[FIC] Cherries
Sep. 27th, 2005 02:53 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
clayangel.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
wl_fanfictionTitle: Cherries
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan takes matters into his own hands...
Author’s notes: Just to warn y’all, this is the epitome of a PWP. Also response to 7 Deadly Sins: Lust challenge. This is a sequel to “Beginning of the End” as well as part of the “Love and Sex” universe, but you don’t need to read those to get this.
“Get undressed.”
Colin smiles at me when I say this, a slight, confused upturn of his mouth that certainly doesn’t touch his eyes. It is as if he can’t believe I just asked him to do such a thing, and I can hardly blame him; I’m not sure I believe it myself.
I know what my intentions were when I asked him up to my room, but he had no inkling, didn’t even dare to hope despite the desire I can see mirrored in his eyes even now.
“Ryan...?” His voice is soft, hesitant and still dotted with the makings of a smile as though waiting for me to tell him it’s all a joke.
But this is no joke.
I had been leaning against the door, palms flat on the cool wood to either side of me, feeling my heart beat in the tips of my fingers, but now I push away, crossing the distance between us in a few long strides.
“Get undressed,” I say again, gentle but no less demanding.
And after another moment’s hesitation, he complies. His eyes never leave mine even as his fingers stumble over the buttons of his bright aqua button down, and I get the distinct impression that he would jump off London tower if it would earn him a smile from me.
He moves slowly, and it still seems more confusion than anything else. He’s still waiting for the punch line. Behind the desire I can see healthy amounts of fear in his deep chocolate eyes. He thinks, dare I say knows, that the moment he is finally exposed I will rain down ridicule, shun him for his willingness to go along with this despite the fact that I know he knows what I’ve been doing with Greg. So, yes, his movements are slow, clumsy, but steady, as though if he pauses for just a moment to think then he could never go through with it.
That is, until he reaches his underwear. Only now does he pause. I can see his hands shaking, fine tremors that travel up his arms and down his spine. Clean, white briefs tent out over his erection. He is intrigued, aroused despite his fear, but he won’t or possibly can’t continue.
So I do it for him.
We are standing maybe a foot apart, but I halve that distance in the breadth of a heartbeat. At the same time my hands move to his waist with a confidence I don’t feel.
His breath hitches ever so slightly when I make contact with his skin. His hips are hot beneath my hands, and he is still shaking. I am suddenly impatient. I want, no, need to see him beautifully, blessedly naked, aroused and so desperate for my touch that he is trembling. I want to hear my name on his lips as he empties himself down my throat. I want to reduce him to an incoherent mass of sexual energy. I want to see the love in his eyes and know that it is meant for me and only me.
The intensity of my desire causes me to stop breathing, my heart tripping a painful beat in my chest, but I’d never let it show. The weight of these thoughts is too much to bear, and I shove them away and focus on my fingers now sliding beneath the elastic of his briefs. This is about sex, I tell myself, nothing more.
His hands are on my forearms now, clutching tightly, keeping himself steady and me grounded. I pull the material out and down, finally exposing him. His erection catches on the waistband for a second before breaking free to bounce against his stomach in a way that has me licking my lips in anticipation.
He is now absolutely naked while I remain fully clothed. I like it this way. It gives me the illusion that I have control over this situation. It is a lie, though. Since the moment we stepped in the room I’ve had as much control as a river rushing its way to the sea.
He’s still holding on to me, just as awash in this river as I, and I use that to back him toward the bed. His legs hit the edge of the mattress and his knees buckle, sending him sprawling back. I go with him, breaking my fall with stiff arms propped up to either side of him. I am stretched over him, inches away, watching him breath through slightly parted lips. My jeans rest comfortably against his bare legs. I can feel his erection pressed against me, and I know he can feel mine.
I can see it in his eyes; he finally dares to hope that this is no joke.
His lips are starkly red against his pale skin, glinting in the soft light after he experimentally swipes his tongue over them. His breath is warm and sweet, mingling with mine, and I want more than anything to kiss him, to taste whatever it was he was drinking tonight that smells so much like cherries.
But I can’t; I won’t. To do so would be to admit that what I feel for him goes far beyond the platonic, and I’m not ready for that. I need for our lives to go back to normal when this is all over, and if I kiss him then everything changes.
Instead I snake my way down his body, contenting myself with a kiss on his throat, right at the hollow formed by his collar bone where I can feel him swallowing reflexively, and then lower on his sternum before taking a detour to swipe my tongue over his left nipple. I continue down, feeling the soft dark hairs of his chest and belly tickle my lips. I press a kiss just below his navel; his erection is lying against mt cheek, and it is the most erotic thing I’ve ever felt. The skin of it is hot and soft against mine. Without moving I raise my gaze to meet Colin’s eyes. They are half closed and dark with lust; his cheeks are flushed a pale rose, and he is still breathing through parted lips. Embarrassment has been replaced by desire.
