own release right there, cock rubbing against that firm ass, painting all those joyfully spiraling freckles with his own need, knowing that James would feel all of that and still not be allowed to come. Not until commanded.
He’d decided that that might be too cruel, though. And also they’d have to shower. Again.
And he’d glanced at the unsympathetic clock, and realized how little time they had, and had then gone through several colorful curses in his head, but had left James on the bed and started hunting for clothes.
Now he was starting to seriously question his own sense of priorities. They didn’t really have to be all that punctual, did they?
The gloved hands, in his, had trembled a little, with his explorations; when he tightened his hold on them, squeezing wrists together, James licked his lips. Intrigued, Michael moved the other hand away from the vibrator. Found unmistakable evidence of arousal, waiting for his touch.
“You’re already-you do like this idea, don’t you? Walking around, wearing this for me, being mine, in public?”
“Yes, sir.”
“…really?”
James’s expression suggested honest startlement at his own reply. “I didn’t mean to-I just-that just came out, I swear!”
“Hmm.” Michael studied him for a minute, the two of them standing close together in the crisp morning air, the beginnings of sunlight peeking inquisitively around the gap in the curtains. He hadn’t quite expected that first answer, either.
He thought maybe he understood, though. The memories, from the previous week, suggested themselves as an explanation: James giving him orders, wrist cuffs and fingertips and that voice like silk over steel. Himself listening. Obeying. Fantastic, yes. And he’d do it again in a heartbeat, if James offered. But that wasn’t what James needed from him, not really.
Reassertion, then. For both of them. That hadn’t been exactly why he’d reminded James of his promise today, but it suddenly made perfect sense regardless. Of course they needed this.
James hadn’t moved. Not even to go find his shoes. The advancing sun crept up and made dancing golden highlights in all that curling hair.
Michael put out one hand. Ran a finger along one cheek, touching soft skin and familiar freckles. James shut his eyes, briefly, in the sunlight, at the touch. Breathed in, just once.
“You would do anything I asked, right now, wouldn’t you? If I asked you to get on your knees, still dressed, with this-” He slid the other hand back under worn denim, across smooth curves. Found the end of the vibrator, hidden from view. Nudged, slightly. Heard the answering gasp. “-still inside you, and I told you to suck my cock, here, right before we leave?”
The ocean-water eyes widened, all glittering blue and anticipatory black in the morning light, and not expressing any sort of objection in the least. “Yes, sir.”
“I want that, too.” He eyed the clock. Inwardly swore. No time.
And as badly as he was tempted to say “fuck the schedule” and let them both be late, they did have to be professional. Which meant he had to get James to come back, a little, enough to remember that they were about to be on camera, anyway.
Even though he himself wanted to rip off all those just-assembled clothes and pounce on James right there.
He glared at the clock again. It informed him, unhelpfully, that they now had even less time.
Okay. Later, then. Definitely later. With emphasis on the definitely.
“James? Look at me, please. Now.”
The morning-glory eyes met his, waiting. Asking, wordlessly.
“I do want to. You know I want to. I want you. But not now. Now I need you to listen, all right? We have two minutes and you don’t have shoes on and we have to go. And I need you to not call me sir on the set. And remember that we’re in public. Despite this. And that is an order, understand?”
James blinked. Almost visibly shook himself. “All right…”
“Are you going to be okay? All day?”
“Um…I think so. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“One of us had to remember. And it wasn’t going to be you. Where are your shoes, again?”
“Possibly under that very unattractive chair? That looks like the left one. Are you all right? You look-”
“Like I want to have sex with you right now? On the unattractive chair? Why are your shoes under the chair?” He’d meant to toss them across the room, in James’s direction, but apparently James had followed him. Maybe he shouldn’t’ve said that first sentence out loud.
