Fic: All Dolled-Up in Straps (skating RPF, Tanith/Charlie)
Twice in one day! I know! But I wrote you fic. And there aren't even werewolves in it.
Title: All Dolled-Up in Straps
Fandom: figure skating RPF
Pairing: Tanith Belbin/Charlie White
Rating: NC-17 for gender-bending het porn
Warnings: None standard.
Summary: Tanith loves Charlie for more than his fuckable ass.
Word Count: about 1,000.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this post.
Notes: Thanks to thistle90 for the beta read and the best line in the fic. This fills the "sex toys (worn under clothes)" square on my kink_bingo card. The title is from a song by The National.
*
It is before Charlie and Tanith started dating, months before, and Charlie and Meryl are practicing, finally getting him to stop wobbling on that one lift. He's at the point where he's sweating bucketfuls despite the ice rink cold, mind wandering forward to a cool shower and a hot date with NHL for PS3. Tanith's up in the stands with Brooke, and the only line of conversation he hears is, "I'm gonna stay here and stare at White's fuckable ass," shouted for his benefit. He blushes, and Meryl scowls. He's had guys stare at his butt, trying to figure out which team he was on or showing how much they didn't care about teams, but a girl - a hot girl, a girl with a boyfriend who isn't him - he's off his game. He catches her eye as he steps off the ice and smiles shyly. She winks. He gets the feeling he's signed his soul away, and he doesn't want it back.
Flash forward, she asks him out, she asks him out, she likes him, leans forward on her hands to hear him talk about George R. R. Martin and Lego Star Wars, somehow opposite-day thinks it's cool when he's nerdy. "Geek chic," she explains. He walks a little ahead of her with his hands in his back pockets because he knows she's watching. He's waiting every day for her to say fuckable ass again. He wonders if she's afraid.
Guiltily, Charlie discovers an entire genre of internet porn: hot girls with strap-ons doing guys from behind. Charlie would never have to watch anything else if he didn't want to, and he's afraid of the part of himself that would spend the rest of his life in front of the computer screen watching every single video. He finds stores that sell harnesses and strap-ons, multiple models with descriptions of how they would feel inside his ass. Mortified at his own research, Charlie clears the cache on his web browser.
She's lying on top of him after she's sucked his dick. "Is there something wrong? Is there something I'm doing you don't like? Is there something I'm not doing that you do like?"
The answer is a big, loud jumble that he can't find words for, and he regrets that "Yeah" is the one that comes out. She's apologizing, almost crying, until he figures out what he means. "I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed. You said this thing, before we were going out, you said this thing about wanting to. um, to -" It's like Mad Libs, pick a verb, he gives up. "To. My ass."
She pokes him in the chest like stabbing him in the heart will make her feel better. "That was to get your attention. I love how you never know when people are joking."
"I didn't want you to be joking."
They are shopping together on the internet. Five days later, there's a plain white box on their doorstep. The first time there are buckles that won't fasten, there is goo everywhere, there is searing pain. There is finally getting it more or less right and laughing with relief.
It goes uphill from there. Charlie looks at his gay friends with new respect: bottoming is hard work. That's what he likes about it, that it takes longer, builds up, can keep going until she's flushed and glistening with exertion, until he's raw and so hard he can't see. She gets off sometimes, from the way the harness presses against her clit, and she'll scream and pause and then start up again. He doesn't get off unless he's already close. Her favorite way to handle that is to suck his dick until he's on the edge and then turn him over, so he comes halfway through and she keeps fucking him while he's sleepy with satisfaction.
The morning before his free dance at Nationals, she waits outside the locker room even though he begs her to let him focus. She runs his hand up her skirt so he can feel that she's wearing the harness underneath, the toy fixed to her leg with a lace garter. He clunks his head back against the door frame. "Oh, God, not while I'm in costume," he says. During the warm-up, he glimpses her in the crowd, chatting with Bates and Becky like she has nothing special to hide. He skates the dirtiest tango of his life.
At the gala afterward, backstage, Charlie spies Evan, standing alone smugly. He slaps Evan hard on the back and says, "So, taken it up the ass lately?" and keeps walking, hands behind his back, putting the possibility of a response off limits. Shibs, drinking water nearby, spit-takes.
Jeremy comes up to him a minute later. Charlie hadn't realized he was in earshot. "Did you just actually say that?"
"It was an honest question for someone who used to date my girlfriend," Charlie says.
Tanith takes him to Mexico after he and Meryl win Worlds, and whenever he tries to be self-effacing she tells him the World Champion can have whatever he wants, to the point where it's annoying and he wishes she would just pick a restaurant. They go on a long bike ride from the resort into town and sit in a seedy bar drinking Coronas until they feel slow and breezy. Any more and they'll be too drunk to ride back. "Gotta use the girls' room before we go," and she winks.
When she returns, she leads Charlie around behind the bar into a narrow alley, a space between buildings just wide enough to walk. Her kiss shoves him hard against the wall, and her cock, so fake it's real, stabs his thigh. He drops to his knees to suck it, fingering her pussy so she writhes and grinds, so she comes. She returns the favor, mouth on his dick and two fingers up his ass. He covers his mouth to keep quiet and tastes her on his hand.
She unbuckles the harness and stuffs it into her purse. "Thanks for fulfilling my dream of getting blown in a Mexican back alley." She kisses him, slow and wet, salty-bitter with his cum in her mouth. "And the rest of my dreams. All of them."
