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FANDOM: Fright Night
TITLE: Phantasm
SUMMARY: Charley Brewster/Peter Vincent. I want to ship all of the characters, and I'm starting here. Short and porny. Charley gets a little carried away with his research on Peter Vincent.
WORDS: 853
RATING: NC-17
Charley has been awake for a lengthy stretch of time that's beginning to border on the painful. His eyes are red, raw around the edges, and everything he looks at is filtered through a sleepy haze. His vision is kind of foggy and blurred and the lack of sleep is starting to pierce into his brain, or at least it feels like it has to be. That's the only explanation. Charley's been staring at Peter Vincent's face on his stupid website for too many hours now, for way too long, and his mind is starting to wander.
He'd been lying when he told Amy that he'd been looking at porn, and he hadn't meant anything by it. It was just a way to get her to leave him alone, to not ask too many questions about what he was doing. Lying to her hadn't been Charley's first choice, and it didn't feel very good, but it was the option that made the most sense and besides, it was totally off the mark. There wasn't anything sexual about Peter Vincent's website. There wasn't even anything sexual about Peter Vincent.
Charley rubs his eyes and takes another look at the photo of Peter Vincent. Long leather coat draped on a wiry frame, tattoos scattered across fair skin, bare chested with dangling necklaces leading the eye downward, down to low-cut -- very low-cut, Charley gulps -- trousers that are very, very tight around slim hips. Okay, maybe there's something a little sexual about all the promotional materials featuring photographs of the magician. Maybe something a lot sexual.
Charley closes his eyes, the image of a smirking Peter Vincent burned onto the back of his eyelids. He thinks about his tattoos, the dark ink on pale skin. Charley wonders if there are any hidden under that coat. He wonders… something in the back of his throat starts to tighten. Charley reaches a hand down to shamefully adjust his jeans, which are getting tighter, much to his dismay. He opens his eyes and shakes his head a little, trying to clear his mind. Hand still lingering against the front of his zipper, his eyes land back on the picture of Peter Vincent. Fuck.
Charley swallows and his eyes drift shut again. Hand flat against his zipper, he moves it across the front of his jeans absentmindedly. He wonders how many girls Peter Vincent has slept with. He wonders how many women Peter Vincent has been on his knees for, and oh - Charley's cock seems to like that thought, when it springs up a little livelier underneath his palm.
Charley pictures Peter Vincent kneeling down in front of a gorgeous busty blonde - nice big tits, red lips, and clothing - well, there's not much of it. He imagines the man sliding a hand up her leg, nice and slow, and leaning forward, and then -- and then, all of a sudden, the angle changes in Charley's very tired mind and it's Peter Vincent looking up at him. Charley jolts a little, breath catching in his throat, but his cock is starting to get uncomfortable, straining against his jeans like that, so he goes with it.
In his mind he sees Peter lick his lips, and it is filthy. Pornographic. He sees Peter move forward and place a hand on the front of Charley's jeans, providing a little pressure, and then he leans up and places his mouth where his hand was and Charley hears him murmur "Let me take care of you."
This just about does it. Charley unbuttons his jeans and slides his hand in, freeing his cock from the fabric. He bites his lip and thinks of Peter slowly pulling down his jeans, still on his knees in front of Charley. Slow and suspenseful, there is no illusion here. Charley imagines Peter putting his mouth on his cock, and he lets out a strangled whimper as he starts to stroke himself, one fist wrapped around his dick.
Charley moves his hand faster as he thinks about Peter sucking his cock like a pro (not like he would know, though, he's still a virgin and there's no shortage of people to remind him of this unfortunate fact). He thinks about Peter using his teeth, just barely grazing his sensitive skin, and then he supposes what it would look like as Peter looked up at him, devilish eyes lined in black makeup, smirking with Charley's cock in his mouth. He supposes it would look pretty damn good.
Charley leans his head back and thinks of Peter slowly pulling his lips off of him, winking and purring "come for me," and then sucking him down all the way, mouth wrapped completely around his cock, and okay, maybe that's a little cheesy, but it works. Charley loses control, eyelids fluttering and letting out a tiny groan when he comes. He gasps for breath, slowly sucking in air.
Charley wipes his hand on his jeans and opens his eyes, a little ashamed of himself. Peter Vincent's picture is still on the screen, staring at him -- sneering and judging, more like it.
Charley frowns and exits out of the window.
