Still Life
title: Still Life
author: Trish slashxmistress
pairing: Jon/Ryan err..sort of ;)
rating: R
summary: Jon bites back a moan as the images scroll by on the screen and wonders how this has become his life; he spends nearly every waking moment longing, itching for his camera to capture that most perfect moment, that most beautiful glance. Until the next one, each more beautiful than the last
notes: written for the kink_bingo prompt film/photography, beta-ed lovingly by my darling aerogroupie
Click.
Soft, tawny curls.
Click.
Happy, tired eyes.
Click.
Long fingers dripping BBQ sauce.
Click.
A rare belly laugh.
Click.
A sly smirk.
Click.
A stolen glance.
Click.
Lips bitten bright red.
Jon bites back a moan as the images scroll by on the screen and wonders how this has become his life; he spends nearly every waking moment longing, itching for his camera to capture that most perfect moment, that most beautiful glance. Until the next one, each more beautiful than the last.
He puts the slide show on continuous repeat and watches until he is aching with want, his cock straining against his jeans as if it could reach the object of its desire if it just tried hard enough. He presses down on the ache with the heel of his hand -- as if he could stifle his desire and all he gets for his effort are sparks of pleasure shooting through his body. A quick check to make sure that yes, he is still alone and his hand moves of its own volition to undo his fly and free his cock, swollen and hard.
He strokes himself lightly, careful not to rush the sensation and send himself careening over the edge too soon. Private time is so rare when you’re touring in a van, he wants to make this last. It will most likely be a week or more before he gets this chance again. A week of Ryan Ryan Ryan all around him and thisclose. Jon needs this release to carry him through.
As one hand caresses his hardness the other reaches out and taps a key, and the screen freezes on one image; a lithe figure reclined on a bed with a tantalizingly bare shoulder. Jon can remember the precise moment he’d looked over and saw Ryan, naked in bed with Andy. They often doubled up like this in hotels. Ryan usually wore a t-shirt to sleep but this particular night had been so hot that he had slipped into bed in boxers and nothing else. Jon had choked back his arousal then but now he lets it flow, lets it fill him as his hand picks out a rhythm
Leaning back in his chair, he stretches and lets his legs fall open, anticipation clenching in his gut as the slow slide, squeeze, slide, pull of his hand brings him closer and closer to climax. His breathing is already becoming erratic. He knows he should slow this down somehow, but he can’t turn his eyes away from the strip of flesh on the screen or even halt the movement of his hand. Stroke, stroke, stroke, up and over the head and back down again - his hips begin to lift with each down-stroke, and he can’t control the little whimpers escaping with each breath. His free hand reaches, trails a finger across the image on the screen and it’s toomuchnotenough and he cries out suddenly as warmth and wetness floods over his hand to spill on the floor in front of him.
Several long minutes pass before he is able to move, to clean himself up, to clear the screen and head out to join the guys, his camera poised and ready to catch the next thrill.
author: Trish slashxmistress
pairing: Jon/Ryan err..sort of ;)
rating: R
summary: Jon bites back a moan as the images scroll by on the screen and wonders how this has become his life; he spends nearly every waking moment longing, itching for his camera to capture that most perfect moment, that most beautiful glance. Until the next one, each more beautiful than the last
notes: written for the kink_bingo prompt film/photography, beta-ed lovingly by my darling aerogroupie
Click.
Soft, tawny curls.
Click.
Happy, tired eyes.
Click.
Long fingers dripping BBQ sauce.
Click.
A rare belly laugh.
Click.
A sly smirk.
Click.
A stolen glance.
Click.
Lips bitten bright red.
Jon bites back a moan as the images scroll by on the screen and wonders how this has become his life; he spends nearly every waking moment longing, itching for his camera to capture that most perfect moment, that most beautiful glance. Until the next one, each more beautiful than the last.
He puts the slide show on continuous repeat and watches until he is aching with want, his cock straining against his jeans as if it could reach the object of its desire if it just tried hard enough. He presses down on the ache with the heel of his hand -- as if he could stifle his desire and all he gets for his effort are sparks of pleasure shooting through his body. A quick check to make sure that yes, he is still alone and his hand moves of its own volition to undo his fly and free his cock, swollen and hard.
He strokes himself lightly, careful not to rush the sensation and send himself careening over the edge too soon. Private time is so rare when you’re touring in a van, he wants to make this last. It will most likely be a week or more before he gets this chance again. A week of Ryan Ryan Ryan all around him and thisclose. Jon needs this release to carry him through.
As one hand caresses his hardness the other reaches out and taps a key, and the screen freezes on one image; a lithe figure reclined on a bed with a tantalizingly bare shoulder. Jon can remember the precise moment he’d looked over and saw Ryan, naked in bed with Andy. They often doubled up like this in hotels. Ryan usually wore a t-shirt to sleep but this particular night had been so hot that he had slipped into bed in boxers and nothing else. Jon had choked back his arousal then but now he lets it flow, lets it fill him as his hand picks out a rhythm
Leaning back in his chair, he stretches and lets his legs fall open, anticipation clenching in his gut as the slow slide, squeeze, slide, pull of his hand brings him closer and closer to climax. His breathing is already becoming erratic. He knows he should slow this down somehow, but he can’t turn his eyes away from the strip of flesh on the screen or even halt the movement of his hand. Stroke, stroke, stroke, up and over the head and back down again - his hips begin to lift with each down-stroke, and he can’t control the little whimpers escaping with each breath. His free hand reaches, trails a finger across the image on the screen and it’s toomuchnotenough and he cries out suddenly as warmth and wetness floods over his hand to spill on the floor in front of him.
Several long minutes pass before he is able to move, to clean himself up, to clear the screen and head out to join the guys, his camera poised and ready to catch the next thrill.