Picture Perfect
Title: Picture Perfect
Author: Amanda, who goes by the aliasapodiopsys
Pairing: Dian (Danny Kurily/Ian Planet)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He’s never been the kind to want to see himself, never thought he’d do a sex tape. But he would for Danny.
Disclaimer: don't own the characters don't steal etc title and cut belong to Every Avenue and Fall Out Boy
A/N: Danny and Ian are slowly turning into my otp i swear to god. I love writing them they are perfect. Deds to Tanith because she loves them almost as much as I do~
tumblr is here, br0.
cum tell me what you think i will not be appreciative if you read it and then make like a tree and leaf.
“Let me,” Danny asks Ian one day, and Ian knows what he’s talking about. He’s holding his photography camera in both hands, lip caught between his teeth. He wants to say no, Ian wants to say no so badly, but it’s the end of tour. They’re all going separate ways and Danny is going back to Michigan. Danny might forget about him while they’re separated (he would never, ever do that, but Ian seems to think otherwise) and he wants him to remember. “Please,” he repeats, still holding the camera, and Ian wants to say no because, what if someone finds out? What if they make their way to the internet?
He says yes.
&
Ian is... not comfortable with the situation. It’s not something he particularly wants to do, right up there with bungee jumping and cocaine. He’s never been the kind to want to see himself, never thought he’d do a sex tape. But he would for Danny.
It’s not even, like. They didn’t actually talk about it, not in detail, like, one time Danny asked him how he would feel if he took pictures, and Ian kind of. He didn’t exactly give a downright no, but he didn’t say yes either. Danny dropped it after that, but he’s wanted. He wants, because he likes seeing, he’s good with visuals, really good with visuals. Ever since he was old enough, he’s preferred porn and magazines to his imagination, even though his imagination let him get away with more.
He went along with Ian’s bondage thing, let him blindfold and handcuff him. He wasn’t allowed to touch. Danny likes touching, he likes seeing and touching and Ian took both of those things away and, yes, he got fucked really awesomely and it was incredible and Ian likes the handcuffs, and Danny is okay with them, he doesn’t mind it and the sex is awesome, so it’s not even like he’s just taking and taking. It’s like giving and taking.
So Ian sits crosslegged on a bed in a hotel room, two nights before the end of tour. It’s the last hotel night before they all go to their different states, and usually, Ian would use it to fuck Danny into the mattress; from behind, or on his back, let him ride him hard and fast. They’d usually be exhausted the next day, but it’d last them, last them through a month, maybe more of phone sex and cheap (free) porn.
“Do I, like?” he asks, swallows, resting his palms on his knees. Danny looks up at him, biting his lip. Unlike his boyfriend, he’s pretty much fully dressed, red hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands as he adjusts the settings on his camera. Ian hasn’t felt this self conscious in front of him since like, the first time they ever had sex, or the first time they were ever naked in front of each other. It’s weird.
“Could you like,” Danny starts, pausing as he considers what he’s going to say. Ian shifts onto his knees, black boxer brief fabric shifting against his skin and he’s hyper aware or something, he’s really turned on and all Danny’s doing is just standing there with his god damn camera. “Pretend that I’m not here? I want. I want to watch you.”
Ian wets his lips with his tongue, and Danny's eyes follow the movement without realizing it. He's never let anyone see him before, just watch, taking pictures. It's not. He's never felt comfortable enough to let someone watch him, not like that. “Okay,” he says, voice hoarse. He licks his lips again, and Danny leans forwards, knees on the edge of the bed and the mattress dips as he connects their lips slowly.
“If you really don’t want to just say so, I won’t think any different of you,” Danny promises, one hand holding the camera and the other resting on the side of Ian’s neck, thumb stroking his jawline carefully.
“No it’s,” Ian starts, swallows, wets his lips again. “I wanna do this for you.”
He smiles, and Danny kisses him again, soft and careful, before he shifts back so he’s standing on two feet again. “I’ll just,” he says, and puts his camera down on the desk, unzips his red hoodie and leaves it draped over the back of the chair.
He turns around and Ian is kneeling, looking a little unsure. He’s tense, and Danny raises the camera to his eyes, focuses the lens and then snaps a picture. It’ll be edited to black and white later, he knows it will be, he thinks that maybe, most of them will, and the look in his eye is something he wants captured forever.
