FIC: Affinity (Ryan/Simon, NC-17)
An unscheduled interruption to Different for Girls, which will be back in its usual time next week!
Author: Clio
Title: Affinity
Pairing: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell (American Idol)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan is sunshine and sunny optimism and go-getting and fast cars and Los Angeles. He is not rain and dark humor and fatalism and Tube strikes and London.
Length: 1600 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Originally written for the Porn Battle on Dreamwidth, to the prompt "London rain," only I totally missed the deadline. Also inspired by Ryan's recent trip to London, where he and Simon visited a gentlemen's club. Thanks ever so to ali_wildgoose for the beta.
To Simon Cowell, Ryan Seacrest in London didn't quite make sense.
He had to admit to himself-when he bothered to admit things to himself, which wasn't often and was over quickly-that the first time he'd slept with Ryan, it had been because he was the living, breathing embodiment of America. Fake blond hair, fake golden tan, fake white smile, biceps and flat stomach ordered specially from the gym.
But those green eyes? They were real.
After that first time, he kept fucking him because he couldn't stop. And nowadays, he fucked him for any one or two of the million reasons you might fuck someone you were in a relationship with. Given the absurd nature of that relationship, the last time he had fucked Ryan was the night before, in the back room of a gentlemen's club, both of them worked up by a few hours of lap dances, the lipstick of various girls on their cheeks and lips. It was probably wrong in some way, but it was hot, and it was them-like the way that Simon was probably turned on less by his twenty girls than by whatever the twenty girls surrounding Ryan were doing to him.
Outside it wasn't quite raining but would be soon enough, and the bedroom was full of the eerie grey light so familiar to him and so wrong for Ryan. Ryan was sunshine and sunny optimism and go-getting and fast cars and Los Angeles. He was not rain and dark humor and fatalism and Tube strikes and London. But now he had business interests in London (he really did, though why he had developed those business interests, Simon would give you three guesses and the first two didn't count) and so now he was fitting himself into Simon's London life just as Simon had fitted himself into Ryan's Los Angeles life. And it shouldn't have worked.
But it did. Ryan was learning to navigate the streets, which neighborhoods were which, the slang that he hadn't learned just being around Simon (though he had an ear for that sort of thing), and who he needed to be talking with in the business. Watching Ryan acclimate himself gave Simon a sense of what Ryan must have been like when he first got to Hollywood, only now his instincts were honed even finer. And of course, he'd mostly got used to the weather, that rain didn't mean that all the traffic would come to a halt, that grey skies didn't even mean actual rain but a fine mist that never entirely stopped. He'd actually remarked that it was a good thing he'd stopped flat-ironing his hair, so he wouldn't have to embarrass Simon by wearing a rain bonnet all the time.
Ryan had teased Simon on the radio, that all of his houses reminded him of Ryan, and at the time he would only allow Barbados. London was home, Los Angeles was success, but Barbados was all wrapped up in beach holidays with Ryan. Of course the Los Angeles house reminded him of Ryan, too, especially now that Terri had moved into her own house. And now even in the London townhouse there were little nooks where he'd left things, or where they'd snogged up against furniture or kitchen countertops, ghosts of Ryan all over the place. Honestly, you'd almost think Simon was in love, or something.
Ryan stirred, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?" he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep and booze and a menthol cigarette or two. "Hell, what day is it?"
"Leaving day," Simon said.
"Well, then we'd better not waste any time," Ryan said, and before he knew it Simon found himself on his back, a grinning Ryan on top of him. They kissed, soft and wet, and Ryan wiggled his hips, sliding one thigh between Simon's legs. "Hmm," he said, "feels like the old man is up for it."
"Who," Simon said between kisses, "are you calling old? Thought you said I was a silver fox."
Ryan's smile was feral now, as though he'd grown more teeth, like those sparkly vampires he was always on about. "Senile already?" He clucked his tongue. "Such a shame."
"Obnoxious. Keep that up and I won't fuck you."
"Who said anything about you fucking me?" Ryan asked, reaching into the bedside table. "You fucked me at the club. Now it's my turn."