Title: All Dolled-Up in Straps
Fandom: figure skating RPF
Pairing: Tanith Belbin/Charlie White
Rating: NC-17 for gender-bending het porn
Warnings: None standard.
Summary: Tanith loves Charlie for more than his fuckable ass.
Word Count: about 1,000.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this post.
Notes: Thanks to thistle90 for the beta read and the best line in the fic. This fills the "sex toys (worn under clothes)" square on my kink_bingo card. The title is from a song by The National.
*
It is before Charlie and Tanith started dating, months before, and Charlie and Meryl are practicing, finally getting him to stop wobbling on that one lift. He's at the point where he's sweating bucketfuls despite the ice rink cold, mind wandering forward to a cool shower and a hot date with NHL for PS3. Tanith's up in the stands with Brooke, and the only line of conversation he hears is, "I'm gonna stay here and stare at White's fuckable ass," shouted for his benefit. He blushes, and Meryl scowls. He's had guys stare at his butt, trying to figure out which team he was on or showing how much they didn't care about teams, but a girl - a hot girl, a girl with a boyfriend who isn't him - he's off his game. He catches her eye as he steps off the ice and smiles shyly. She winks. He gets the feeling he's signed his soul away, and he doesn't want it back.
Flash forward, she asks him out, she asks him out, she likes him, leans forward on her hands to hear him talk about George R. R. Martin and Lego Star Wars, somehow opposite-day thinks it's cool when he's nerdy. "Geek chic," she explains. He walks a little ahead of her with his hands in his back pockets because he knows she's watching. He's waiting every day for her to say fuckable ass again. He wonders if she's afraid.
Guiltily, Charlie discovers an entire genre of internet porn: hot girls with strap-ons doing guys from behind. Charlie would never have to watch anything else if he didn't want to, and he's afraid of the part of himself that would spend the rest of his life in front of the computer screen watching every single video. He finds stores that sell harnesses and strap-ons, multiple models with descriptions of how they would feel inside his ass. Mortified at his own research, Charlie clears the cache on his web browser.
She's lying on top of him after she's sucked his dick. "Is there something wrong? Is there something I'm doing you don't like? Is there something I'm not doing that you do like?"
The answer is a big, loud jumble that he can't find words for, and he regrets that "Yeah" is the one that comes out. She's apologizing, almost crying, until he figures out what he means. "I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed. You said this thing, before we were going out, you said this thing about wanting to. um, to -" It's like Mad Libs, pick a verb, he gives up. "To. My ass."
She pokes him in the chest like stabbing him in the heart will make her feel better. "That was to get your attention. I love how you never know when people are joking."
"I didn't want you to be joking."
They are shopping together on the internet. Five days later, there's a plain white box on their doorstep. The first time there are buckles that won't fasten, there is goo everywhere, there is searing pain. There is finally getting it more or less right and laughing with relief.
It goes uphill from there. Charlie looks at his gay friends with new respect: bottoming is hard work. That's what he likes about it, that it takes longer, builds up, can keep going until she's flushed and glistening with exertion, until he's raw and so hard he can't see. She gets off sometimes, from the way the harness presses against her clit, and she'll scream and pause and then start up again. He doesn't get off unless he's already close. Her favorite way to handle that is to suck his dick until he's on the edge and then turn him over, so he comes halfway through and she keeps fucking him while he's sleepy with satisfaction.
The morning before his free dance at Nationals, she waits outside the locker room even though he begs her to let him focus. She runs his hand up her skirt so he can feel that she's wearing the harness underneath, the toy fixed to her leg with a lace garter. He clunks his head back against the door frame. "Oh, God, not while I'm in costume," he says. During the warm-up, he glimpses her in the crowd, chatting with Bates and Becky like she has nothing special to hide. He skates the dirtiest tango of his life.
At the gala afterward, backstage, Charlie spies Evan, standing alone smugly. He slaps Evan hard on the back and says, "So, taken it up the ass lately?" and keeps walking, hands behind his back, putting the possibility of a response off limits. Shibs, drinking water nearby, spit-takes.
Jeremy comes up to him a minute later. Charlie hadn't realized he was in earshot. "Did you just actually say that?"
"It was an honest question for someone who used to date my girlfriend," Charlie says.
Tanith takes him to Mexico after he and Meryl win Worlds, and whenever he tries to be self-effacing she tells him the World Champion can have whatever he wants, to the point where it's annoying and he wishes she would just pick a restaurant. They go on a long bike ride from the resort into town and sit in a seedy bar drinking Coronas until they feel slow and breezy. Any more and they'll be too drunk to ride back. "Gotta use the girls' room before we go," and she winks.
When she returns, she leads Charlie around behind the bar into a narrow alley, a space between buildings just wide enough to walk. Her kiss shoves him hard against the wall, and her cock, so fake it's real, stabs his thigh. He drops to his knees to suck it, fingering her pussy so she writhes and grinds, so she comes. She returns the favor, mouth on his dick and two fingers up his ass. He covers his mouth to keep quiet and tastes her on his hand.
She unbuckles the harness and stuffs it into her purse. "Thanks for fulfilling my dream of getting blown in a Mexican back alley." She kisses him, slow and wet, salty-bitter with his cum in her mouth. "And the rest of my dreams. All of them."