pt. 2, the nme towers
I was inspired.
Not so much porn, as a vague stream of concious that could be mistaken for porn. I even proofread it.
(eta) you don't need to read the first one to get the second one.
They end up at NME towers almost by accident- one minute they're at the top of a double-decker bus and the next moment, they're on the pavement out the office building that houses the NME. AK tries to think through all this and comes up short, left only with, isn't this over, shouldn't sex on a double-decker bus be enough?
Apparently not, as he's still pulling his keys from his pocket, still holding the door open for Carl, pulling the door shut behind them so it wouldn't slam. If sex was over, why had he just pressed 25 in the elevator, wasn't looking at Carl in the eye and was trying to figure out what to do with his hands?
They enter the shambolic, sensationalistic NME towers.
"My god," says Carl, squinting through the dark office space. "It's messier then I remember."
Music (cds, tapes, vinyls) litters desks and floor space, posters are thrown up on the walls at random. Beer bottles, articles and a frankly obscene amount of badges and fan mail cover any remaining space. It's a well-controlled hurricane.
Carl laughs as he rummages around in Barry Nicholson's desk. "The Almighty NME." AK feels surreal.
"There's-" he begins, but is cut off by a pair of suddenly-greedy lips.
"A-" hands tear through his hair and up his shirt.
"Couch-" where is this coming from and why does it feel so good?
"In-" he's bent over with the force of Carlos- like some bizarre dance, he's dipped lower still before pulled back up.
"Conor's-" it was no small gasp that interrupted his own sentence when Carl slides a hand down the front of AK's trousers.
"Office." Carl puts an arm around AK and they stumbled across the room (which seems so very big all of a sudden) to Conor's office. AK feels like a paper doll but even paper dolls do more then he has tonight, so he puts his hand under Carl's shirt and runs it up Carl's back. Carl hisses as cold hands crawl up his spine, but it's not unfriendly, so AK lets his hands explore every bump and crevice on Carl's chest.
Carl stops so quickly that AK trips over his own feet. Carl's there to catch him though and he holds AK close.
"Are you sure?"
Never more sure in his life, AK decides and kisses Carl's tender face. Not his lips, but his cheeks, nose, forehead, eyelid, ear.
They fall into Conor's office. There's a desk at this end, a couch at that end, shelves of NME's on that wall and the most gigantic fucking window AK has ever seen on the other side. Floor to ceiling and now the whole of London will see them having sex on Conor's couch in the NME office and-
He's thrown on the couch and Carl climbs on top of him, kissing him, one leg between AK's legs. AK is only being polite when he spreads his legs a bit further apart but Carl hums in his ear anyway. "Slut."
As if Carl's one to talk, the way he's been carrying on, moaning and mumbling and those little hitches in his breath, every time AK squirms underneath him. AK pulls at Carl's buttons, too lazy now to find the holes until the shirt comes loose and Carl takes it off. Clothes come off a bit faster now and just as Carl moves in for the trousers, they fall off the couch.
"Ow."
"Shit. Sorry."
There's a pause in the action, but it's only a hiccup- moments later, AK is lifting his hips up so Carl can pull his trousers off and he's ridiculously hard and hot for this time of evening.
"Turn over."
Underpants are dragged off, AK turns over, there's the heavy weight of Carl on his neck and then it's gone.
"Wait here."
Carl disappears and AK's left to play with the threads on Conor's carpet. He's about have sex with Carl Libertine on the floor of the NME office. There's something so trite about the way this is going, but he doesn't mind anymore. Hacks had been doing this sort of thing for centuries.
Carl reappears. There's clothes falling to the floor now, then the snap of latex and something in him. It's weird. Oh, AK's done this before, but it never ceases to be weird. Two fingers inside him is better and yes, the whole of Carlos is fucking wonderful. He holds his own and the rhythm they make, Carl-AK-Carl-AK would make some drummer somewhere jealous because it's the most beautiful rhythm he's ever heard.
"Jesus-" harder, just a little.
"Fucking-" faster, it won't be long now.
"Christ-" in-out, once more, twice more and Carl comes. AK follows.
"AK-" he's just had sex on his boss' floor. Sick horror fills AK.
"AK, look at me." Carl is lying on the floor next to him, handing pulling through AK's hair. AK looks at him. Carl puts a finger to his lips.
"It's a secret." He looks absolutely magical as he says the words and AK is convinced Carl will capture the world with that smile, someday.
They clean up and hurry out. Giddy and exhausted, AK catches one kiss from Carl, just before Carl blurs back into the rush-and-tumble of his pop star life. AK grimaces, like a smile but weary, as he leaves. He's going to have to quit tomorrow- he left his camera in Conor's office, right next to Carl's tie.