Ian leans back, looking away from Danny. He fixes his eyes on the wall, leans back on the pillows and then at the cracks on the ceiling. In the end, he closes his eyes, trailing touches up along his body, right hand reaching down and palming himself slowly through black fabric. He doesn’t think about Danny, at least, not about the way he’s watching through a camera lens, click click clicking away and capturing moments of this to keep for himself. He thinks about him the way he had him yesterday, the day before that, and before that again, naked and moaning underneath him, skin on skin on skin and touches hot enough to burn.
The camera clicks; there’s no flash but the shutter is audible. Danny sits on the desk, snapping photo after photo and freezing the moments in time. Ian bites his lip, movements getting a little rougher, more firm, not the light teasing touches as the feelings build. “Let me hear you,” Danny says softly into the almost completely silent room, because he knows him well enough, knows the sounds he makes and the expression he pulls when he’s deliberately trying to be quiet.
The only sound for a little bit is their breathing, Ian’s louder than Danny’s. He opens his eyes, looking over at his boyfriend, perched on the desk and bites his lip, a low whine coming from his throat. He shifts up, lifting his hips as he pushes the briefs down past his hips and thighs and kicks them on the floor. Danny gets a picture, gets pictures of everything, especially of Ian naked,
miles of bare skin that he wants to touch and lick and mark.
Danny moves from the desk, kneeling on the end of the bed. It dips under his weight, but he doesn’t move forward, knees pressed to the mattress and the balls of his feet pressed to the floor, arching to balance his weight. He can see the muscles rippling under smooth expanses of skin; faded marks bitten and bruised into his collar bones and neck and hips. He wants to put new ones there; fresh ones, so that he can see them and have something fresh that will remind him and force him to remember.
His hips push into his hand as he curls his fingers around his cock, grip loose as he strokes himself slowly. He whimpers softly, and Danny has half a mind to record it instead; the sounds that Ian makes drives him crazy. He takes another picture (click click click) but he wants to touchtastefeel. The camera clicks; Ian moans, hips tipping up into his grip. He releases himself, licks the palm of his hand to make the slide easier. It’s faster then, the pace. Ian bites his lip and then remembers Danny wants to hear him. He goes slack jawed, soft and quiet noises bubbling out of his throat.
Ian can feel Danny’s eyes on him. His gaze is hot and heavy, watching him through the camera lens. He pushes his head back against the pillows, neck bared, an open invitation for being bitten and sucked and marked. He’s all long lines and planes and angles, lips parted. The hand that isn’t wrapped around his dick slides up his stomach, pressing and toying with his nipples.
This isn’t usually what he’s like when he’s by himself, he tends to just jerk off to porn or something, but he’s putting on a show, being louder and touchier and more because Danny is watching him doing it. He lifts his eyes, looking at his boyfriend, the sound of wet skin on skin sounding throughout the room. He’s not even watching through his camera anymore, just staring at him from over it, finger poised above the button. His eyes are a startling shade of blue, intense and three shades deeper than they usually are.
It’s not a conscious decision. One moment they’re staring at each other, Ian’s pupils blown wide and lips wet and parted, and the next Danny is dropping his camera onto the bed, surging forward to kiss him. “Do you have any,” he says, threading his fingers into his hair as Ian pushes his hands up his shirt, hands tracing out mindless patterns as he scrapes his nails down his chest and back. “Idea how you look like that?”
Ian doesn’t know if he’s actually supposed to answer the question (doesn’t know the answer because, no, he doesn’t know how he looks like that, he’s never been one for watching himself) so he just whines softly and mouths at the side of Danny’s neck, pushing his shirt up to try and get it off of him. Danny pulls back and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the bare floors, and Ian’s hands slide down, undoing his belt buckle and jeans with practiced ease.
There’s a short lapse of time between Danny’s pants getting off and kicked to the floor and Ian rolling them over so he’s on top. “The camera -” Danny starts, but he cuts him off with his lips, sucking on his tongue and making him writhe underneath him.
