FIC: "Focus," Jon/Ryan, NC17
I swore up and down this morning that I wouldn't work on anything else for porn battle unless I got some work done on at least one of my WIPs.
...Stop laughing, it's really not that funny. >:(
Title: Focus
Pairing: Jon/Ryan
Rating: NC17
Summary: "Well, just a guess, but I'm pretty sure you're actually supposed to film the sex part."
Warnings: I think I used up my warnings quotient for a couple of months with the rape fantasy thing. /o\ Tame, tame, tame.
Notes: For Porn Battle VII, prompts: "shy," "camera." Thanks to boweryd, who is a terrible enabler, and ailleann23, who, no lie, said "NEEDS MOAR PORN" after I sent her the first draft. And, agreeing with her, I went back to work...and I added hand-holding. :DDD: 1400 words.
***
"This is a bad idea."
Ryan cocks his head to the side, dragging his fingers down his bare stomach to toy with the button of his jeans. He spreads his legs, hips arching a little to draw attention to the hard line of his dick in his pants; he hears Jon's sharp inhale, the soft buzz of the automatic focus adjusting the lens. Ryan can't help smirking a little as he opens his fly. "Jon," he says, tone flat. "Are you afraid I'm going to sell our sex tape to the tabloids?"
The camera shakes a little as Jon laughs quietly. "I'm more afraid of what Pete would do with it, honestly."
Making a face, Ryan stops stroking himself teasingly through his boxers. "You're afraid I'm going to give it to Pete?" he says, affronted.
"No!" Jon says immediately. "No, that's-I'm an asshole, don't stop." The camera pans up to focus on Ryan's face and then zooms out again, taking in the lean lines of Ryan's chest, the graceful lines of his arms, one hand curled around his cock through the dark, soft cotton, one tapping out a nonsense rhythm on the jut of his hip. It's a nice image.
Seemingly mollified, Ryan starts moving his hand again, twisting his hips a little on the bed so his jeans slide down a little lower, easing his boxers down with them. He's fully hard already, flushed with the thrill of being watched, of having Jon's attention on him like this. He bites his lip as he finally wraps his hand around his bare cock, shuddering at the feel of skin on skin. "You're not an asshole," he murmurs, looking up at the camera-at Jon-through heavy-lidded eyes. "I trust you."
Jon makes a strangled sound in his throat, and the camera cuts off.
Close-up on the tender pink of beard burn at the junction of Ryan's neck and shoulder, and the camera zooms out to show him bent over the bathroom sink, splashing water on his face. He straightens and looks wryly at the camera, shaking off the water clinging to his eyelashes. "You suck at sex tapes, Jon," he says, reaching down to scratch at the sparse trail of hair below his navel, which disappears under the boxers slung low on his hips.
Jon laughs. "I didn't know you had so much experience with the, uh, genre."
Rolling his eyes, Ryan says, "Well, just a guess, but I'm pretty sure you're actually supposed to film the sex part."
"Oh, see, that's just crazy talk. I couldn't fuck you and film it at the same time."
Ryan makes a little disapproving noise. "That's what tripods are for."
"We don't have a tripod, Ryan."
"Then you could put the camera on the dresser, or something. I'm just saying." He turns back to the mirror, showing the camera his profile. His fingers are still resting on his belly, almost but not quite slipping under the waist of his underwear, and he looks back at Jon again, sly; he knows exactly what he looks like, and the thin fabric of his boxers isn't doing much to hide how much the camera is still affecting him.
"You want to be the director, then?"
Ryan smiles. "Bet I could do it better than you. Certainly couldn't do worse."
"Okay, now you're just being a dickhead."
"Poor baby," Ryan says, turning to face the camera head-on, tilting his head deliberately to the side to show off a livid mark in the shape of Jon's mouth on the side of his neck. "I'll prove it, come on, let's-"
The camera cuts off again.