But James blinked again, glanced at the clock-which stoically remained inflexible, even when met with those normally irresistible eyes-and then sighed and accepted errant footwear. “Either that’s where they ended up last night-and you were very much there for that, so you should know-or they’re just making friends with the furniture. Can I have sex with you later, at least? If you say no, I might end up going insane from frustration by the end of the day, just so you know.”
“Of course you can. I wouldn’t want you to go insane. Even if no one would ever notice.”
“Oh, thanks for that.”
“Well, you did just suggest that your shoes were plotting an alliance with the furniture. I’m pretty sure no sane person would’ve come up with that one.” He stuck a travel lid on this morning’s coffee cup. Handed it over. Watched James smile, warm as the sunbeams pouring through the window. “Love you.”
“I love you, too. Ready?”
“Mmm-hmm. Shall we go be superheroes? Hey, you know what would be a fun mutation?”
“If you say anything about spontaneous orgasms, I’m not having sex with you later.”
“…invisibility?”
And he had to laugh, mostly at James’s terrible attempt at an innocent expression, through the escaping swirl of coffee-scented steam. Of course.
He grabbed the hand not clinging to the morning’s infusion of caffeine, tugged James out the door, made sure they both had script pages and hotel keys and chapstick, and got them into the elevator and down to the lobby and out to the waiting car with thirty seconds to spare. Impressive, he thought. If he did say so himself.
And James smiled again, and held his hand right back, the entire way.
Title: Need (working title; I don't have the parenthetical figured out yet)
Word Count: 2,054 (this excerpt)
Rating: um...to be safe, let's say NC-17, even though there's no real sex, just a vibrator and vaguely D/s themes and the other things that go along with this series.
Notes: fits into the Universe of Porn, eventually, in between Stay and Touch. Once it's done, of course.
“Where’re your shoes?”
“I…don’t remember. I think I need pants before shoes, though.”
“Yes, thank you, very helpful.” Michael grabbed the first visible pair out of James’s side of the closet. Old, a little worn, and comfortable-looking; good. James would probably need that.
The early morning, around them, practically crackled with crispness, obligingly coaxing them into clothing; a cold front had arrived during the previous night, and seemed to have settled down to stay. The hotel room, on the other hand, offered vivid coziness as a bulwark against the bite of the air; this week’s accommodations appeared to be fighting to include every color in the spectrum, and winning.
James had taken one look and started laughing; Michael had wondered briefly whether the cost of comprehensive redecoration would be worth his sanity.
He’d admitted, eventually, after leaving James panting and blissful among them the previous night, that the rainbow-hued sheets might not be so bad. The carpet, on the other hand, constantly threatened to induce violent headaches; James had tried to help by finding the spare blankets in the closet and flinging them dramatically across the floor, which had led to a continuation of previous enjoyable activities but hadn’t done much about the still-visible vertiginous patterns.
At the moment, though, for once, he wasn’t looking at the carpet. He was looking at James. Who was studying him with an indecipherable expression.
“What? I’m allowed to take care of you. You’re-you know what you’re doing, today. For me.”
“Yes, but you’ve just tried to help me put on my pants.” But James stood there and let him do the zipper and the top button, despite that comment.
They did both know exactly what James was doing, for him, today. He’d asked, the night before. Had reminded James of a certain promise. Something he’d said he’d wear. On set. All day.
He’d asked again, in the morning, after James had woken up, blinking sleepiness out of jewel-shaded eyes. And James had blushed, every inch of naked skin going self-consciously pink, and had agreed.
“I can get dressed by myself, you know.”
“Not today, you can’t.” He found the warmest grey sweater-the fuzzy one, slightly too big, with the tiny v-neck-and tugged it over James’s head. Amused blue eyes emerged, on the other side, and met his.
“Are you going to be like this all day? Because I don’t mind-mostly-but I think other people might notice.”
“Not all day. Just for now. While I-while we can. Are you sure you’re comfortable?”
“Yes.” James ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down; wayward wisps popped up again, in merry defiance. “It’s…interesting.”