He kisses the corner of his mouth, the slope of his cheek and his jaw, hips rolling together. Danny tosses his head back, lips brushing Ian’s ear as he pants, moans. He says, “God, fuck - the noises you make. Good, so good,” and reaches down between their bodies, gripping their cocks in one hand, just this side of too tight. Danny’s eyes flicker, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as his head tips back and he moans, tugging on Ian’s hair as his hips arch into the movement.
Danny tips his head up and pulls Ian’s head down, their lips meshing together and their teeth clicking. He pants into his mouth, hands curled into his hair and around the back of neck, chest rising and falling rapidly as Ian jerks them off, muscles flexing under his skin. His eyes open to see his expression as he comes, mouth opened and tense and perfectly agonized.
His hand stops moving for a moment, one arm keeping him balanced over him and Danny just waits for him to collect himself again. When he does, his lips curl up in this really, really sexy smirk. “Hey,” he says, nudging his cheek with his nose and then shifting down the bed, pushing his legs open so he can kneel in between them. Danny blinks at him, clear blue meeting dark brown, before Ian’s lips curl up again and he leans forward, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.
Ian’s hair is soft and it’s not something he’d admit but he likes it when Danny pulls on it, telling him what to do. Danny bites his lip hard when he props himself up on his elbows, looking down at the way Ian’s lips are stretched around his cock, hand wrapped around what he can’t fit into his mouth. He moans, deep and low, one hand reaching for his camera. He wants a picture, he fucking needs one, and his fingers graze the edge, and then grasp the strap, pulling it towards him.
It shakes in his hands; it’s surprisingly hard to hold a camera steady while your boyfriend gives you head, but Ian looks up at him as he snaps the picture. It doesn’t take long, maybe three minutes for him to come, hips arching up into his mouth. The camera ends up back on the mattress, and a full body shudder passes through him as he comes.
A lazy grin passes Ian’s face as he gets up, rolling his shoulders and feeling around for his underwear. Danny spread out naked on the bed, recovering from his orgasm as Ian goes into the bathroom to clean up. He’s a spit-not-swallow kind of guy; cum tastes nasty no matter how much fruit you eat, so he brushes his teeth and uses mouthwash.
Back out in the room, Danny’s found boxers and gotten his breathing under control. His camera is in his hands, going through the pictures he took. “You’re really fucking photogenic,” he says, lifting his eyes from the screen to the real deal, and Ian rolls his eyes, dropping onto the bed next to him.
“You have to say that,” he yawns into Danny’s shoulder, glancing at the camera and then away. It’s really weird to see that, because he knows what his dick looks like, but he’s never actually seen himself like that. “Put that camera away and sleep with me,”
Danny raises his eyebrows suggestively. “What, already? Can you really get it up again that fast?” he asks with a shit eating grin, putting his camera down on the bedside table. He rolls over onto his side, smirking at Ian and leaning up to kiss his lips.
“Fuck you Kurily,” Ian says, and Danny grins and says back, “You know you want to, Planet.”
Author: Amanda, who goes by the aliasapodiopsys
Pairing: Dian (Danny Kurily/Ian Planet)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He’s never been the kind to want to see himself, never thought he’d do a sex tape. But he would for Danny.
Disclaimer: don't own the characters don't steal etc title and cut belong to Every Avenue and Fall Out Boy
A/N: Danny and Ian are slowly turning into my otp i swear to god. I love writing them they are perfect. Deds to Tanith because she loves them almost as much as I do~
tumblr is here, br0.
cum tell me what you think i will not be appreciative if you read it and then make like a tree and leaf.
“Let me,” Danny asks Ian one day, and Ian knows what he’s talking about. He’s holding his photography camera in both hands, lip caught between his teeth. He wants to say no, Ian wants to say no so badly, but it’s the end of tour. They’re all going separate ways and Danny is going back to Michigan. Danny might forget about him while they’re separated (he would never, ever do that, but Ian seems to think otherwise) and he wants him to remember. “Please,” he repeats, still holding the camera, and Ian wants to say no because, what if someone finds out? What if they make their way to the internet?
He says yes.
&
Ian is... not comfortable with the situation. It’s not something he particularly wants to do, right up there with bungee jumping and cocaine. He’s never been the kind to want to see himself, never thought he’d do a sex tape. But he would for Danny.