I want to take him in my mouth. It is something I rarely do for Greg. Even the thought makes me uncomfortable. But with Colin it’s different. The need to pleasure him transcends even the worst of my discomfort, but that’s not even an issue, because imagining myself with my mouth wrapped around Colin’s shaft makes me feel anything but uncomfortable. On the contrary I feel my jeans growing tight at the picture it makes in my mind.
So I do it, bending low to swallow as much of him as I possibly can, and it’s only my vague experience with Greg that keeps me from gagging.
Colin cries out, a strangled, high pitched ripple in the back of his throat. His hands had left me when we fell, arching back to break his fall, but now he clutches my shoulders, fingers digging into the my skin almost painfully tight, though I feel no pain. I feel the desperation of the touch, the want and need strung through his body as intensely as it is in mine.
There is something about this, I muse, releasing him only to run my tongue up the underside of his shaft, feeling Colin shudder beneath me, that is fundamentally different from every time I was ever with Greg, though I can’t say how. Perhaps it is the way Colin smells, so sweet and clean, or maybe it’s in the way he demands, expects nothing of me, but is willing to take whatever I give without complaint, or the way I feel the same. I am growing more lost with every sound he makes, but I would never ask or expect him to return the favor. Tonight is about me pleasing him, and anything more would be an unexpected, but not unwelcome surprise.
He doesn’t last more than five minutes. I have barely just begun and already he is tensing, hands fisted in my shirt, absolutely still and spilling himself down my throat with a quiet, whining moan. I drink him in and beg for more, suckling his wilting erection. It’s not enough and never will be. Even if I spend every night with him for the rest of our lives, I know I’ll never tire of this.
Then he is pushing me back and away, arms weak, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. He is taking off my clothes and I am so caught up in the sight of him that I hardly realize he is doing it until my shirt is tossed on the other side of the room and my jeans are pooled at my ankles.
Only now do I try to stop him with whispered, half hearted assurances.
“You don’t have to...”
“Yes,” he cuts me off quietly, eyes settled somewhere around my stomach. “I do.”
“No...”
“I want to.”
His eyes dart up briefly to meet mine and then dance away. He is still blushing, though whether from lust or embarrassment is no longer clear.
And I can’t say no to him again. I don’t want to. I need to feel his hands and mouth on me. Now I am the one trembling as he lays me out on the bed. There is something akin to adoration in his eyes that takes my breath away, and I feel the first strains of guilt rush up from my toes, along my torso to catch in my throat. He lets his emotions show so plainly, and I’m sure he thinks I don’t feel the same. I do. Of course I do, but I can’t let him know.
But then he goes down, engulfing me in his hot, wet mouth and I can no longer think. He is hesitant, almost shy, and it’s obvious he’s never done this before, but it’s wonderful all the same.
Distantly I hear words, indistinct and unintelligible, but words all the same, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s me. Still I have no idea what I’m saying to him, only that he reacts by sucking me harder, taking me deeper until even unintelligible words are too much of an effort. I resort to whispering his name, fast and quiet, almost under my breath, a constant string of encouragements, muttered and repeated until even that loses all meaning. It is no longer the name of a man, but a description of the physical manifestation of my every want and every need.
There are other sounds strewn throughout, a yes or a more or an I love you, and I clamp my mouth shut, bite down on my lower lip to keep from saying any more. He can’t know, and I’ve already said too much, so I pray that he doesn’t hear or at least heeds my words as meaningless, sex driven ramblings.
But it still feels so good and I can’t seem to stay quiet. I try to satisfy myself with a hiss sucked in through my teeth, let out in a shuddering, gasping breath even though I am missing the sound of his name on my lips. It’s too much, too good; I wanted to make this last, but I don’t seem to have any choice.
“Colin...” I choke out, fervently trying to remember the meaning of the words, “I’m going to...”
But he either doesn’t hear me or just doesn’t care. I don’t know what I expect him to do, but it’s certainly not redouble his efforts. One hand is resting on my stomach, each twitch of his fingers over my skin driving me nearly insane. The other is gripping the sheets; I feel them pull beneath my thigh.
I don’t want this to end so soon. I don’t want it to ever end, but I can’t hold back any longer. I try to tell myself that this is just the first night of many, that I will have my chance to last into insane hours of the morning with him, but there is no guarantee. Logic warns me that the sunlight will form shadows in this fantasy, bringing with it clean lines that threaten to throw this whole affair into harsh and possibly unwelcome relief.
