Ready, normal people?
Two posts in under 24 hours. That's more like it.
Here's the impromptu porn for that meme. As mentioned in the last post, it didn't end up being impromptu at all, because it's all set in the universe of the current project. I'm not sure whether these will end up in the final fic. They both stand on their own, outside the context of the project and independent of each other. But they take place simultaneously, so I think they work better if you read them both and in order. Both ficlets set during Champions on Ice 2007, approximately July, and both are very NC-17.
For callmesandy, Brian Joubert/Tanith Belbin, my first explicit straight porn in an awfully long time.
He is so pretty when he's naked that sometimes Tanith feels like she's taking advantage of him. She'll lie on the bed and stare, and she's not shy about doing it. She figures, if he's going to go out with her, he should take her for what she is, and what she is, is a woman who isn't scared of admiring a guy when he deserves it. He seems to like this about her, and he indulges it, peeling his shirt off slowly so those rippling abs come into view in perfect pairs, angling himself as he shaves so his ass gets reflected in three different mirrors. He wouldn't work so hard on his body unless he wanted people to look, and in her, he has a rapt audience.
He comes out of the shower with a towel tied around his waist like a dirty joke. She comes up behind him and hooks a finger in it so it comes undone and slips to the floor. She puts her hand on his dick; it's not hard, but it could be. She runs her fingers down his chest, and he tilts his head back. She pirouettes on her toe so she's facing him, her legs tangled in his. He picks her up and carries her over to the desk, setting her down on it with her shoulders back against the mirror. He'll be able to watch himself fuck her. The ultimate captive audience.
He unzips her dress and slides one of the straps down her arm. "No bra," he says. "I like that." She shrugs out of the dress so it falls to her waist. He kisses her neck, intensely but not hard enough to leave a mark, then works his way down to her breasts. She lifts her arms over her head and lets him make her sigh. He can get hard just from touching her, from thinking about what she'll do to him later. There's something oddly romantic about that.
He bows his head down, and for a moment she thinks he's going to go down on her. He usually does, over the course of an evening, because he knows a few different ways to make her come, but that's the only way to make her scream. Instead, he slides his hand up her skirt and finds the condom she's stashed at her hip, secure under the elastic of her thong. He rolls her thong down her legs and lets her put the condom on him. She holds his dick in her hands for a moment. She wants to feel him warm inside her, his skin against hers, but she wants her career more.
He runs his thumb up between her labia and presses it into her clit. She spreads her legs farther apart and grinds up into him. Still stroking her clit, he uses the motion of her hips to guide himself into her. He works his way in slowly, always, attuned to her subtle shifting around him. He pauses, studies her, then puts both hands under her ass and tilts her upward a fraction of an inch, smiling at the sigh of pleasure this draws from her.
She wraps her legs around his waist. He picks up momentum gradually, pressing up against her so the heat wells up inside her to a long, low orgasm. After it ebbs, he's not quite finished, so she enjoys the little rippling leftovers and the furrowed, blushing concentration in his face as he catches up to her.
He pulls away from her gently and goes off in search of a trash can. There's one right under the desk, but she doesn't want to embarrass him. The air conditioning prickles her skin. She shimmies out of her dress, burrows under the bedcovers, and curls up to wait for him.
He flops backward onto the bed with his arms outstretched, narrowly missing her. "You're tired?" he says.
"Touring is hard work," she says.
"I don't think you're going to sleep," he says.
"Oh, you're going to make me stay awake?"
He crawls under the covers and snuggles up close to her, his chest against hers. He holds her for a moment before rolling onto his back, pulling her on top of him. "I never have to make you do something," he says.
*
For jule1122, Johnny Weir/Ben Agosto, heavy on the fluff, light on the angst.
It's not like they were sexiled on purpose. Usually, at least one of them is assigned a room somewhere quiet, or the walls are thick, but today Johnny's room adjoins Tanith's, with an actual door connecting them. "It's like listening to my sister have sex," Ben says. "I can't do it." They try Ben's room, but it's just as bad: right next to Marina's room, and her boyfriend has just flown in from Lyon. It seems like everyone except Ben and Johnny has a noisy French boyfriend.