Simon shrugged as best he could when laying under Ryan. "Seems fair," he said.
He had been trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice-getting fucked was exactly what he wanted, and oh how he hated to admit that-but the look on Ryan's face told him that he'd given the game away. Well, Ryan's ability to read him (Ryan would say manage, but Ryan was bossy) was half of why Simon kept him around anyway.
Ryan shifted a bit, pushing Simon's legs further apart and getting both of his between them, and grabbed a pillow to set beneath Simon's hips. Then he sat back on his haunches, and there was the other half: Ryan's naked body on display in front of him like his own personal porno, both more and less expensive than those girls the night before. Simon watched him squeeze a bit of lube onto his fingertips. This was the toughest part for Simon, and Ryan knew it-vulnerable, laying there with his legs spread, letting Ryan gently stretch him open, a little pain now for a lot of pleasure later. It was easier when Ryan would get him so worked up that he wasn't thinking anymore, or at least used his tongue instead of his fingers so Simon wouldn't have to look at him. Simon realized that actually he was the one on display, and while he knew that he looked damn good even if there were gray hairs on his chest, it was still strange. Ryan liked being pretty, liked being looked at; Simon didn't, and wasn't, even if Ryan still called him "pretty boy" sometimes.
Ryan rolled on a condom, and showed Simon the wrapper-apparently one from the club, as it had their logo on it. "Studded for her pleasure," Ryan said, waggling his eyebrows, and Simon had to laugh. Ryan put more lube on his cock, and Simon had a flash of doing that himself, and how Ryan would stare at his cock, all but licking his lips, because the anticipation was the best part for Ryan. But then, Ryan could always wait for a good thing; Simon was far too impatient for any of that.
Good thing Ryan was finally easing into him, propping his body above Simon's with outstretched arms. He was still staring at Simon's face, watching his reactions, but that was no different than any other time they were together, Ryan carefully watching for signs of an explosion and calibrating his own behavior accordingly. Simon bit his lip, feeling his flesh make way for Ryan's, and thinking suddenly how very weird sex was-let me shove this bit of me into you, because it will feel really good for both of us.
"Okay?' Ryan asked, and Simon realized he was all the way in, and hesitating.
Simon smiled as best he could, given he couldn't quite get his breath with Ryan's cock up his arse, and said, "You wanted to fuck me, so fuck me."
"Heh," Ryan said, and leaned in for a sloppy kiss. Simon put his arms around Ryan's shoulders, drawing him in, and Ryan dropped to his elbows and started to thrust into Simon. The old bed creaked just a little, and Simon lifted his legs to wrap them around Ryan's back, a weirdly comfortable position for him. Ryan was alternately kissing him and burying his head into Simon's shoulder as he went, rubbing his sweet spot more often than not, and Simon was just enjoying the ride.
Maybe Simon could wait, after all; when Ryan moved to reach for his cock, Simon brushed his hand away. "One thing at a time," he whispered, and reached up for another kiss. Ryan was moving faster now, his body getting tenser, and Simon squeezed as best he could with his arse and his legs and his arms, pulling Ryan into him, and Ryan was coming, shouting Simon's name, and then collapsed on top of him, shifting his hips to let his cock slip out of Simon's arse.
Simon stretched his legs and let them fall back onto the bed, and rubbed the back of Ryan's head. "Nice to know you remember who I am," he said, grinning.
Ryan lifted his head up. "Just for that," he said, "no blow job for you." He reached down to take Simon's cock firmly in hand. "Kisses, though," he continued, and they were snogging, legs entwined, Simon's arms around Ryan's shoulders. He began to thrust into Ryan's hand, enjoying the lazy slide, the feeling of having all the time in the world. It took a little longer to get there these days, but he always did eventually, and he was thankful for Ryan's patience at times like this. When he finally came it took him by surprise, and he moaned into Ryan's mouth.
Ryan let go long enough to grab the towel he kept near the bed, and cleaned them both off. He pulled the pillow out from under Simon's arse and threw it on the floor with the towel, then settled back down into Simon's arms, resting his head on Simon's chest.
"I think it's gonna rain," Ryan said, staring out the window.
