Behind Your Eyelids, 1/2
WHAT HAVE I DONE. OH GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Title: Behind Your Eyelids, 1/2
Characters/Pairings: Ben/Skandar, not-so-subtle hints of Will/Skandar
Word Count: 1,118
Author's Notes: Okay, so this just came to me and pretty much wrote itself. However, I think that Ben's a little OOC here, and the background (what's not obvious) is pretty much up to you.
__________
Skandar blames it on the alcohol, although even to his own ears that sounds like a pretty lame excuse. He doesn't know what Ben blames it on, but he's pretty sure he doesn't care. It's definitely not the point, at any rate.
The point is, is that he's lying on Ben's bed in Ben's hotel room, naked and wanting while Will is still downstairs, making polite conversation with the media and small talk with the guests, probably chatting with Anna or laughing with Georgie, having a good time and generally enjoying himself.
The thought makes him sick.
But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because at that moment Ben comes out of the bathroom with a condom wrapper in his hand, his face unreadable. He walks slowly over to the bed where Skandar is laying in the position Ben had left him in, and told him to stay in. He climbs gracefully onto the bottom of the bed and crawls up a little towards Skandar, grabs Skandar’s legs and pulls him up to rest his ass on Ben’s thighs, exposing him. Ben leans over a little, down a bit, and tucks a loose strand of his hair behind his ear.
"You're going to like this," he tells Skandar, his voice harsh, from lust or...something else, Skandar can't tell. Ben spits on his fingers and shoves one of them into Skandar to the knuckle, without warning, in one swift motion. Skandar cries out against the burn, but pushes himself down onto Ben's finger nonetheless. Ben hisses in satisfaction, runs his left hand up and down the underside of Skandar's exposed thigh, holds Skandar’s leg up with a hand under his bent knee.
Ben slips his finger out only to thrust back in once more, all the way this time, and when he does it again he adds a second finger, scissoring them inside Skandar, opening him up. Skandar feels Ben curl them upwards, and his head snaps back against the bed when they brush against his prostate. He cries out again, in pleasure this time, as Ben hits the spot again, pressing harder, lingering.
When he adds a third finger, Skandar's whole body convulses, and he grips the sheets, knuckles white, rutting against Ben's hand and pleading-for what he doesn't know, and doesn't particularly care.
Ben smiles possessively and slips his fingers out, tears open the condom package, and rolls it on, shifting between Skandar's legs. He's still holding Skandar up as he pushes into him, one long, agonizingly slow stroke, and he stills at the end, waiting.
After only a few seconds, Skandar raises his head and looks at Ben, eyes wide, unbelieving, and Ben just stares back at him, challenging, arrogant. Anger floods through Skandar's body and Ben must see it, must feel some flicker of uncertainty because he moves-not even an inch, but Skandar throws his head back again and gasps out, "Ben. Please." Skandar doesn't need to open his eyes to see Ben's smirk, and when Ben still doesn't move, Skandar chokes out, "God, Ben, please. Fucking move already," and he's trying to thrust against Ben, trying to ride Ben's cock, but Ben holds him still and asks, "What do you want me to do to you, Skandar?"
Skandar growls, low in his throat, and his "Fuck me," comes out as a snarl. Ben's smirk turns into a leer as he repositions himself once again, leaning over Skandar and slamming into him, his balls slapping against Skandar's ass.
The pace he sets is brutal, and Skandar can feel pain under every one of Ben's movements, but he's panting and meeting Ben's thrusts regardless, one arm thrown carelessly over Ben's shoulders, his nails digging into Ben's skin.
Ben leans closer, slows his pace, kisses the side of Skandar's mouth with dry lips. He drives in slowly, kisses the crest of Skandar's cheekbone and whispers into Skandar's ear, "I bet Will couldn't fuck you like this. I bet Will couldn't make you beg, couldn't turn you into such a little slut."
Skandar doesn't even have time to respond before Ben pushes himself up, changes the angle, and slides his cock against Skandar's prostate. All of Skandar's thoughts shatter as Ben hits it again and again, picking up the pace once more; and Skandar writhes under him, muttering nonsense broken only by moans.