Jon glances up, frowning. "This wasn't exactly what I meant." The image zooms out, shaky, too fast, showing Jon sitting awkwardly on the bed in his boxers, one bare foot tucked under him. He flushes a little and looks away from the lens, embarrassed, like he's just realized that the camera's on.
"Come on, don't be shy," Ryan says, his tone encouraging, and Jon just makes a noncommittal noise and doesn't look up. "You weren't like this an hour ago."
"An hour ago, I had my dick in your ass."
"Yeah, and? You weren't shy about that."
Jon crosses his arms over his chest and gives the camera an unimpressed look.
The camera lurches to the side and down, and there's a rustling noise as it's set down on the end of the bed, angled carelessly so Jon is half in frame, his skin looking almost golden against the dark blue of the sheets.
"Ryan, don't just leave it like-"
There's the soft, wet sound of kissing, and Ryan's hand appears in the shot, splayed possessively over Jon's ribs. Jon moans, tiny and indistinct, as he leans back a little, Ryan following him down and pressing against him, their heads just out of frame.
"Better?" Ryan says softly. His fingers stroke up Jon's side and then down his arm, lingering on the strong curve of Jon's bicep, the crease of Jon's elbow.
"This really isn't my thing," Jon says, just as quiet, and takes Ryan's hand. Their fingers tangle; their hands look almost strange together, Ryan's narrow and elegant and long, Jon's stocky and small in comparison.
Their joined hands leave the shot, and Ryan says, "It's just me, it's okay."
"I know, just." A pause. "I know."
More kissing, and then Ryan pulls away and out of the camera's gaze. The camera gets jostled around again, and when it comes back into focus Jon fills the frame, leaning back on his hands. His mouth is wet and red from Ryan's kisses, and there's heat in his eyes when he looks up at the camera again.
"Come on," Ryan says, and Jon nods slowly, leaning back into the pillows piled at the head of the bed.
Jon hooks both of his thumbs in the waist of his boxers and hesitates for just a second before he lifts his hips to push them down, kicking them off and out of frame. He settles back down, thighs barely spread, and reaches down to take his cock in hand, stroking himself slowly until he's all the way hard, the head dark red where it peeks out from the circle of his fingers.
He glances up at the lens again, lips parted, and his tongue darts out, touching the swollen curve of his upper lip.
The image trembles a little, like Ryan can't hold the camera still, and then zooms in on Jon's face, his eyes fluttering closed as his mouth drops open on a gasp. Hold that shot for a half-dozen heartbeats, and then pan down to show Jon's fingers curled tight around his dick, the tiny drop of precome slicking the head. "Yeah, like that," Ryan says breathlessly, and then the frame abruptly widens again, zooming out to show everything: the flex of Jon's forearm as he works himself over-his strokes faster now, his hand wet with his own slick. His legs fall open a little more as he gets close, so he has better leverage to thrust his hips up off the bed.
"Ryan," Jon cries, eyes screwed shut, head tossing on the pillow. He brushes the fingers of his free hand over his balls, presses down hard behind them as he rocks up into his fist.
"So fucking hot," Ryan says, sounding dazed. The camera shakes again, violently this time, almost vertigo-inducing. "Are you-"
"Yeah, I'm fucking-ah!" Jon makes a breathy, choked-off noise as his cock jerks in his hand, streaking come over his belly and his hand. He strokes himself through it, slows as the last drops pearl the head of his cock until he's just resting his arm against his hip, fingers curled loosely around his dick as he starts to go soft.
The harsh rasp of Ryan's breathing is the only sound.
A few long seconds later, Jon opens his eyes and stares up at the camera, his gaze dark and liquid. He sits up, gets his legs under him and then knee-walks to the foot of the bed, still messy with his come. He moves a little too fast for the autofocus to keep up, the image going to shit for a couple of seconds and then coming sharply into focus when Jon's kneeling right in front of the lens, close enough to see the sheen of sweat on his face.