It is a fear I don’t want to deal with, and suddenly don’t have to because I am crying out, moaning his name as I find my release, and nothing else matters.
Colin goes still, jerks back slightly. I can hear him coughing, but he still swallows, blinking down at my pelvis and then pausing before he gulps in a breath and licks his lips. Slowly his gaze travels upwards until he is meeting my eyes. He looks scared, uncertain, and I smile lazily in return. It works to settle most of his fears. His relief is a visible, tangible thing.
I, of course, still have my fears, but looking into his eyes they seem small and out of focus. I stretch and laugh. I don’t know where the laughter comes from, but it is there and far easier to catch and hold onto than the worries that plague me. I move only enough to worm my way beneath the blankets, opening my arms to Colin once I’ve done so.
Without a word he complies, snuggling against my side, cheek pillowed on my chest, and twined together we fall asleep.
Morning light is what rips me from sleep. I groan at the intrusion. I was having the most wonderful dream, something about Colin and I and a lake I frequented as a child in the wilderness of northern Washington. Now it is quickly fading, and I curse the daylight for reminding me of reality.
It is actually with no small amount of surprise that I realize the weight of an arm across my chest is part of that reality. My eyes shoot open as last night comes tumbling back to me, sharp and clear. I am staring at the white ceiling above me.
“Hi.”
It is soft and tentative and quite possibly the sweetest thing I have ever heard.
Slowly I turn to face Colin. He is propped up on one elbow, other arm still stretched across me, fingers tracing small, unconscious circles over my skin. He is looking at me with trepidation, and it looks as though he has been up for some time.
Just the sight of him, naked and undeniably comfortable beside me in bed makes me smile.
“Hi,” I say back.
And again he is overcome with relief. I feel the urge to kiss him once more, and now it is even stronger, but I hold back. From the fact that he is still here, I know that last night was not a mistake, but I’m not ready to change my life just yet. I can see a million unasked questions in his eyes, questions that I have no answers for.
Instead I draw him to me in a tight, tight hug, hoping the action speaks all the words I cannot. He comes to me without hesitation. I feel him breathe in my scent, nearly purring at the contact. We need to talk about this, but I can’t, not yet, and so I push him down, laying him against me and burying my nose in the soft hairs at his temple.
“Let’s sleep some more.”
End
09/27/05
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan takes matters into his own hands...
Author’s notes: Just to warn y’all, this is the epitome of a PWP. Also response to 7 Deadly Sins: Lust challenge. This is a sequel to “Beginning of the End” as well as part of the “Love and Sex” universe, but you don’t need to read those to get this.
“Get undressed.”
Colin smiles at me when I say this, a slight, confused upturn of his mouth that certainly doesn’t touch his eyes. It is as if he can’t believe I just asked him to do such a thing, and I can hardly blame him; I’m not sure I believe it myself.
I know what my intentions were when I asked him up to my room, but he had no inkling, didn’t even dare to hope despite the desire I can see mirrored in his eyes even now.
“Ryan...?” His voice is soft, hesitant and still dotted with the makings of a smile as though waiting for me to tell him it’s all a joke.
But this is no joke.
I had been leaning against the door, palms flat on the cool wood to either side of me, feeling my heart beat in the tips of my fingers, but now I push away, crossing the distance between us in a few long strides.
“Get undressed,” I say again, gentle but no less demanding.
And after another moment’s hesitation, he complies. His eyes never leave mine even as his fingers stumble over the buttons of his bright aqua button down, and I get the distinct impression that he would jump off London tower if it would earn him a smile from me.
He moves slowly, and it still seems more confusion than anything else. He’s still waiting for the punch line. Behind the desire I can see healthy amounts of fear in his deep chocolate eyes. He thinks, dare I say knows, that the moment he is finally exposed I will rain down ridicule, shun him for his willingness to go along with this despite the fact that I know he knows what I’ve been doing with Greg. So, yes, his movements are slow, clumsy, but steady, as though if he pauses for just a moment to think then he could never go through with it.
That is, until he reaches his underwear. Only now does he pause. I can see his hands shaking, fine tremors that travel up his arms and down his spine. Clean, white briefs tent out over his erection. He is intrigued, aroused despite his fear, but he won’t or possibly can’t continue.
So I do it for him.
We are standing maybe a foot apart, but I halve that distance in the breadth of a heartbeat. At the same time my hands move to his waist with a confidence I don’t feel.
