[ MMOM ] - Jared Leto - 300
title : 300
author : russian torque
team / pairing : 30 Seconds to Mars : Jared Leto / Self
rating : R
words : ~700
note : written for mmom ; permission given to ndrng_cntrdctn to x-post to 30stm_slash.
Three hundred concerts is just too much, Jared thinks as he collapses on the stiff mattress of the way-too-often used tour bus bed. He keeps meaning to get a new mattress, his back just can’t handle sleeping on it anymore after so many years. Something always gets in the way though, whether it’s another concert or some kind of melt down in the band or the publicity manager insisting he go through all of his tweets for the past month to make sure there’s nothing offensive in there.
That was a fun one. Jared just about fired the asshole after that fiasco. But what’s done is done and he’s willing to put all the bullshit behind him if it means he can lay here on this piece of shit bed in complete silence for just a little while.
A few minutes turns into a bit longer and the mattress isn’t so horrible once Jared finds the right way to lay on it- on his back, one leg extended and the other still resting on the floor and it gives him enough leverage to lean back and stretch. All the bones in his spine crack and pop into place and it feels so good that he can’t hold back a shaky moan- it’s been such a long time since he simply allowed himself to exist without having a thousand things on his mind.
He digs his phone out of his pocket and checks his messages before putting it on silent. He’s got one from Shannon saying he’s coming in late, another from Tomo pretty much saying the same thing, and a few messages here and there congratulating him on a job well done.
And fuck the cheese- job well done doesn’t even cut it. Jared’s just about killed himself and he isn’t nearly as egotistical as people tend to believe, but fuck if he doesn’t deserve some kind of award for this. Or at least a few hours of privacy if a gold plated trophy isn’t available.
Except there really is going to be an award since the band made a World Record and now all he can think about is the paperwork that’s going to take. The proof they toured constantly for this long, tickets from all the venues, all the data and signatures and interviews and Jared could take the easy way out and get someone else to do it for him but he isn’t that kind of guy.
His beloved Blackberry ends up getting shoved in his bag, left conveniently next to the bed and he forces work out of his mind in favor of other things, like the fact that relaxing like this has caused his body to react in a certain way and he’s too surprised to be upset by the stirring in his jeans because seriously- he doesn’t remember the last time he had sex, let alone had enough drive to actually get himself off.
Jared touches himself like there’s someone watching him, like he’s got an audience. He’s always done it this way and even he doesn’t know why- maybe it’s just because he’s a born performer through and through. He arches his back and slides both hands down his sides, fingertips brushing along his midriff and it’s such a foreign sensation that it tickles a little.
Going slow is difficult, but he won’t allow himself to rush this. He spends a long time just getting reacquainted with his own body- with the curves of his stomach and how his hips jut out a bit. He doesn’t let himself think about how he’s gained a little weight, how his tummy is a little softer than it used to be or how his jeans squeeze a little tighter. For now, he just enjoys feeling pleasure only for himself because he forgot how sensitive his nipples are, how touching even the skin around them makes shivers go down his spine and his entire body throbs when he pinches them, just the lightest touch and he’s already moaning.
When the pressure gets to be almost too much, he runs his hands back down his body, pausing to unbutton his pants and he doesn’t touch his thick need right away, he slides his palms along his skin- where thigh meets hip, his inner thigh, his palms catching on the stubbly hair where he’s gotten lazy shaving in the mornings.
This is a luxury he’s been far too long without.
...
[ MMOM Archive ]
author : russian torque
team / pairing : 30 Seconds to Mars : Jared Leto / Self
rating : R
words : ~700
note : written for mmom ; permission given to ndrng_cntrdctn to x-post to 30stm_slash.
Three hundred concerts is just too much, Jared thinks as he collapses on the stiff mattress of the way-too-often used tour bus bed. He keeps meaning to get a new mattress, his back just can’t handle sleeping on it anymore after so many years. Something always gets in the way though, whether it’s another concert or some kind of melt down in the band or the publicity manager insisting he go through all of his tweets for the past month to make sure there’s nothing offensive in there.
That was a fun one. Jared just about fired the asshole after that fiasco. But what’s done is done and he’s willing to put all the bullshit behind him if it means he can lay here on this piece of shit bed in complete silence for just a little while.
A few minutes turns into a bit longer and the mattress isn’t so horrible once Jared finds the right way to lay on it- on his back, one leg extended and the other still resting on the floor and it gives him enough leverage to lean back and stretch. All the bones in his spine crack and pop into place and it feels so good that he can’t hold back a shaky moan- it’s been such a long time since he simply allowed himself to exist without having a thousand things on his mind.
He digs his phone out of his pocket and checks his messages before putting it on silent. He’s got one from Shannon saying he’s coming in late, another from Tomo pretty much saying the same thing, and a few messages here and there congratulating him on a job well done.
And fuck the cheese- job well done doesn’t even cut it. Jared’s just about killed himself and he isn’t nearly as egotistical as people tend to believe, but fuck if he doesn’t deserve some kind of award for this. Or at least a few hours of privacy if a gold plated trophy isn’t available.
Except there really is going to be an award since the band made a World Record and now all he can think about is the paperwork that’s going to take. The proof they toured constantly for this long, tickets from all the venues, all the data and signatures and interviews and Jared could take the easy way out and get someone else to do it for him but he isn’t that kind of guy.
His beloved Blackberry ends up getting shoved in his bag, left conveniently next to the bed and he forces work out of his mind in favor of other things, like the fact that relaxing like this has caused his body to react in a certain way and he’s too surprised to be upset by the stirring in his jeans because seriously- he doesn’t remember the last time he had sex, let alone had enough drive to actually get himself off.
Jared touches himself like there’s someone watching him, like he’s got an audience. He’s always done it this way and even he doesn’t know why- maybe it’s just because he’s a born performer through and through. He arches his back and slides both hands down his sides, fingertips brushing along his midriff and it’s such a foreign sensation that it tickles a little.
Going slow is difficult, but he won’t allow himself to rush this. He spends a long time just getting reacquainted with his own body- with the curves of his stomach and how his hips jut out a bit. He doesn’t let himself think about how he’s gained a little weight, how his tummy is a little softer than it used to be or how his jeans squeeze a little tighter. For now, he just enjoys feeling pleasure only for himself because he forgot how sensitive his nipples are, how touching even the skin around them makes shivers go down his spine and his entire body throbs when he pinches them, just the lightest touch and he’s already moaning.
When the pressure gets to be almost too much, he runs his hands back down his body, pausing to unbutton his pants and he doesn’t touch his thick need right away, he slides his palms along his skin- where thigh meets hip, his inner thigh, his palms catching on the stubbly hair where he’s gotten lazy shaving in the mornings.
This is a luxury he’s been far too long without.
...
[ MMOM Archive ]