“Interesting?” Michael picked up the closest set of James’s fingerless gloves. He recognized this particular pair; he’d seen them on camera the week before. He made a mental note to buy a few more of those; if James had resorted to stealing Charles’s wardrobe, he’d probably lost his own again. And James should never have cold hands.
He held up the left one; James started to take it from him, and Michael raised both eyebrows at him, and James sighed, and offered the hand for adornment.
When Michael touched him, thumb brushing the starburst scattering of freckles over that slim wrist, James looked at him, standing there beside the bed, and smiled.
And suddenly it wasn’t just about the gloves, or about James getting cold too easily on icy mornings. The slide of wool along pale skin, fingers slipping into place, felt breathless and somehow sacred, the most intimate touch in the world.
They both looked at those hands, after. Couldn’t help it. Especially not when James left them cradled in Michael’s, and curled fingers in and out, testing, displaying, inviting.
The air, in the room, got a little warmer. Even the hideous hotel furniture went silent and leaned in to watch, rainbow sheets and all.
Michael carefully transferred both of those gloved hands to one of his, where uncovered fingertips rested against his wrist. Set the other hand on James’s hip, and pulled him in closer. Walked the hand over to the waist of those jeans, and then under, searching. Found what he was looking for, buried there. It welcomed his touch.
Earlier, he’d said, amused, “Orange?” and James had glared, defensively. “I’ve had it for years, okay? And it was the best option. The black one was sort of ominous, and an orange vibrator seemed more normal than purple or hot pink or blue, and yes, I realize what a bizarre sentence that was.”
“I wasn’t going to comment. James?”
“Yes?”
“I bought you a black one…”
“Yes, I know.” James had scowled at the carpet, and muttered something that sounded like “you’re not ominous.”
Which Michael had figured couldn’t be directed at the carpet, because the interlocking geometric patterns were, in fact, rather foreboding. “What?”
“I said that one isn’t ominous. Because you bought it. For me. All right?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Are we doing this, then? Because if you wait much longer I’m going to think you didn’t mean it.”
“Oh,” Michael had said, emphatically, because he couldn’t have James thinking that, “I meant it,” and then had bent James over the bed, and collected the lube and the wonderfully orange vibrator, and listened to James moan, as Michael opened him up and made him ready, wet and waiting. And then filled him, gently, more slowly than he’d meant to.
He’d been holding his breath, without realizing it. They were doing this. James was doing this, for him. Would be walking around, all day, caressed by his own vibrator, the vibrator that he was letting Michael slide inside him, at that exact moment. Wouldn’t remove it, wouldn’t find release or relief in orgasm, unless Michael told him to.
Leaning over James, who’d stayed stretched out beneath his hands, he’d been tempted to find his own release right there, cock rubbing against that firm ass, painting all those joyfully spiraling freckles with his own need, knowing that James would feel all of that and still not be allowed to come. Not until commanded.
He’d decided that that might be too cruel, though. And also they’d have to shower. Again.
And he’d glanced at the unsympathetic clock, and realized how little time they had, and had then gone through several colorful curses in his head, but had left James on the bed and started hunting for clothes.
Now he was starting to seriously question his own sense of priorities. They didn’t really have to be all that punctual, did they?
The gloved hands, in his, had trembled a little, with his explorations; when he tightened his hold on them, squeezing wrists together, James licked his lips. Intrigued, Michael moved the other hand away from the vibrator. Found unmistakable evidence of arousal, waiting for his touch.
“You’re already-you do like this idea, don’t you? Walking around, wearing this for me, being mine, in public?”
“Yes, sir.”
“…really?”
James’s expression suggested honest startlement at his own reply. “I didn’t mean to-I just-that just came out, I swear!”
“Hmm.” Michael studied him for a minute, the two of them standing close together in the crisp morning air, the beginnings of sunlight peeking inquisitively around the gap in the curtains. He hadn’t quite expected that first answer, either.