Simon smiled, carding a hand through Ryan's hair. "It is raining."
Author: Clio
Title: Affinity
Pairing: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell (American Idol)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan is sunshine and sunny optimism and go-getting and fast cars and Los Angeles. He is not rain and dark humor and fatalism and Tube strikes and London.
Length: 1600 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Originally written for the Porn Battle on Dreamwidth, to the prompt "London rain," only I totally missed the deadline. Also inspired by Ryan's recent trip to London, where he and Simon visited a gentlemen's club. Thanks ever so to ali_wildgoose for the beta.
To Simon Cowell, Ryan Seacrest in London didn't quite make sense.
He had to admit to himself-when he bothered to admit things to himself, which wasn't often and was over quickly-that the first time he'd slept with Ryan, it had been because he was the living, breathing embodiment of America. Fake blond hair, fake golden tan, fake white smile, biceps and flat stomach ordered specially from the gym.
But those green eyes? They were real.
After that first time, he kept fucking him because he couldn't stop. And nowadays, he fucked him for any one or two of the million reasons you might fuck someone you were in a relationship with. Given the absurd nature of that relationship, the last time he had fucked Ryan was the night before, in the back room of a gentlemen's club, both of them worked up by a few hours of lap dances, the lipstick of various girls on their cheeks and lips. It was probably wrong in some way, but it was hot, and it was them-like the way that Simon was probably turned on less by his twenty girls than by whatever the twenty girls surrounding Ryan were doing to him.
Outside it wasn't quite raining but would be soon enough, and the bedroom was full of the eerie grey light so familiar to him and so wrong for Ryan. Ryan was sunshine and sunny optimism and go-getting and fast cars and Los Angeles. He was not rain and dark humor and fatalism and Tube strikes and London. But now he had business interests in London (he really did, though why he had developed those business interests, Simon would give you three guesses and the first two didn't count) and so now he was fitting himself into Simon's London life just as Simon had fitted himself into Ryan's Los Angeles life. And it shouldn't have worked.
But it did. Ryan was learning to navigate the streets, which neighborhoods were which, the slang that he hadn't learned just being around Simon (though he had an ear for that sort of thing), and who he needed to be talking with in the business. Watching Ryan acclimate himself gave Simon a sense of what Ryan must have been like when he first got to Hollywood, only now his instincts were honed even finer. And of course, he'd mostly got used to the weather, that rain didn't mean that all the traffic would come to a halt, that grey skies didn't even mean actual rain but a fine mist that never entirely stopped. He'd actually remarked that it was a good thing he'd stopped flat-ironing his hair, so he wouldn't have to embarrass Simon by wearing a rain bonnet all the time.
Ryan had teased Simon on the radio, that all of his houses reminded him of Ryan, and at the time he would only allow Barbados. London was home, Los Angeles was success, but Barbados was all wrapped up in beach holidays with Ryan. Of course the Los Angeles house reminded him of Ryan, too, especially now that Terri had moved into her own house. And now even in the London townhouse there were little nooks where he'd left things, or where they'd snogged up against furniture or kitchen countertops, ghosts of Ryan all over the place. Honestly, you'd almost think Simon was in love, or something.
Ryan stirred, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?" he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep and booze and a menthol cigarette or two. "Hell, what day is it?"
"Leaving day," Simon said.
"Well, then we'd better not waste any time," Ryan said, and before he knew it Simon found himself on his back, a grinning Ryan on top of him. They kissed, soft and wet, and Ryan wiggled his hips, sliding one thigh between Simon's legs. "Hmm," he said, "feels like the old man is up for it."
"Who," Simon said between kisses, "are you calling old? Thought you said I was a silver fox."
Ryan's smile was feral now, as though he'd grown more teeth, like those sparkly vampires he was always on about. "Senile already?" He clucked his tongue. "Such a shame."
"Obnoxious. Keep that up and I won't fuck you."
"Who said anything about you fucking me?" Ryan asked, reaching into the bedside table. "You fucked me at the club. Now it's my turn."
Simon shrugged as best he could when laying under Ryan. "Seems fair," he said.