There's nowhere else to go in the hotel. The conference rooms are all locked for the evening; the swimming pool is full of children; the lobby bathroom is sketchy and also being cleaned. They wind up out in the parking lot, trying to decide whether it's worth it to call a cab, and whether there would be anywhere to go if they did. "You could just bend me over someone's car," Johnny says.
"I could push you up against the back of the tour bus," Ben says, putting that just kidding spin into his voice. He's used to doing that, not because he's necessarily kidding but because it gives him a way out of admitting that it would actually be kind of cool. Johnny doesn't actually require him to apologize for those fantasies, but it's an old habit.
Johnny grins with evil anticipation. "You know what?" he says. "I think the tour bus needs to lose its virginity."
"I'm pretty sure that bus is already a filthy whore," Ben says.
They find the area where the buses are parked, way down at the far end of the lot. There are no signs in the windows to distinguish them, and it would be too dark to read even if they did. By this point in the summer, there have been a few different buses, and Ben can't remember what the current one looks like. But Johnny points to the second one with giddy confidence and says, "I think that one's ours." Before Ben can reply, Johnny puts an arm around his waist and turns him so his back is against the bus's door.
Ben stumbles backward as the door collapses in, opening. "Holy shit, it's unlocked," he says.
"That might be a sign from God," Johnny says.
They race each other down the aisle, leaping over the seats to get ahead of one another. Johnny wins, and he parks himself sideways on a seat in the second-to-last row, legs spread apart. If he were a girl, this would be really easy: Ben would sit, Johnny would get in his lap, facing him, and everyone would be comfortable. But gay sex is a whole different set of angles, and the bus seats don't lean back far enough to accommodate them. Ben wants to crack a joke about heterosexist bus design, but he'd have to spend too long on the setup.
Johnny is pretty much sitting there waiting for a blow job, but that's not really what Ben's in the mood for. He wants fast, dirty, loud bus sex. He puts a knee between Johnny's legs and both his hands on Johnny's chest, and he pushes his weight forward just slightly. Johnny braces himself on the headrest and the end of his seat so he can capture Ben's mouth with his. Ben doesn't need the foreplay. He's hard from the dingy plush fabric of the seat rubbing against his leg and the anticipation of feigning innocence tomorrow as the bus rumbles onto the highway.
Johnny kicks off his sandals, landing them on the seat across the aisle, and Ben helps him out of his jeans. Johnny's totally comfortable with his legs straight up in the air, resting his calves on Ben's shoulders. Ben has one knee braced against the side of the seat and the other leg lunged behind him, his shorts and boxers still looped around that ankle. They've been having enough sex that Johnny doesn't need a lot of prep, just the condom and a fingerful of lube and a low sigh of pleasure as Ben enters him.
Ben loves how Johnny's muscles tighten around him, how deep Johnny's voice gets when he's being fucked, how he screams Ben's name when Ben hits him just right. It's so easy to read Johnny's body and follow it, to go slow until Johnny is begging for harder and then let his dick take over. Ben arches his back and almost loses his balance, hanging onto Johnny's hips so he can come.
Ben takes care of the condom and stretches the kinks out of his back. Johnny is nestled in the row of bus seats, his mouth slack with recovery, but his dick is still hard, almost up against his stomach. He jumps and squeals when Ben tongues the tip of his dick, but then he purrs with satisfaction. He tastes salty and hot and happy. Even this close, it takes a couple of minutes to get him off. Maybe he's trying to enjoy it. Exercising some self-control. Johnny comes with a surge of his hips and a sleepy moan.
Ben wipes his face on his shirt and waits for Johnny to get dressed. "Wait a second," Johnny says.
"Your shoes are on the seat over there," Ben says.
"No, I know," Johnny says. "It's -- didn't the seats on our bus have stripes on them? Not this diamond pattern?"
"I don't know," Ben says. "Maybe."
"I'm pretty sure," Johnny says. "I'm pretty sure we --"
"Violated the wrong bus?"
"Oh my God, I hope it's a church group or something," Johnny says. "I hope you just fucked me on the crazy born-again Bible thumper bus."
"Mean," Ben says, "but poetic."
"You say the sweetest things," Johnny says. He kisses Ben languidly in the aisle, then walks unhurriedly to the front of the bus.
*
I feel like I've listed my major fics until everyone's sick of hearing about them, but I'll do a Year In Ficlets right after the new year starts.