His breath hitches ever so slightly when I make contact with his skin. His hips are hot beneath my hands, and he is still shaking. I am suddenly impatient. I want, no, need to see him beautifully, blessedly naked, aroused and so desperate for my touch that he is trembling. I want to hear my name on his lips as he empties himself down my throat. I want to reduce him to an incoherent mass of sexual energy. I want to see the love in his eyes and know that it is meant for me and only me.
The intensity of my desire causes me to stop breathing, my heart tripping a painful beat in my chest, but I’d never let it show. The weight of these thoughts is too much to bear, and I shove them away and focus on my fingers now sliding beneath the elastic of his briefs. This is about sex, I tell myself, nothing more.
His hands are on my forearms now, clutching tightly, keeping himself steady and me grounded. I pull the material out and down, finally exposing him. His erection catches on the waistband for a second before breaking free to bounce against his stomach in a way that has me licking my lips in anticipation.
He is now absolutely naked while I remain fully clothed. I like it this way. It gives me the illusion that I have control over this situation. It is a lie, though. Since the moment we stepped in the room I’ve had as much control as a river rushing its way to the sea.
He’s still holding on to me, just as awash in this river as I, and I use that to back him toward the bed. His legs hit the edge of the mattress and his knees buckle, sending him sprawling back. I go with him, breaking my fall with stiff arms propped up to either side of him. I am stretched over him, inches away, watching him breath through slightly parted lips. My jeans rest comfortably against his bare legs. I can feel his erection pressed against me, and I know he can feel mine.
I can see it in his eyes; he finally dares to hope that this is no joke.
His lips are starkly red against his pale skin, glinting in the soft light after he experimentally swipes his tongue over them. His breath is warm and sweet, mingling with mine, and I want more than anything to kiss him, to taste whatever it was he was drinking tonight that smells so much like cherries.
But I can’t; I won’t. To do so would be to admit that what I feel for him goes far beyond the platonic, and I’m not ready for that. I need for our lives to go back to normal when this is all over, and if I kiss him then everything changes.
Instead I snake my way down his body, contenting myself with a kiss on his throat, right at the hollow formed by his collar bone where I can feel him swallowing reflexively, and then lower on his sternum before taking a detour to swipe my tongue over his left nipple. I continue down, feeling the soft dark hairs of his chest and belly tickle my lips. I press a kiss just below his navel; his erection is lying against mt cheek, and it is the most erotic thing I’ve ever felt. The skin of it is hot and soft against mine. Without moving I raise my gaze to meet Colin’s eyes. They are half closed and dark with lust; his cheeks are flushed a pale rose, and he is still breathing through parted lips. Embarrassment has been replaced by desire.
I want to take him in my mouth. It is something I rarely do for Greg. Even the thought makes me uncomfortable. But with Colin it’s different. The need to pleasure him transcends even the worst of my discomfort, but that’s not even an issue, because imagining myself with my mouth wrapped around Colin’s shaft makes me feel anything but uncomfortable. On the contrary I feel my jeans growing tight at the picture it makes in my mind.
So I do it, bending low to swallow as much of him as I possibly can, and it’s only my vague experience with Greg that keeps me from gagging.
Colin cries out, a strangled, high pitched ripple in the back of his throat. His hands had left me when we fell, arching back to break his fall, but now he clutches my shoulders, fingers digging into the my skin almost painfully tight, though I feel no pain. I feel the desperation of the touch, the want and need strung through his body as intensely as it is in mine.
There is something about this, I muse, releasing him only to run my tongue up the underside of his shaft, feeling Colin shudder beneath me, that is fundamentally different from every time I was ever with Greg, though I can’t say how. Perhaps it is the way Colin smells, so sweet and clean, or maybe it’s in the way he demands, expects nothing of me, but is willing to take whatever I give without complaint, or the way I feel the same. I am growing more lost with every sound he makes, but I would never ask or expect him to return the favor. Tonight is about me pleasing him, and anything more would be an unexpected, but not unwelcome surprise.
He doesn’t last more than five minutes. I have barely just begun and already he is tensing, hands fisted in my shirt, absolutely still and spilling himself down my throat with a quiet, whining moan. I drink him in and beg for more, suckling his wilting erection. It’s not enough and never will be. Even if I spend every night with him for the rest of our lives, I know I’ll never tire of this.
Then he is pushing me back and away, arms weak, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. He is taking off my clothes and I am so caught up in the sight of him that I hardly realize he is doing it until my shirt is tossed on the other side of the room and my jeans are pooled at my ankles.
Only now do I try to stop him with whispered, half hearted assurances.
“You don’t have to...”
“Yes,” he cuts me off quietly, eyes settled somewhere around my stomach. “I do.”
“No...”
“I want to.”