"This is better than he'll ever be," Ben says, and four thrusts later he comes, spilling into the condom and still rocking against Skandar, riding out his orgasm.
His breathing slowly evens out, and he pulls out of Skandar with a slight squelching noise, pulls off the condom, and slowly pushes himself off the bed. He starts to turn away, meaning to throw the condom away, and he hears Skandar cry out, desperate and shaking and still rock hard, a look of anger or maybe betrayal on his face.
Ben looks back at him for a moment then turns away fully, walks to the desk and drops the condom into the bin before returning to the bed. He stands even with Skandar's chest and leans down, hands on the edge of the mattress, arms supporting his weight.
Skandar looks up at him, opens his mouth to say something-anything-when Ben cuts him off.
"Touch yourself," is all he says, and there's a gleam in his eyes as he watches Skandar hurry to obey him, wrapping his hand tentatively around the base of his cock.
"Yeah," Ben whispers, "that's it. C'mon Skandar, make yourself come."
Skandar keens at Ben's words, pulls at his dick faster and faster, spreading his precome down the shaft. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood and squeezes his eyes shut, rocking into his fist. There's silence for a few moments as Ben watches, and Skandar feels his orgasm building. Sweat beads on his forehead and Ben pushes back Skandar's hair, fingers running gently down the side of his face.
"I want to see you come, Skandar," Ben says. "Imagine that it's Will, if you have to. Think about Will's hand wrapped around your cock, or, better yet," Ben says, his tone light, "his mouth. Imagine what he'd look like with your cock down his throat, his lips stretched around you. Imagine him swallowing you down, sucking on your dick, the taste of your come over his tongue."
Ben pauses as Skandar thrashes more wildly on the bed and reaches down with his other hand to cup his balls, so close to climax.
"Fucking come already, Skandar," Ben says, voice harsh this time, and Skandar comes, almost crying, shooting thick ropes over his hand and chest, Will's name a mantra and sour on his tongue.
***
Second part here.
Title: Behind Your Eyelids, 1/2
Characters/Pairings: Ben/Skandar, not-so-subtle hints of Will/Skandar
Word Count: 1,118
Author's Notes: Okay, so this just came to me and pretty much wrote itself. However, I think that Ben's a little OOC here, and the background (what's not obvious) is pretty much up to you.
__________
Skandar blames it on the alcohol, although even to his own ears that sounds like a pretty lame excuse. He doesn't know what Ben blames it on, but he's pretty sure he doesn't care. It's definitely not the point, at any rate.
The point is, is that he's lying on Ben's bed in Ben's hotel room, naked and wanting while Will is still downstairs, making polite conversation with the media and small talk with the guests, probably chatting with Anna or laughing with Georgie, having a good time and generally enjoying himself.
The thought makes him sick.
But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because at that moment Ben comes out of the bathroom with a condom wrapper in his hand, his face unreadable. He walks slowly over to the bed where Skandar is laying in the position Ben had left him in, and told him to stay in. He climbs gracefully onto the bottom of the bed and crawls up a little towards Skandar, grabs Skandar’s legs and pulls him up to rest his ass on Ben’s thighs, exposing him. Ben leans over a little, down a bit, and tucks a loose strand of his hair behind his ear.
"You're going to like this," he tells Skandar, his voice harsh, from lust or...something else, Skandar can't tell. Ben spits on his fingers and shoves one of them into Skandar to the knuckle, without warning, in one swift motion. Skandar cries out against the burn, but pushes himself down onto Ben's finger nonetheless. Ben hisses in satisfaction, runs his left hand up and down the underside of Skandar's exposed thigh, holds Skandar’s leg up with a hand under his bent knee.
Ben slips his finger out only to thrust back in once more, all the way this time, and when he does it again he adds a second finger, scissoring them inside Skandar, opening him up. Skandar feels Ben curl them upwards, and his head snaps back against the bed when they brush against his prostate. He cries out again, in pleasure this time, as Ben hits the spot again, pressing harder, lingering.