Here's the impromptu porn for that meme. As mentioned in the last post, it didn't end up being impromptu at all, because it's all set in the universe of the current project. I'm not sure whether these will end up in the final fic. They both stand on their own, outside the context of the project and independent of each other. But they take place simultaneously, so I think they work better if you read them both and in order. Both ficlets set during Champions on Ice 2007, approximately July, and both are very NC-17.
For callmesandy, Brian Joubert/Tanith Belbin, my first explicit straight porn in an awfully long time.
He is so pretty when he's naked that sometimes Tanith feels like she's taking advantage of him. She'll lie on the bed and stare, and she's not shy about doing it. She figures, if he's going to go out with her, he should take her for what she is, and what she is, is a woman who isn't scared of admiring a guy when he deserves it. He seems to like this about her, and he indulges it, peeling his shirt off slowly so those rippling abs come into view in perfect pairs, angling himself as he shaves so his ass gets reflected in three different mirrors. He wouldn't work so hard on his body unless he wanted people to look, and in her, he has a rapt audience.
He comes out of the shower with a towel tied around his waist like a dirty joke. She comes up behind him and hooks a finger in it so it comes undone and slips to the floor. She puts her hand on his dick; it's not hard, but it could be. She runs her fingers down his chest, and he tilts his head back. She pirouettes on her toe so she's facing him, her legs tangled in his. He picks her up and carries her over to the desk, setting her down on it with her shoulders back against the mirror. He'll be able to watch himself fuck her. The ultimate captive audience.
He unzips her dress and slides one of the straps down her arm. "No bra," he says. "I like that." She shrugs out of the dress so it falls to her waist. He kisses her neck, intensely but not hard enough to leave a mark, then works his way down to her breasts. She lifts her arms over her head and lets him make her sigh. He can get hard just from touching her, from thinking about what she'll do to him later. There's something oddly romantic about that.
He bows his head down, and for a moment she thinks he's going to go down on her. He usually does, over the course of an evening, because he knows a few different ways to make her come, but that's the only way to make her scream. Instead, he slides his hand up her skirt and finds the condom she's stashed at her hip, secure under the elastic of her thong. He rolls her thong down her legs and lets her put the condom on him. She holds his dick in her hands for a moment. She wants to feel him warm inside her, his skin against hers, but she wants her career more.
He runs his thumb up between her labia and presses it into her clit. She spreads her legs farther apart and grinds up into him. Still stroking her clit, he uses the motion of her hips to guide himself into her. He works his way in slowly, always, attuned to her subtle shifting around him. He pauses, studies her, then puts both hands under her ass and tilts her upward a fraction of an inch, smiling at the sigh of pleasure this draws from her.
She wraps her legs around his waist. He picks up momentum gradually, pressing up against her so the heat wells up inside her to a long, low orgasm. After it ebbs, he's not quite finished, so she enjoys the little rippling leftovers and the furrowed, blushing concentration in his face as he catches up to her.
He pulls away from her gently and goes off in search of a trash can. There's one right under the desk, but she doesn't want to embarrass him. The air conditioning prickles her skin. She shimmies out of her dress, burrows under the bedcovers, and curls up to wait for him.
He flops backward onto the bed with his arms outstretched, narrowly missing her. "You're tired?" he says.
"Touring is hard work," she says.
"I don't think you're going to sleep," he says.
"Oh, you're going to make me stay awake?"
He crawls under the covers and snuggles up close to her, his chest against hers. He holds her for a moment before rolling onto his back, pulling her on top of him. "I never have to make you do something," he says.
*
For jule1122, Johnny Weir/Ben Agosto, heavy on the fluff, light on the angst.
It's not like they were sexiled on purpose. Usually, at least one of them is assigned a room somewhere quiet, or the walls are thick, but today Johnny's room adjoins Tanith's, with an actual door connecting them. "It's like listening to my sister have sex," Ben says. "I can't do it." They try Ben's room, but it's just as bad: right next to Marina's room, and her boyfriend has just flown in from Lyon. It seems like everyone except Ben and Johnny has a noisy French boyfriend.