He thought maybe he understood, though. The memories, from the previous week, suggested themselves as an explanation: James giving him orders, wrist cuffs and fingertips and that voice like silk over steel. Himself listening. Obeying. Fantastic, yes. And he’d do it again in a heartbeat, if James offered. But that wasn’t what James needed from him, not really.
Reassertion, then. For both of them. That hadn’t been exactly why he’d reminded James of his promise today, but it suddenly made perfect sense regardless. Of course they needed this.
James hadn’t moved. Not even to go find his shoes. The advancing sun crept up and made dancing golden highlights in all that curling hair.
Michael put out one hand. Ran a finger along one cheek, touching soft skin and familiar freckles. James shut his eyes, briefly, in the sunlight, at the touch. Breathed in, just once.
“You would do anything I asked, right now, wouldn’t you? If I asked you to get on your knees, still dressed, with this-” He slid the other hand back under worn denim, across smooth curves. Found the end of the vibrator, hidden from view. Nudged, slightly. Heard the answering gasp. “-still inside you, and I told you to suck my cock, here, right before we leave?”
The ocean-water eyes widened, all glittering blue and anticipatory black in the morning light, and not expressing any sort of objection in the least. “Yes, sir.”
“I want that, too.” He eyed the clock. Inwardly swore. No time.
And as badly as he was tempted to say “fuck the schedule” and let them both be late, they did have to be professional. Which meant he had to get James to come back, a little, enough to remember that they were about to be on camera, anyway.
Even though he himself wanted to rip off all those just-assembled clothes and pounce on James right there.
He glared at the clock again. It informed him, unhelpfully, that they now had even less time.
Okay. Later, then. Definitely later. With emphasis on the definitely.
“James? Look at me, please. Now.”
The morning-glory eyes met his, waiting. Asking, wordlessly.
“I do want to. You know I want to. I want you. But not now. Now I need you to listen, all right? We have two minutes and you don’t have shoes on and we have to go. And I need you to not call me sir on the set. And remember that we’re in public. Despite this. And that is an order, understand?”
James blinked. Almost visibly shook himself. “All right…”
“Are you going to be okay? All day?”
“Um…I think so. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“One of us had to remember. And it wasn’t going to be you. Where are your shoes, again?”
“Possibly under that very unattractive chair? That looks like the left one. Are you all right? You look-”
“Like I want to have sex with you right now? On the unattractive chair? Why are your shoes under the chair?” He’d meant to toss them across the room, in James’s direction, but apparently James had followed him. Maybe he shouldn’t’ve said that first sentence out loud.
But James blinked again, glanced at the clock-which stoically remained inflexible, even when met with those normally irresistible eyes-and then sighed and accepted errant footwear. “Either that’s where they ended up last night-and you were very much there for that, so you should know-or they’re just making friends with the furniture. Can I have sex with you later, at least? If you say no, I might end up going insane from frustration by the end of the day, just so you know.”
“Of course you can. I wouldn’t want you to go insane. Even if no one would ever notice.”
“Oh, thanks for that.”
“Well, you did just suggest that your shoes were plotting an alliance with the furniture. I’m pretty sure no sane person would’ve come up with that one.” He stuck a travel lid on this morning’s coffee cup. Handed it over. Watched James smile, warm as the sunbeams pouring through the window. “Love you.”
“I love you, too. Ready?”
“Mmm-hmm. Shall we go be superheroes? Hey, you know what would be a fun mutation?”
“If you say anything about spontaneous orgasms, I’m not having sex with you later.”
“…invisibility?”
And he had to laugh, mostly at James’s terrible attempt at an innocent expression, through the escaping swirl of coffee-scented steam. Of course.
He grabbed the hand not clinging to the morning’s infusion of caffeine, tugged James out the door, made sure they both had script pages and hotel keys and chapstick, and got them into the elevator and down to the lobby and out to the waiting car with thirty seconds to spare. Impressive, he thought. If he did say so himself.
And James smiled again, and held his hand right back, the entire way.