When he adds a third finger, Skandar's whole body convulses, and he grips the sheets, knuckles white, rutting against Ben's hand and pleading-for what he doesn't know, and doesn't particularly care.
Ben smiles possessively and slips his fingers out, tears open the condom package, and rolls it on, shifting between Skandar's legs. He's still holding Skandar up as he pushes into him, one long, agonizingly slow stroke, and he stills at the end, waiting.
After only a few seconds, Skandar raises his head and looks at Ben, eyes wide, unbelieving, and Ben just stares back at him, challenging, arrogant. Anger floods through Skandar's body and Ben must see it, must feel some flicker of uncertainty because he moves-not even an inch, but Skandar throws his head back again and gasps out, "Ben. Please." Skandar doesn't need to open his eyes to see Ben's smirk, and when Ben still doesn't move, Skandar chokes out, "God, Ben, please. Fucking move already," and he's trying to thrust against Ben, trying to ride Ben's cock, but Ben holds him still and asks, "What do you want me to do to you, Skandar?"
Skandar growls, low in his throat, and his "Fuck me," comes out as a snarl. Ben's smirk turns into a leer as he repositions himself once again, leaning over Skandar and slamming into him, his balls slapping against Skandar's ass.
The pace he sets is brutal, and Skandar can feel pain under every one of Ben's movements, but he's panting and meeting Ben's thrusts regardless, one arm thrown carelessly over Ben's shoulders, his nails digging into Ben's skin.
Ben leans closer, slows his pace, kisses the side of Skandar's mouth with dry lips. He drives in slowly, kisses the crest of Skandar's cheekbone and whispers into Skandar's ear, "I bet Will couldn't fuck you like this. I bet Will couldn't make you beg, couldn't turn you into such a little slut."
Skandar doesn't even have time to respond before Ben pushes himself up, changes the angle, and slides his cock against Skandar's prostate. All of Skandar's thoughts shatter as Ben hits it again and again, picking up the pace once more; and Skandar writhes under him, muttering nonsense broken only by moans.
"This is better than he'll ever be," Ben says, and four thrusts later he comes, spilling into the condom and still rocking against Skandar, riding out his orgasm.
His breathing slowly evens out, and he pulls out of Skandar with a slight squelching noise, pulls off the condom, and slowly pushes himself off the bed. He starts to turn away, meaning to throw the condom away, and he hears Skandar cry out, desperate and shaking and still rock hard, a look of anger or maybe betrayal on his face.
Ben looks back at him for a moment then turns away fully, walks to the desk and drops the condom into the bin before returning to the bed. He stands even with Skandar's chest and leans down, hands on the edge of the mattress, arms supporting his weight.
Skandar looks up at him, opens his mouth to say something-anything-when Ben cuts him off.
"Touch yourself," is all he says, and there's a gleam in his eyes as he watches Skandar hurry to obey him, wrapping his hand tentatively around the base of his cock.
"Yeah," Ben whispers, "that's it. C'mon Skandar, make yourself come."
Skandar keens at Ben's words, pulls at his dick faster and faster, spreading his precome down the shaft. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood and squeezes his eyes shut, rocking into his fist. There's silence for a few moments as Ben watches, and Skandar feels his orgasm building. Sweat beads on his forehead and Ben pushes back Skandar's hair, fingers running gently down the side of his face.
"I want to see you come, Skandar," Ben says. "Imagine that it's Will, if you have to. Think about Will's hand wrapped around your cock, or, better yet," Ben says, his tone light, "his mouth. Imagine what he'd look like with your cock down his throat, his lips stretched around you. Imagine him swallowing you down, sucking on your dick, the taste of your come over his tongue."
Ben pauses as Skandar thrashes more wildly on the bed and reaches down with his other hand to cup his balls, so close to climax.
"Fucking come already, Skandar," Ben says, voice harsh this time, and Skandar comes, almost crying, shooting thick ropes over his hand and chest, Will's name a mantra and sour on his tongue.
***
Second part here.