There's nowhere else to go in the hotel. The conference rooms are all locked for the evening; the swimming pool is full of children; the lobby bathroom is sketchy and also being cleaned. They wind up out in the parking lot, trying to decide whether it's worth it to call a cab, and whether there would be anywhere to go if they did. "You could just bend me over someone's car," Johnny says.
"I could push you up against the back of the tour bus," Ben says, putting that just kidding spin into his voice. He's used to doing that, not because he's necessarily kidding but because it gives him a way out of admitting that it would actually be kind of cool. Johnny doesn't actually require him to apologize for those fantasies, but it's an old habit.
Johnny grins with evil anticipation. "You know what?" he says. "I think the tour bus needs to lose its virginity."
"I'm pretty sure that bus is already a filthy whore," Ben says.
They find the area where the buses are parked, way down at the far end of the lot. There are no signs in the windows to distinguish them, and it would be too dark to read even if they did. By this point in the summer, there have been a few different buses, and Ben can't remember what the current one looks like. But Johnny points to the second one with giddy confidence and says, "I think that one's ours." Before Ben can reply, Johnny puts an arm around his waist and turns him so his back is against the bus's door.
Ben stumbles backward as the door collapses in, opening. "Holy shit, it's unlocked," he says.
"That might be a sign from God," Johnny says.
They race each other down the aisle, leaping over the seats to get ahead of one another. Johnny wins, and he parks himself sideways on a seat in the second-to-last row, legs spread apart. If he were a girl, this would be really easy: Ben would sit, Johnny would get in his lap, facing him, and everyone would be comfortable. But gay sex is a whole different set of angles, and the bus seats don't lean back far enough to accommodate them. Ben wants to crack a joke about heterosexist bus design, but he'd have to spend too long on the setup.
Johnny is pretty much sitting there waiting for a blow job, but that's not really what Ben's in the mood for. He wants fast, dirty, loud bus sex. He puts a knee between Johnny's legs and both his hands on Johnny's chest, and he pushes his weight forward just slightly. Johnny braces himself on the headrest and the end of his seat so he can capture Ben's mouth with his. Ben doesn't need the foreplay. He's hard from the dingy plush fabric of the seat rubbing against his leg and the anticipation of feigning innocence tomorrow as the bus rumbles onto the highway.
Johnny kicks off his sandals, landing them on the seat across the aisle, and Ben helps him out of his jeans. Johnny's totally comfortable with his legs straight up in the air, resting his calves on Ben's shoulders. Ben has one knee braced against the side of the seat and the other leg lunged behind him, his shorts and boxers still looped around that ankle. They've been having enough sex that Johnny doesn't need a lot of prep, just the condom and a fingerful of lube and a low sigh of pleasure as Ben enters him.
Ben loves how Johnny's muscles tighten around him, how deep Johnny's voice gets when he's being fucked, how he screams Ben's name when Ben hits him just right. It's so easy to read Johnny's body and follow it, to go slow until Johnny is begging for harder and then let his dick take over. Ben arches his back and almost loses his balance, hanging onto Johnny's hips so he can come.
Ben takes care of the condom and stretches the kinks out of his back. Johnny is nestled in the row of bus seats, his mouth slack with recovery, but his dick is still hard, almost up against his stomach. He jumps and squeals when Ben tongues the tip of his dick, but then he purrs with satisfaction. He tastes salty and hot and happy. Even this close, it takes a couple of minutes to get him off. Maybe he's trying to enjoy it. Exercising some self-control. Johnny comes with a surge of his hips and a sleepy moan.
Ben wipes his face on his shirt and waits for Johnny to get dressed. "Wait a second," Johnny says.
"Your shoes are on the seat over there," Ben says.
"No, I know," Johnny says. "It's -- didn't the seats on our bus have stripes on them? Not this diamond pattern?"
"I don't know," Ben says. "Maybe."
"I'm pretty sure," Johnny says. "I'm pretty sure we --"
"Violated the wrong bus?"
"Oh my God, I hope it's a church group or something," Johnny says. "I hope you just fucked me on the crazy born-again Bible thumper bus."
"Mean," Ben says, "but poetic."
"You say the sweetest things," Johnny says. He kisses Ben languidly in the aisle, then walks unhurriedly to the front of the bus.
*
I feel like I've listed my major fics until everyone's sick of hearing about them, but I'll do a Year In Ficlets right after the new year starts.