He had been trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice-getting fucked was exactly what he wanted, and oh how he hated to admit that-but the look on Ryan's face told him that he'd given the game away. Well, Ryan's ability to read him (Ryan would say manage, but Ryan was bossy) was half of why Simon kept him around anyway.
Ryan shifted a bit, pushing Simon's legs further apart and getting both of his between them, and grabbed a pillow to set beneath Simon's hips. Then he sat back on his haunches, and there was the other half: Ryan's naked body on display in front of him like his own personal porno, both more and less expensive than those girls the night before. Simon watched him squeeze a bit of lube onto his fingertips. This was the toughest part for Simon, and Ryan knew it-vulnerable, laying there with his legs spread, letting Ryan gently stretch him open, a little pain now for a lot of pleasure later. It was easier when Ryan would get him so worked up that he wasn't thinking anymore, or at least used his tongue instead of his fingers so Simon wouldn't have to look at him. Simon realized that actually he was the one on display, and while he knew that he looked damn good even if there were gray hairs on his chest, it was still strange. Ryan liked being pretty, liked being looked at; Simon didn't, and wasn't, even if Ryan still called him "pretty boy" sometimes.
Ryan rolled on a condom, and showed Simon the wrapper-apparently one from the club, as it had their logo on it. "Studded for her pleasure," Ryan said, waggling his eyebrows, and Simon had to laugh. Ryan put more lube on his cock, and Simon had a flash of doing that himself, and how Ryan would stare at his cock, all but licking his lips, because the anticipation was the best part for Ryan. But then, Ryan could always wait for a good thing; Simon was far too impatient for any of that.
Good thing Ryan was finally easing into him, propping his body above Simon's with outstretched arms. He was still staring at Simon's face, watching his reactions, but that was no different than any other time they were together, Ryan carefully watching for signs of an explosion and calibrating his own behavior accordingly. Simon bit his lip, feeling his flesh make way for Ryan's, and thinking suddenly how very weird sex was-let me shove this bit of me into you, because it will feel really good for both of us.
"Okay?' Ryan asked, and Simon realized he was all the way in, and hesitating.
Simon smiled as best he could, given he couldn't quite get his breath with Ryan's cock up his arse, and said, "You wanted to fuck me, so fuck me."
"Heh," Ryan said, and leaned in for a sloppy kiss. Simon put his arms around Ryan's shoulders, drawing him in, and Ryan dropped to his elbows and started to thrust into Simon. The old bed creaked just a little, and Simon lifted his legs to wrap them around Ryan's back, a weirdly comfortable position for him. Ryan was alternately kissing him and burying his head into Simon's shoulder as he went, rubbing his sweet spot more often than not, and Simon was just enjoying the ride.
Maybe Simon could wait, after all; when Ryan moved to reach for his cock, Simon brushed his hand away. "One thing at a time," he whispered, and reached up for another kiss. Ryan was moving faster now, his body getting tenser, and Simon squeezed as best he could with his arse and his legs and his arms, pulling Ryan into him, and Ryan was coming, shouting Simon's name, and then collapsed on top of him, shifting his hips to let his cock slip out of Simon's arse.
Simon stretched his legs and let them fall back onto the bed, and rubbed the back of Ryan's head. "Nice to know you remember who I am," he said, grinning.
Ryan lifted his head up. "Just for that," he said, "no blow job for you." He reached down to take Simon's cock firmly in hand. "Kisses, though," he continued, and they were snogging, legs entwined, Simon's arms around Ryan's shoulders. He began to thrust into Ryan's hand, enjoying the lazy slide, the feeling of having all the time in the world. It took a little longer to get there these days, but he always did eventually, and he was thankful for Ryan's patience at times like this. When he finally came it took him by surprise, and he moaned into Ryan's mouth.
Ryan let go long enough to grab the towel he kept near the bed, and cleaned them both off. He pulled the pillow out from under Simon's arse and threw it on the floor with the towel, then settled back down into Simon's arms, resting his head on Simon's chest.
"I think it's gonna rain," Ryan said, staring out the window.
Simon smiled, carding a hand through Ryan's hair. "It is raining."