"Ryan," he says, his voice gravelly and low. "Put the camera d-"
***
...Stop laughing, it's really not that funny. >:(
Title: Focus
Pairing: Jon/Ryan
Rating: NC17
Summary: "Well, just a guess, but I'm pretty sure you're actually supposed to film the sex part."
Warnings: I think I used up my warnings quotient for a couple of months with the rape fantasy thing. /o\ Tame, tame, tame.
Notes: For Porn Battle VII, prompts: "shy," "camera." Thanks to boweryd, who is a terrible enabler, and ailleann23, who, no lie, said "NEEDS MOAR PORN" after I sent her the first draft. And, agreeing with her, I went back to work...and I added hand-holding. :DDD: 1400 words.
***
"This is a bad idea."
Ryan cocks his head to the side, dragging his fingers down his bare stomach to toy with the button of his jeans. He spreads his legs, hips arching a little to draw attention to the hard line of his dick in his pants; he hears Jon's sharp inhale, the soft buzz of the automatic focus adjusting the lens. Ryan can't help smirking a little as he opens his fly. "Jon," he says, tone flat. "Are you afraid I'm going to sell our sex tape to the tabloids?"
The camera shakes a little as Jon laughs quietly. "I'm more afraid of what Pete would do with it, honestly."
Making a face, Ryan stops stroking himself teasingly through his boxers. "You're afraid I'm going to give it to Pete?" he says, affronted.
"No!" Jon says immediately. "No, that's-I'm an asshole, don't stop." The camera pans up to focus on Ryan's face and then zooms out again, taking in the lean lines of Ryan's chest, the graceful lines of his arms, one hand curled around his cock through the dark, soft cotton, one tapping out a nonsense rhythm on the jut of his hip. It's a nice image.
Seemingly mollified, Ryan starts moving his hand again, twisting his hips a little on the bed so his jeans slide down a little lower, easing his boxers down with them. He's fully hard already, flushed with the thrill of being watched, of having Jon's attention on him like this. He bites his lip as he finally wraps his hand around his bare cock, shuddering at the feel of skin on skin. "You're not an asshole," he murmurs, looking up at the camera-at Jon-through heavy-lidded eyes. "I trust you."
Jon makes a strangled sound in his throat, and the camera cuts off.
Close-up on the tender pink of beard burn at the junction of Ryan's neck and shoulder, and the camera zooms out to show him bent over the bathroom sink, splashing water on his face. He straightens and looks wryly at the camera, shaking off the water clinging to his eyelashes. "You suck at sex tapes, Jon," he says, reaching down to scratch at the sparse trail of hair below his navel, which disappears under the boxers slung low on his hips.
Jon laughs. "I didn't know you had so much experience with the, uh, genre."
Rolling his eyes, Ryan says, "Well, just a guess, but I'm pretty sure you're actually supposed to film the sex part."
"Oh, see, that's just crazy talk. I couldn't fuck you and film it at the same time."
Ryan makes a little disapproving noise. "That's what tripods are for."
"We don't have a tripod, Ryan."
"Then you could put the camera on the dresser, or something. I'm just saying." He turns back to the mirror, showing the camera his profile. His fingers are still resting on his belly, almost but not quite slipping under the waist of his underwear, and he looks back at Jon again, sly; he knows exactly what he looks like, and the thin fabric of his boxers isn't doing much to hide how much the camera is still affecting him.
"You want to be the director, then?"
Ryan smiles. "Bet I could do it better than you. Certainly couldn't do worse."
"Okay, now you're just being a dickhead."
"Poor baby," Ryan says, turning to face the camera head-on, tilting his head deliberately to the side to show off a livid mark in the shape of Jon's mouth on the side of his neck. "I'll prove it, come on, let's-"
The camera cuts off again.
