fic: desperation
Title: desperation
Author: Puchuupoet
Pairing: Richard/Misha
Word Count: ~885
Rating: NC-17
Heads-up: Watersports
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Summary: After a long day of ice skating, Richard just needs to get home and decompress. Misha doesn't let him.
Notes: Encouraged by and beta'd by thunder_nari. Vaguely inspired by RSJ's tweet "Went iceskating in LA today and now have a MUCH greater appreciation for the ice dancers Misha and I watched at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics."
Richard limps into the house, not bothering to hold the door open for Misha. "Fucking hate you, you know," he calls over his shoulder when he realizes it hasn't slammed behind him.
"Oh, come on. You didn't fall that much," Misha responds. "And the kids stopped giggling after the first couple of times."
"Maybe, but you didn't." Richard heads towards the kitchen, almost wishing his ass was still frozen cold. Misha had insisted on errands after skating though, dragging Richard all over town. Near the end Richard had insisted on staying in the car, seat warmer cranked in an attempt to make his ass happy. It had backfired though, just making him hyperaware of how uncomfortable it was going to be to sit for the next few days.
Misha follows Richard into the kitchen, his arms full of grocery bags. "You almost took out a Girl Scout troop when you tried to do that spin," he argues. "It would have been worse if I hadn't laughed."
Richard glares at him. "You said I had it in the bag. That I looked just like whatshisface from the Olympics."
"And you believed me. So really, we both suck at making educated guesses."
"Dammit, Misha, stop it. I need to piss and then I want to watch crappy Christmas movies to distract me from where the blades hit my ass."
Misha just looks at him before sidling closer. "They're ice skates, for fuck's sake, not shuriken. You'll be fine."
Richard shoves at Misha's shoulder halfheartedly and Misha stumbles back before dropping to his knees. He smirks up at Richard as he runs his hands up Richard's thighs, and Richard can tell Misha's been thinking this through. Misha cups Richard's dick through his jeans and his hips roll forward.
"Misha..." Richard warns, but one hand still tangles in Misha's hair.
"Gimmie a minute," Misha murmurs, fingers quick on Richard's belt and zipper. Richard's half-hard and he whines when Misha leans in and kisses his cock. The light touch sets him even more on edge and he grips at the counter with one hand, bracing himself upright.
Misha tilts back for a moment, tugging at Richard's leg til he pivots around in front of Misha. A sudden bark of laughter escapes Misha and Richard twists back around to look at him.
"Oh man, you were right." Misha shakes his head at Richard's quizzical look. "Your ass is going to be a very merry purple and green soon."
"Soon?" Richard leans back against the counter.
"Even more so than it already is. Not a bad thing though." Misha moves back to where he was, his knees bracketing Richard in place.
"Not a bad - oh fuck." Richard cuts himself off when Misha takes all of him into his mouth, his hands back on Richard's thighs. Richard can feel the warning throb low in his belly and he squirms under Misha's mouth, his fingers tightening in Misha's hair.
"Misha, god, give me a minute okay?"
Misha's response is to pull back at Richard's words, til he's suckling on his cock head and Richard can't feel his legs anymore. The pressure's growing though, arousal joining in and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep up with Misha.
Richard can feel Misha's touch move up until his palm is on Richard's lower belly, his fingers teasing the skin there with light touches. Richard wants to warn him, tell him exactly how close he is to something but his brain isn't working and Misha presses down, pulling away from his dick.
It's like a dam bursts; Richard closes his eyes when he starts to piss, groaning as the discomfort twists with pleasure now that the pressure's gone. He slumps against the counter, only opening his eyes when Misha makes a happy broken noise.
Misha's head is bowed down; his shirt soaked at the shoulders, and it's a pale enough color to tell where Richard hit him. There's just enough light coming through the windows that Richard can see the droplets that are caught in his hair.
"Misha?"
And then Misha's blinking up at Richard through those long eyelashes that are damp and stuck together, framing those stark blue eyes, and fuck, Misha's licking his lips.
Richard reaches for his cock, not surprised to feel Misha's fingers there as well. It's wet and clumsy, Misha inching closer until Richard's dick bumps against his cheek, slick on slick.
"Told you..." Misha grins before licking Richard's dick, his tongue swiping over their fingers. Doesn't give Richard a chance to even ask what he means before Misha's fingers are pressing at the meat of his ass, lining up with the bruises and scrapes, egging on the hurt. He leans back in to take Richard's cock in his mouth and that's what sets Richard off, that delicious twist of pain that sends a jolt through his body as he comes.
There's a smear of come on Misha's mouth when Richard blearily blinks down at him, and he reaches out to cup Misha's chin, pulling him up to lean against Richard's body.
"You're getting pee on me." Richard realizes it a moment too late as Misha nuzzles closer.
"Not my fault," Misha mumbles into his neck. "Should've gone to the bathroom or something."
"Dick."