His eyes dart up briefly to meet mine and then dance away. He is still blushing, though whether from lust or embarrassment is no longer clear.
And I can’t say no to him again. I don’t want to. I need to feel his hands and mouth on me. Now I am the one trembling as he lays me out on the bed. There is something akin to adoration in his eyes that takes my breath away, and I feel the first strains of guilt rush up from my toes, along my torso to catch in my throat. He lets his emotions show so plainly, and I’m sure he thinks I don’t feel the same. I do. Of course I do, but I can’t let him know.
But then he goes down, engulfing me in his hot, wet mouth and I can no longer think. He is hesitant, almost shy, and it’s obvious he’s never done this before, but it’s wonderful all the same.
Distantly I hear words, indistinct and unintelligible, but words all the same, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s me. Still I have no idea what I’m saying to him, only that he reacts by sucking me harder, taking me deeper until even unintelligible words are too much of an effort. I resort to whispering his name, fast and quiet, almost under my breath, a constant string of encouragements, muttered and repeated until even that loses all meaning. It is no longer the name of a man, but a description of the physical manifestation of my every want and every need.
There are other sounds strewn throughout, a yes or a more or an I love you, and I clamp my mouth shut, bite down on my lower lip to keep from saying any more. He can’t know, and I’ve already said too much, so I pray that he doesn’t hear or at least heeds my words as meaningless, sex driven ramblings.
But it still feels so good and I can’t seem to stay quiet. I try to satisfy myself with a hiss sucked in through my teeth, let out in a shuddering, gasping breath even though I am missing the sound of his name on my lips. It’s too much, too good; I wanted to make this last, but I don’t seem to have any choice.
“Colin...” I choke out, fervently trying to remember the meaning of the words, “I’m going to...”
But he either doesn’t hear me or just doesn’t care. I don’t know what I expect him to do, but it’s certainly not redouble his efforts. One hand is resting on my stomach, each twitch of his fingers over my skin driving me nearly insane. The other is gripping the sheets; I feel them pull beneath my thigh.
I don’t want this to end so soon. I don’t want it to ever end, but I can’t hold back any longer. I try to tell myself that this is just the first night of many, that I will have my chance to last into insane hours of the morning with him, but there is no guarantee. Logic warns me that the sunlight will form shadows in this fantasy, bringing with it clean lines that threaten to throw this whole affair into harsh and possibly unwelcome relief.
It is a fear I don’t want to deal with, and suddenly don’t have to because I am crying out, moaning his name as I find my release, and nothing else matters.
Colin goes still, jerks back slightly. I can hear him coughing, but he still swallows, blinking down at my pelvis and then pausing before he gulps in a breath and licks his lips. Slowly his gaze travels upwards until he is meeting my eyes. He looks scared, uncertain, and I smile lazily in return. It works to settle most of his fears. His relief is a visible, tangible thing.
I, of course, still have my fears, but looking into his eyes they seem small and out of focus. I stretch and laugh. I don’t know where the laughter comes from, but it is there and far easier to catch and hold onto than the worries that plague me. I move only enough to worm my way beneath the blankets, opening my arms to Colin once I’ve done so.
Without a word he complies, snuggling against my side, cheek pillowed on my chest, and twined together we fall asleep.
Morning light is what rips me from sleep. I groan at the intrusion. I was having the most wonderful dream, something about Colin and I and a lake I frequented as a child in the wilderness of northern Washington. Now it is quickly fading, and I curse the daylight for reminding me of reality.
It is actually with no small amount of surprise that I realize the weight of an arm across my chest is part of that reality. My eyes shoot open as last night comes tumbling back to me, sharp and clear. I am staring at the white ceiling above me.
“Hi.”
It is soft and tentative and quite possibly the sweetest thing I have ever heard.
Slowly I turn to face Colin. He is propped up on one elbow, other arm still stretched across me, fingers tracing small, unconscious circles over my skin. He is looking at me with trepidation, and it looks as though he has been up for some time.
Just the sight of him, naked and undeniably comfortable beside me in bed makes me smile.
“Hi,” I say back.
And again he is overcome with relief. I feel the urge to kiss him once more, and now it is even stronger, but I hold back. From the fact that he is still here, I know that last night was not a mistake, but I’m not ready to change my life just yet. I can see a million unasked questions in his eyes, questions that I have no answers for.
Instead I draw him to me in a tight, tight hug, hoping the action speaks all the words I cannot. He comes to me without hesitation. I feel him breathe in my scent, nearly purring at the contact. We need to talk about this, but I can’t, not yet, and so I push him down, laying him against me and burying my nose in the soft hairs at his temple.
“Let’s sleep some more.”
End
09/27/05
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