Jon glances up, frowning. "This wasn't exactly what I meant." The image zooms out, shaky, too fast, showing Jon sitting awkwardly on the bed in his boxers, one bare foot tucked under him. He flushes a little and looks away from the lens, embarrassed, like he's just realized that the camera's on.
"Come on, don't be shy," Ryan says, his tone encouraging, and Jon just makes a noncommittal noise and doesn't look up. "You weren't like this an hour ago."
"An hour ago, I had my dick in your ass."
"Yeah, and? You weren't shy about that."
Jon crosses his arms over his chest and gives the camera an unimpressed look.
The camera lurches to the side and down, and there's a rustling noise as it's set down on the end of the bed, angled carelessly so Jon is half in frame, his skin looking almost golden against the dark blue of the sheets.
"Ryan, don't just leave it like-"
There's the soft, wet sound of kissing, and Ryan's hand appears in the shot, splayed possessively over Jon's ribs. Jon moans, tiny and indistinct, as he leans back a little, Ryan following him down and pressing against him, their heads just out of frame.
"Better?" Ryan says softly. His fingers stroke up Jon's side and then down his arm, lingering on the strong curve of Jon's bicep, the crease of Jon's elbow.
"This really isn't my thing," Jon says, just as quiet, and takes Ryan's hand. Their fingers tangle; their hands look almost strange together, Ryan's narrow and elegant and long, Jon's stocky and small in comparison.
Their joined hands leave the shot, and Ryan says, "It's just me, it's okay."
"I know, just." A pause. "I know."
More kissing, and then Ryan pulls away and out of the camera's gaze. The camera gets jostled around again, and when it comes back into focus Jon fills the frame, leaning back on his hands. His mouth is wet and red from Ryan's kisses, and there's heat in his eyes when he looks up at the camera again.
"Come on," Ryan says, and Jon nods slowly, leaning back into the pillows piled at the head of the bed.
Jon hooks both of his thumbs in the waist of his boxers and hesitates for just a second before he lifts his hips to push them down, kicking them off and out of frame. He settles back down, thighs barely spread, and reaches down to take his cock in hand, stroking himself slowly until he's all the way hard, the head dark red where it peeks out from the circle of his fingers.
He glances up at the lens again, lips parted, and his tongue darts out, touching the swollen curve of his upper lip.
The image trembles a little, like Ryan can't hold the camera still, and then zooms in on Jon's face, his eyes fluttering closed as his mouth drops open on a gasp. Hold that shot for a half-dozen heartbeats, and then pan down to show Jon's fingers curled tight around his dick, the tiny drop of precome slicking the head. "Yeah, like that," Ryan says breathlessly, and then the frame abruptly widens again, zooming out to show everything: the flex of Jon's forearm as he works himself over-his strokes faster now, his hand wet with his own slick. His legs fall open a little more as he gets close, so he has better leverage to thrust his hips up off the bed.
"Ryan," Jon cries, eyes screwed shut, head tossing on the pillow. He brushes the fingers of his free hand over his balls, presses down hard behind them as he rocks up into his fist.
"So fucking hot," Ryan says, sounding dazed. The camera shakes again, violently this time, almost vertigo-inducing. "Are you-"
"Yeah, I'm fucking-ah!" Jon makes a breathy, choked-off noise as his cock jerks in his hand, streaking come over his belly and his hand. He strokes himself through it, slows as the last drops pearl the head of his cock until he's just resting his arm against his hip, fingers curled loosely around his dick as he starts to go soft.
The harsh rasp of Ryan's breathing is the only sound.
A few long seconds later, Jon opens his eyes and stares up at the camera, his gaze dark and liquid. He sits up, gets his legs under him and then knee-walks to the foot of the bed, still messy with his come. He moves a little too fast for the autofocus to keep up, the image going to shit for a couple of seconds and then coming sharply into focus when Jon's kneeling right in front of the lens, close enough to see the sheen of sweat on his face.
"Ryan," he says, his voice gravelly and low. "Put the camera d-"
***