[FIC] Stalled

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

Happy Friday, everyone.  What a fucking shithole week I had.  To make myself feel better, I wrote a PWP.  You get to read it.  Whoo hoo.

Title:  Stalled
Pairing:  Ryan/Colin
Author: makingamochrie
Rating:  NC-17 but mild
Disclaimer:  Don't own, don't sue
Author's notes:  Nothing much.

God, he feels good in my hand; hot and alive and already sticky-slippery from the pre-come that’s been leaking from him since before I stuck my hand down his pants and started stroking him.  His eyes are closed, and he groans again as I tighten my grip and increase my speed.  We don’t have a lot of time, and we both know it.

 

Above my head, cheap metal rattles as his huge hand clamps down on the top of the stall, shaking the whole thing.  Not that it matters much.  We’re the only two in here.  The others know not to follow us into the bathroom if we go in together.  Drew’s john sees a lot of use during those times. 

 

I should feel guilty about it, but I don’t.  Not a bit.  We rarely see one another, after all, and it is my first day back after an absence of nearly six months.  That we held off as long as we did is a minor miracle in and of itself.

 

His breathing is becoming harsher now, with a growl deep in his chest that tells me he’s close.  With my free hand, I manage, somehow, to undo his belt, button and zipper and slide his pants down to his knees.  They’re his taping clothes and it wouldn’t do to ruin them.  Not like this, anyway. 

 

I don’t look down at my hand.  I can’t.  If I did, I’d be lost, and I’m already in a bad enough state as it is.  Instead, I keep stroking, varying my technique in the way I know he likes, my eyes glued to his deeply heaving chest.  He’s wearing a royal blue cotton shirt that looks especially appealing on him.  I’ll have to remember to tell him that later, as I’m stripping it off of him for the night.

 

His free hand, which had been rubbing up and down my back and buttocks, suddenly clenches in my shirt, mid back, and I make my fist as tight as I’m able around his massive shaft.  It isn’t easy, but I’ve been blessed, at least, with long fingers, and I make it tight and as good as I can for him. 

 

His hips buck hard as I stroke hard and soon he’s coming hard in an arc against the far wall, his issue catching the light like diamonds as it flows.  Some of it slips over my fist, darn near burning it with his incredible heat.  Not quite like when the coffee burned me, but close. 

 

I don’t stop, though.  His hips keep thrusting, and so do I until he is totally spent and leaning against the nebulous strength of the wobbling stall wall, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon with an army pack on his back. 

 

I finally release him just as his eyes flutter open.  His hand unclenches from my shirt and moves up to the back of my neck where he threads his incredibly long fingers through what’s left of my hair and pulls me forward, crushing our lips and teeth together in a hard, deep kiss. 

 

“Two minutes!” Keith yells out from behind the closed door.  He, too, knows not to enter, but that doesn’t stop him from remaining there for a moment or two, trying to pick up any sounds. 

 

Laughing silently into Ryan’s mouth, I give him a more gentle kiss, and slowly pull away.  His eyes are glittering as they look down into mine, and then down still further to just below my beltline.  A frown draws itself between his brows, and, reaching up, I thumb it away.  “Tight underwear,” I tell him, leading his hand to my groin to cup my hardness briefly before forcing it away.  “It’ll keep till later.”

 

“Promise?” he asks, his first words since we arrived.

 

“Promise,” I assure him, going up to my toes and brushing our lips together to seal the vow.   “Ready to go out there and kick some ass?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” he breathes across my lips. 

 

“One minute, guys!” Keith pleads.  “Please, hurry it up.”

 

Opening the door, I slip outside to allow him the room to pull his pants back up.

 

I’m finishing washing my hands as he comes up behind me and hugs me from behind, crossing his long arms across my chest and leaning his chin on my shoulder, content to simply look at us both in the spotted, pitted mirror hanging over the sinks.  “I love you, you know,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple.

 

“I know,” I reply, grasping his hands and squeezing them tightly.  “I know.”

 

“Guys!  Please!”

 

His demeanor changes instantly.  Gone is the lover I’ve brought to orgasm.  In his place stands the intimidating ex-prod no one, not even Drew, quite dares to cross.  He unwraps his arms from around me, face set in stone, and strides over to the door, yanking it open and glaring down at our poor director.  Keith looks as if he’ll be needing the facilities for real within the next ten seconds, if his bladder hasn’t already let go from that look alone.

 

He quickly steps away, clipboard in hand, and Ryan turns, holding out his hand to me.  After taking one last assessing look at myself, I grasp his hand and we walk from our trysting place, the scent of musk still strong in the air, even over that horrid strawberry scent that nearly always wants to make me gag.

 

I can tell that Keith can smell it, because his face twists in an odd way.  Then relaxes totally as Ryan again glares at him.  I merely give him my best ‘innocent puppy’ smile as we pass him by on our way to the stage and another day’s taping.