TITLE: Phantasm
SUMMARY: Charley Brewster/Peter Vincent. I want to ship all of the characters, and I'm starting here. Short and porny. Charley gets a little carried away with his research on Peter Vincent.
WORDS: 853
RATING: NC-17
Charley has been awake for a lengthy stretch of time that's beginning to border on the painful. His eyes are red, raw around the edges, and everything he looks at is filtered through a sleepy haze. His vision is kind of foggy and blurred and the lack of sleep is starting to pierce into his brain, or at least it feels like it has to be. That's the only explanation. Charley's been staring at Peter Vincent's face on his stupid website for too many hours now, for way too long, and his mind is starting to wander.
He'd been lying when he told Amy that he'd been looking at porn, and he hadn't meant anything by it. It was just a way to get her to leave him alone, to not ask too many questions about what he was doing. Lying to her hadn't been Charley's first choice, and it didn't feel very good, but it was the option that made the most sense and besides, it was totally off the mark. There wasn't anything sexual about Peter Vincent's website. There wasn't even anything sexual about Peter Vincent.
Charley rubs his eyes and takes another look at the photo of Peter Vincent. Long leather coat draped on a wiry frame, tattoos scattered across fair skin, bare chested with dangling necklaces leading the eye downward, down to low-cut -- very low-cut, Charley gulps -- trousers that are very, very tight around slim hips. Okay, maybe there's something a little sexual about all the promotional materials featuring photographs of the magician. Maybe something a lot sexual.
Charley closes his eyes, the image of a smirking Peter Vincent burned onto the back of his eyelids. He thinks about his tattoos, the dark ink on pale skin. Charley wonders if there are any hidden under that coat. He wonders… something in the back of his throat starts to tighten. Charley reaches a hand down to shamefully adjust his jeans, which are getting tighter, much to his dismay. He opens his eyes and shakes his head a little, trying to clear his mind. Hand still lingering against the front of his zipper, his eyes land back on the picture of Peter Vincent. Fuck.
Charley swallows and his eyes drift shut again. Hand flat against his zipper, he moves it across the front of his jeans absentmindedly. He wonders how many girls Peter Vincent has slept with. He wonders how many women Peter Vincent has been on his knees for, and oh - Charley's cock seems to like that thought, when it springs up a little livelier underneath his palm.
Charley pictures Peter Vincent kneeling down in front of a gorgeous busty blonde - nice big tits, red lips, and clothing - well, there's not much of it. He imagines the man sliding a hand up her leg, nice and slow, and leaning forward, and then -- and then, all of a sudden, the angle changes in Charley's very tired mind and it's Peter Vincent looking up at him. Charley jolts a little, breath catching in his throat, but his cock is starting to get uncomfortable, straining against his jeans like that, so he goes with it.
In his mind he sees Peter lick his lips, and it is filthy. Pornographic. He sees Peter move forward and place a hand on the front of Charley's jeans, providing a little pressure, and then he leans up and places his mouth where his hand was and Charley hears him murmur "Let me take care of you."
This just about does it. Charley unbuttons his jeans and slides his hand in, freeing his cock from the fabric. He bites his lip and thinks of Peter slowly pulling down his jeans, still on his knees in front of Charley. Slow and suspenseful, there is no illusion here. Charley imagines Peter putting his mouth on his cock, and he lets out a strangled whimper as he starts to stroke himself, one fist wrapped around his dick.
Charley moves his hand faster as he thinks about Peter sucking his cock like a pro (not like he would know, though, he's still a virgin and there's no shortage of people to remind him of this unfortunate fact). He thinks about Peter using his teeth, just barely grazing his sensitive skin, and then he supposes what it would look like as Peter looked up at him, devilish eyes lined in black makeup, smirking with Charley's cock in his mouth. He supposes it would look pretty damn good.
Charley leans his head back and thinks of Peter slowly pulling his lips off of him, winking and purring "come for me," and then sucking him down all the way, mouth wrapped completely around his cock, and okay, maybe that's a little cheesy, but it works. Charley loses control, eyelids fluttering and letting out a tiny groan when he comes. He gasps for breath, slowly sucking in air.
Charley wipes his hand on his jeans and opens his eyes, a little ashamed of himself. Peter Vincent's picture is still on the screen, staring at him -- sneering and judging, more like it.
Charley frowns and exits out of the window.