Easy Access, Ben Willbond/Simon Farnaby
Title: Easy Access
Pairing: Ben Willbond/Simon Farnaby
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1,344
Summary: Ben knows Simon's doing it on purpose. Every quick flash of skin and pull of fabric across tight muscle is just too perfect to be anything but deliberately teasing.
Disclaimer: Never happened, don’t own.
A/N: Written for a prompt on the anon meme that wanted Simon's unwillingness to change out of his Caligula robes causing Ben a little... discomfort.
"Why is Simon still wearing his Caligula costume?" Ben says, eyeing Simon across the room where he idly chats to one of the camera men.
"Does it matter?" Jim replies with distinterest, too busy messing around with his new twitter account to care.
"Well, it's not exactly appropriate."
Jim looks up and stares blankly back at Ben, "We're bastardising the lives of histories most famous. What's appropriate took a nose dive out the window as soon as we made four of England's Kings into a boyband, my friend."
Jim rests his iphone on his knee and grabs a bottle of water off the table, maneuvering the course hair of his newly affixed Viking beard out the way to take a drink. "And anyway, we've all had to wear far less. I don't see the issue."
He's right, of course he is, but the thought of bending Simon over and just... Ben's breath hitches as Simon lifts up the material of his robes to absentmindedly scratch at his leg, flashing more than a little bit of skin.
"Oh, he's so doing that on purpose," Ben grumbles.
Simon claps the camera man on the back and heads out the door, most likely off to wardrobe to finally get changed. Ben sits up straight in his chair and glances at Jim out the corner of his eyes. Just running after Simon would be awfully suspect, let alone highly pathetic.
He clears his throat and smooths down his shirt. Okay. One, two, three.
"I think i'll go get a bit of fresh air," Ben announces, internally wincing at the forced casualness.
"Air, sure." Jim rolls his eyes, unable to stop a fond grin from breaking out across his face as Ben stiffly walks away.
"Someone's eager," Larry says as he drops into Ben's now empty seat, "Where's he off to? Lunch?"
"You could say that," Jim snorts. "Whether or not he'll be getting a mouthful, remains to be seen."
Larry frowns. "I feel like that warrants a 'zing!', but can't be sure."
"Farno!" Ben calls out as he jogs down the hall, the sound of his feet hitting the floor thunderous and, to Ben's ears, eerily desperate.
Simon looks over his shoulder, smiles widely, and turns round just as Ben reaches him, "Alright, mate?"
Ben places a hand in the middle of Simon's chest and walks him backwards until he hits the wall, crowding him as best as he can."Not really, no."
Simon raises his eyebrows and relaxes into a slump, content in the barricade of Bens arms on either side of him, and clearly enjoying it. "Oh?"
Ben can't stop the shuddering thrill that claws it's way up his spine at seeing Simon pressed into the wall, with his curls adorned with laurel leaves and the lean lines of his body draped in white, it's enough to make him feel almost blasphemous.
Simon cocks his head and smirks. "I know that look, and it's saying roleplay," he sings in a way that wouldn't be out of place in a Stupid Death sketch.
"And your thoughts on that would be...?" Ben ventures.
"I... wouldn't say no," Simon says, slightly taken aback. "Though, Caligula? Really?"
Ben shrugs bashfully, causing Simon to guffaw loudly.
"I can't say I'm surprised you have a thing for crazy, posh boy." Simon crosses his arms, his eyes sparkling in amusement.
"I have a thing for you."
Simon groans, "You absolute sap." Ben grins and slides his hand up into the short hairs at the base of Simon's neck, and guides him into a kiss. He goes willingly, always has done and hopefully always will, but it still makes Ben as giddy as a school boy when he does.
Ben hums in satisfaction as Simon licks into his mouth and works both his hands down the back of his jeans. Between Simon's hands and tongue, his favourite tag team, he never wins. Not that he minds. Heat soon blossoms in his chest, and spreads throughout his body, making his limbs feel heavy. Doesn't mind at all.
Ben fingers the fabric brushing ever so slightly at Simon's knee for a brief moment, before flipping it up and diving under. There's no turning back now. He runs his hand up the lengh of Simon's thigh, feeling the hard muscles just beneath the surface tense as he grazes his nails across the expanse of skin. Higher and higher he goes until reaching Simon's hip.
"I was sort of hoping you'd be going commando, " Ben admits.
"I'm not here to satisfy your sexual fantasies, Willbond," Simon laughs, canting his hips forward into Ben's feather like touch as it dances across his crotch.
"I can provide several examples that would render that rather flimsy argument moot," Ben quickly shoots back, palming Simon through his boxers and feeling him harden in his hand, heavy and thick.
"Cheeky bugger." Simon loops his arms round Ben's neck and instintively opens his legs further apart. Ben continues to firmly massage Simon's cock until it's straining against the confines of his underwear. God, he wishes he could ruck Simon's costume up to his waist to see.