"Shower first?"
Author: Puchuupoet
Pairing: Richard/Misha
Word Count: ~885
Rating: NC-17
Heads-up: Watersports
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Summary: After a long day of ice skating, Richard just needs to get home and decompress. Misha doesn't let him.
Notes: Encouraged by and beta'd by thunder_nari. Vaguely inspired by RSJ's tweet "Went iceskating in LA today and now have a MUCH greater appreciation for the ice dancers Misha and I watched at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics."
Richard limps into the house, not bothering to hold the door open for Misha. "Fucking hate you, you know," he calls over his shoulder when he realizes it hasn't slammed behind him.
"Oh, come on. You didn't fall that much," Misha responds. "And the kids stopped giggling after the first couple of times."
"Maybe, but you didn't." Richard heads towards the kitchen, almost wishing his ass was still frozen cold. Misha had insisted on errands after skating though, dragging Richard all over town. Near the end Richard had insisted on staying in the car, seat warmer cranked in an attempt to make his ass happy. It had backfired though, just making him hyperaware of how uncomfortable it was going to be to sit for the next few days.
Misha follows Richard into the kitchen, his arms full of grocery bags. "You almost took out a Girl Scout troop when you tried to do that spin," he argues. "It would have been worse if I hadn't laughed."
Richard glares at him. "You said I had it in the bag. That I looked just like whatshisface from the Olympics."
"And you believed me. So really, we both suck at making educated guesses."
"Dammit, Misha, stop it. I need to piss and then I want to watch crappy Christmas movies to distract me from where the blades hit my ass."
Misha just looks at him before sidling closer. "They're ice skates, for fuck's sake, not shuriken. You'll be fine."
Richard shoves at Misha's shoulder halfheartedly and Misha stumbles back before dropping to his knees. He smirks up at Richard as he runs his hands up Richard's thighs, and Richard can tell Misha's been thinking this through. Misha cups Richard's dick through his jeans and his hips roll forward.
"Misha..." Richard warns, but one hand still tangles in Misha's hair.
"Gimmie a minute," Misha murmurs, fingers quick on Richard's belt and zipper. Richard's half-hard and he whines when Misha leans in and kisses his cock. The light touch sets him even more on edge and he grips at the counter with one hand, bracing himself upright.
Misha tilts back for a moment, tugging at Richard's leg til he pivots around in front of Misha. A sudden bark of laughter escapes Misha and Richard twists back around to look at him.
"Oh man, you were right." Misha shakes his head at Richard's quizzical look. "Your ass is going to be a very merry purple and green soon."
"Soon?" Richard leans back against the counter.
"Even more so than it already is. Not a bad thing though." Misha moves back to where he was, his knees bracketing Richard in place.
"Not a bad - oh fuck." Richard cuts himself off when Misha takes all of him into his mouth, his hands back on Richard's thighs. Richard can feel the warning throb low in his belly and he squirms under Misha's mouth, his fingers tightening in Misha's hair.
"Misha, god, give me a minute okay?"
Misha's response is to pull back at Richard's words, til he's suckling on his cock head and Richard can't feel his legs anymore. The pressure's growing though, arousal joining in and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep up with Misha.
Richard can feel Misha's touch move up until his palm is on Richard's lower belly, his fingers teasing the skin there with light touches. Richard wants to warn him, tell him exactly how close he is to something but his brain isn't working and Misha presses down, pulling away from his dick.
It's like a dam bursts; Richard closes his eyes when he starts to piss, groaning as the discomfort twists with pleasure now that the pressure's gone. He slumps against the counter, only opening his eyes when Misha makes a happy broken noise.
Misha's head is bowed down; his shirt soaked at the shoulders, and it's a pale enough color to tell where Richard hit him. There's just enough light coming through the windows that Richard can see the droplets that are caught in his hair.
"Misha?"
And then Misha's blinking up at Richard through those long eyelashes that are damp and stuck together, framing those stark blue eyes, and fuck, Misha's licking his lips.
Richard reaches for his cock, not surprised to feel Misha's fingers there as well. It's wet and clumsy, Misha inching closer until Richard's dick bumps against his cheek, slick on slick.
"Told you..." Misha grins before licking Richard's dick, his tongue swiping over their fingers. Doesn't give Richard a chance to even ask what he means before Misha's fingers are pressing at the meat of his ass, lining up with the bruises and scrapes, egging on the hurt. He leans back in to take Richard's cock in his mouth and that's what sets Richard off, that delicious twist of pain that sends a jolt through his body as he comes.
There's a smear of come on Misha's mouth when Richard blearily blinks down at him, and he reaches out to cup Misha's chin, pulling him up to lean against Richard's body.
"You're getting pee on me." Richard realizes it a moment too late as Misha nuzzles closer.
"Not my fault," Misha mumbles into his neck. "Should've gone to the bathroom or something."
"Dick."
"Shower first?"