Not so much porn, as a vague stream of concious that could be mistaken for porn. I even proofread it.
(eta) you don't need to read the first one to get the second one.
They end up at NME towers almost by accident- one minute they're at the top of a double-decker bus and the next moment, they're on the pavement out the office building that houses the NME. AK tries to think through all this and comes up short, left only with, isn't this over, shouldn't sex on a double-decker bus be enough?
Apparently not, as he's still pulling his keys from his pocket, still holding the door open for Carl, pulling the door shut behind them so it wouldn't slam. If sex was over, why had he just pressed 25 in the elevator, wasn't looking at Carl in the eye and was trying to figure out what to do with his hands?
They enter the shambolic, sensationalistic NME towers.
"My god," says Carl, squinting through the dark office space. "It's messier then I remember."
Music (cds, tapes, vinyls) litters desks and floor space, posters are thrown up on the walls at random. Beer bottles, articles and a frankly obscene amount of badges and fan mail cover any remaining space. It's a well-controlled hurricane.
Carl laughs as he rummages around in Barry Nicholson's desk. "The Almighty NME." AK feels surreal.
"There's-" he begins, but is cut off by a pair of suddenly-greedy lips.
"A-" hands tear through his hair and up his shirt.
"Couch-" where is this coming from and why does it feel so good?
"In-" he's bent over with the force of Carlos- like some bizarre dance, he's dipped lower still before pulled back up.
"Conor's-" it was no small gasp that interrupted his own sentence when Carl slides a hand down the front of AK's trousers.
"Office." Carl puts an arm around AK and they stumbled across the room (which seems so very big all of a sudden) to Conor's office. AK feels like a paper doll but even paper dolls do more then he has tonight, so he puts his hand under Carl's shirt and runs it up Carl's back. Carl hisses as cold hands crawl up his spine, but it's not unfriendly, so AK lets his hands explore every bump and crevice on Carl's chest.
Carl stops so quickly that AK trips over his own feet. Carl's there to catch him though and he holds AK close.
"Are you sure?"
Never more sure in his life, AK decides and kisses Carl's tender face. Not his lips, but his cheeks, nose, forehead, eyelid, ear.
They fall into Conor's office. There's a desk at this end, a couch at that end, shelves of NME's on that wall and the most gigantic fucking window AK has ever seen on the other side. Floor to ceiling and now the whole of London will see them having sex on Conor's couch in the NME office and-
He's thrown on the couch and Carl climbs on top of him, kissing him, one leg between AK's legs. AK is only being polite when he spreads his legs a bit further apart but Carl hums in his ear anyway. "Slut."
As if Carl's one to talk, the way he's been carrying on, moaning and mumbling and those little hitches in his breath, every time AK squirms underneath him. AK pulls at Carl's buttons, too lazy now to find the holes until the shirt comes loose and Carl takes it off. Clothes come off a bit faster now and just as Carl moves in for the trousers, they fall off the couch.
"Ow."
"Shit. Sorry."
There's a pause in the action, but it's only a hiccup- moments later, AK is lifting his hips up so Carl can pull his trousers off and he's ridiculously hard and hot for this time of evening.
"Turn over."
Underpants are dragged off, AK turns over, there's the heavy weight of Carl on his neck and then it's gone.
"Wait here."
Carl disappears and AK's left to play with the threads on Conor's carpet. He's about have sex with Carl Libertine on the floor of the NME office. There's something so trite about the way this is going, but he doesn't mind anymore. Hacks had been doing this sort of thing for centuries.
Carl reappears. There's clothes falling to the floor now, then the snap of latex and something in him. It's weird. Oh, AK's done this before, but it never ceases to be weird. Two fingers inside him is better and yes, the whole of Carlos is fucking wonderful. He holds his own and the rhythm they make, Carl-AK-Carl-AK would make some drummer somewhere jealous because it's the most beautiful rhythm he's ever heard.
"Jesus-" harder, just a little.
"Fucking-" faster, it won't be long now.
"Christ-" in-out, once more, twice more and Carl comes. AK follows.
"AK-" he's just had sex on his boss' floor. Sick horror fills AK.
"AK, look at me." Carl is lying on the floor next to him, handing pulling through AK's hair. AK looks at him. Carl puts a finger to his lips.
"It's a secret." He looks absolutely magical as he says the words and AK is convinced Carl will capture the world with that smile, someday.
They clean up and hurry out. Giddy and exhausted, AK catches one kiss from Carl, just before Carl blurs back into the rush-and-tumble of his pop star life. AK grimaces, like a smile but weary, as he leaves. He's going to have to quit tomorrow- he left his camera in Conor's office, right next to Carl's tie.