"Ben, come on," Simon hisses, his breath coming out in short bursts, the beginnings of a flushed tint colouring his cheeks. "Touch me."
"I am," Ben says with a squeeze.
"Now's not the time to turn sadistic," Simon growls, his voice already wonderfully wrecked in that oh so familiar way that never fails to drive Ben crazy.
"Says the man who was skipping around set in nothing but a sheet," Ben replies, nuzzling at Simon's jaw and flicking out his tongue to run over the scattering of stubble.
"So that's why you're so riled up," Simon chuckles. "Good to know, good to know."
He tugs Simon's boxers down just enough to free his cock, and loosely grasps it at the base, making Simon inhale deeply and arch his back off the wall. Ben leans forward to suck at his neck, biting and licking every inch of skin he can reach. The smell of Simon's aftershave lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach. He skims his fingers teasingly up and down Simon's length, until there's enough pre-come gathered at the tip to drag down and start pumping.
"Fuck." Simon clutches at Ben's shoulders, digging in his fingers so he can pull him forward into a bruising kiss. More fevered than playful, their lips slide together with ease. Ben slips his tongue into Simon's mouth, drinking in every ounce of buzzing excitement, underlining aggression, and warming affection that Simon so totally embodies in these moments when they're together.
Ben presses down on the underneath of Simon's cock with his middle finger and slowly, keeping the pressure, draws it upwards until reaching the head. Simon moans into Ben's mouth, catching his bottom lip between his teeth; the constant brushing of cool fabric against the sensatised tip of his cock so delicate, it's almost unbearable.
Ben hooks his chin over Simon's shoulder and kisses the smooth patch of skin behind his ear, the damps strands of hair tickling his nose. Simon's hand immediately flies up to the back of his head to keep him there. Ben speeds up the jerks.
He feels Simon twitch in his hand, and he's soon coming into his fist, muffling a groan into Ben's neck. They stay pressed together, not an inch between their chests, their legs tangled. Reluctantly, Ben wipes his hand on Simon's underwear and tucks him away, letting his toga fall back into place as if nothing had happened.
"Well, that was pleasant." Simon grins widely, barking out a loud laugh when Ben punches him in the arm. "Okay, more than pleasant."
"Just so you know," Ben says, poking Simon on the nose, "after the toture you've put me through today, I intend to put you to hard work tonight."
"Yes, Sir. Hard being the opperative word, I hope." Simon salutes and kisses Ben on the forehead. "I'll try and sneak the toga home, too."
Ben smiles. "See that you do."
Pairing: Ben Willbond/Simon Farnaby
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1,344
Summary: Ben knows Simon's doing it on purpose. Every quick flash of skin and pull of fabric across tight muscle is just too perfect to be anything but deliberately teasing.
Disclaimer: Never happened, don’t own.
A/N: Written for a prompt on the anon meme that wanted Simon's unwillingness to change out of his Caligula robes causing Ben a little... discomfort.
"Why is Simon still wearing his Caligula costume?" Ben says, eyeing Simon across the room where he idly chats to one of the camera men.
"Does it matter?" Jim replies with distinterest, too busy messing around with his new twitter account to care.
"Well, it's not exactly appropriate."
Jim looks up and stares blankly back at Ben, "We're bastardising the lives of histories most famous. What's appropriate took a nose dive out the window as soon as we made four of England's Kings into a boyband, my friend."
Jim rests his iphone on his knee and grabs a bottle of water off the table, maneuvering the course hair of his newly affixed Viking beard out the way to take a drink. "And anyway, we've all had to wear far less. I don't see the issue."
He's right, of course he is, but the thought of bending Simon over and just... Ben's breath hitches as Simon lifts up the material of his robes to absentmindedly scratch at his leg, flashing more than a little bit of skin.
"Oh, he's so doing that on purpose," Ben grumbles.
Simon claps the camera man on the back and heads out the door, most likely off to wardrobe to finally get changed. Ben sits up straight in his chair and glances at Jim out the corner of his eyes. Just running after Simon would be awfully suspect, let alone highly pathetic.
He clears his throat and smooths down his shirt. Okay. One, two, three.
"I think i'll go get a bit of fresh air," Ben announces, internally wincing at the forced casualness.
"Air, sure." Jim rolls his eyes, unable to stop a fond grin from breaking out across his face as Ben stiffly walks away.
"Someone's eager," Larry says as he drops into Ben's now empty seat, "Where's he off to? Lunch?"
"You could say that," Jim snorts. "Whether or not he'll be getting a mouthful, remains to be seen."
Larry frowns. "I feel like that warrants a 'zing!', but can't be sure."
"Farno!" Ben calls out as he jogs down the hall, the sound of his feet hitting the floor thunderous and, to Ben's ears, eerily desperate.
Simon looks over his shoulder, smiles widely, and turns round just as Ben reaches him, "Alright, mate?"
Ben places a hand in the middle of Simon's chest and walks him backwards until he hits the wall, crowding him as best as he can."Not really, no."
Simon raises his eyebrows and relaxes into a slump, content in the barricade of Bens arms on either side of him, and clearly enjoying it. "Oh?"
Ben can't stop the shuddering thrill that claws it's way up his spine at seeing Simon pressed into the wall, with his curls adorned with laurel leaves and the lean lines of his body draped in white, it's enough to make him feel almost blasphemous.
Simon cocks his head and smirks. "I know that look, and it's saying roleplay," he sings in a way that wouldn't be out of place in a Stupid Death sketch.
"And your thoughts on that would be...?" Ben ventures.
"I... wouldn't say no," Simon says, slightly taken aback. "Though, Caligula? Really?"
Ben shrugs bashfully, causing Simon to guffaw loudly.
"I can't say I'm surprised you have a thing for crazy, posh boy." Simon crosses his arms, his eyes sparkling in amusement.
"I have a thing for you."
Simon groans, "You absolute sap." Ben grins and slides his hand up into the short hairs at the base of Simon's neck, and guides him into a kiss. He goes willingly, always has done and hopefully always will, but it still makes Ben as giddy as a school boy when he does.
Ben hums in satisfaction as Simon licks into his mouth and works both his hands down the back of his jeans. Between Simon's hands and tongue, his favourite tag team, he never wins. Not that he minds. Heat soon blossoms in his chest, and spreads throughout his body, making his limbs feel heavy. Doesn't mind at all.
Ben fingers the fabric brushing ever so slightly at Simon's knee for a brief moment, before flipping it up and diving under. There's no turning back now. He runs his hand up the lengh of Simon's thigh, feeling the hard muscles just beneath the surface tense as he grazes his nails across the expanse of skin. Higher and higher he goes until reaching Simon's hip.
"I was sort of hoping you'd be going commando, " Ben admits.
"I'm not here to satisfy your sexual fantasies, Willbond," Simon laughs, canting his hips forward into Ben's feather like touch as it dances across his crotch.
"I can provide several examples that would render that rather flimsy argument moot," Ben quickly shoots back, palming Simon through his boxers and feeling him harden in his hand, heavy and thick.
"Cheeky bugger." Simon loops his arms round Ben's neck and instintively opens his legs further apart. Ben continues to firmly massage Simon's cock until it's straining against the confines of his underwear. God, he wishes he could ruck Simon's costume up to his waist to see.
"Ben, come on," Simon hisses, his breath coming out in short bursts, the beginnings of a flushed tint colouring his cheeks. "Touch me."
"I am," Ben says with a squeeze.
"Now's not the time to turn sadistic," Simon growls, his voice already wonderfully wrecked in that oh so familiar way that never fails to drive Ben crazy.
"Says the man who was skipping around set in nothing but a sheet," Ben replies, nuzzling at Simon's jaw and flicking out his tongue to run over the scattering of stubble.
"So that's why you're so riled up," Simon chuckles. "Good to know, good to know."
He tugs Simon's boxers down just enough to free his cock, and loosely grasps it at the base, making Simon inhale deeply and arch his back off the wall. Ben leans forward to suck at his neck, biting and licking every inch of skin he can reach. The smell of Simon's aftershave lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach. He skims his fingers teasingly up and down Simon's length, until there's enough pre-come gathered at the tip to drag down and start pumping.
"Fuck." Simon clutches at Ben's shoulders, digging in his fingers so he can pull him forward into a bruising kiss. More fevered than playful, their lips slide together with ease. Ben slips his tongue into Simon's mouth, drinking in every ounce of buzzing excitement, underlining aggression, and warming affection that Simon so totally embodies in these moments when they're together.
Ben presses down on the underneath of Simon's cock with his middle finger and slowly, keeping the pressure, draws it upwards until reaching the head. Simon moans into Ben's mouth, catching his bottom lip between his teeth; the constant brushing of cool fabric against the sensatised tip of his cock so delicate, it's almost unbearable.
Ben hooks his chin over Simon's shoulder and kisses the smooth patch of skin behind his ear, the damps strands of hair tickling his nose. Simon's hand immediately flies up to the back of his head to keep him there. Ben speeds up the jerks.
He feels Simon twitch in his hand, and he's soon coming into his fist, muffling a groan into Ben's neck. They stay pressed together, not an inch between their chests, their legs tangled. Reluctantly, Ben wipes his hand on Simon's underwear and tucks him away, letting his toga fall back into place as if nothing had happened.
"Well, that was pleasant." Simon grins widely, barking out a loud laugh when Ben punches him in the arm. "Okay, more than pleasant."
"Just so you know," Ben says, poking Simon on the nose, "after the toture you've put me through today, I intend to put you to hard work tonight."
"Yes, Sir. Hard being the opperative word, I hope." Simon salutes and kisses Ben on the forehead. "I'll try and sneak the toga home, too."
Ben smiles. "See that you do."