It’s not even, like. They didn’t actually talk about it, not in detail, like, one time Danny asked him how he would feel if he took pictures, and Ian kind of. He didn’t exactly give a downright no, but he didn’t say yes either. Danny dropped it after that, but he’s wanted. He wants, because he likes seeing, he’s good with visuals, really good with visuals. Ever since he was old enough, he’s preferred porn and magazines to his imagination, even though his imagination let him get away with more.
He went along with Ian’s bondage thing, let him blindfold and handcuff him. He wasn’t allowed to touch. Danny likes touching, he likes seeing and touching and Ian took both of those things away and, yes, he got fucked really awesomely and it was incredible and Ian likes the handcuffs, and Danny is okay with them, he doesn’t mind it and the sex is awesome, so it’s not even like he’s just taking and taking. It’s like giving and taking.
So Ian sits crosslegged on a bed in a hotel room, two nights before the end of tour. It’s the last hotel night before they all go to their different states, and usually, Ian would use it to fuck Danny into the mattress; from behind, or on his back, let him ride him hard and fast. They’d usually be exhausted the next day, but it’d last them, last them through a month, maybe more of phone sex and cheap (free) porn.
“Do I, like?” he asks, swallows, resting his palms on his knees. Danny looks up at him, biting his lip. Unlike his boyfriend, he’s pretty much fully dressed, red hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands as he adjusts the settings on his camera. Ian hasn’t felt this self conscious in front of him since like, the first time they ever had sex, or the first time they were ever naked in front of each other. It’s weird.
“Could you like,” Danny starts, pausing as he considers what he’s going to say. Ian shifts onto his knees, black boxer brief fabric shifting against his skin and he’s hyper aware or something, he’s really turned on and all Danny’s doing is just standing there with his god damn camera. “Pretend that I’m not here? I want. I want to watch you.”
Ian wets his lips with his tongue, and Danny's eyes follow the movement without realizing it. He's never let anyone see him before, just watch, taking pictures. It's not. He's never felt comfortable enough to let someone watch him, not like that. “Okay,” he says, voice hoarse. He licks his lips again, and Danny leans forwards, knees on the edge of the bed and the mattress dips as he connects their lips slowly.
“If you really don’t want to just say so, I won’t think any different of you,” Danny promises, one hand holding the camera and the other resting on the side of Ian’s neck, thumb stroking his jawline carefully.
“No it’s,” Ian starts, swallows, wets his lips again. “I wanna do this for you.”
He smiles, and Danny kisses him again, soft and careful, before he shifts back so he’s standing on two feet again. “I’ll just,” he says, and puts his camera down on the desk, unzips his red hoodie and leaves it draped over the back of the chair.
He turns around and Ian is kneeling, looking a little unsure. He’s tense, and Danny raises the camera to his eyes, focuses the lens and then snaps a picture. It’ll be edited to black and white later, he knows it will be, he thinks that maybe, most of them will, and the look in his eye is something he wants captured forever.
Ian leans back, looking away from Danny. He fixes his eyes on the wall, leans back on the pillows and then at the cracks on the ceiling. In the end, he closes his eyes, trailing touches up along his body, right hand reaching down and palming himself slowly through black fabric. He doesn’t think about Danny, at least, not about the way he’s watching through a camera lens, click click clicking away and capturing moments of this to keep for himself. He thinks about him the way he had him yesterday, the day before that, and before that again, naked and moaning underneath him, skin on skin on skin and touches hot enough to burn.
The camera clicks; there’s no flash but the shutter is audible. Danny sits on the desk, snapping photo after photo and freezing the moments in time. Ian bites his lip, movements getting a little rougher, more firm, not the light teasing touches as the feelings build. “Let me hear you,” Danny says softly into the almost completely silent room, because he knows him well enough, knows the sounds he makes and the expression he pulls when he’s deliberately trying to be quiet.
The only sound for a little bit is their breathing, Ian’s louder than Danny’s. He opens his eyes, looking over at his boyfriend, perched on the desk and bites his lip, a low whine coming from his throat. He shifts up, lifting his hips as he pushes the briefs down past his hips and thighs and kicks them on the floor. Danny gets a picture, gets pictures of everything, especially of Ian naked,
miles of bare skin that he wants to touch and lick and mark.
Danny moves from the desk, kneeling on the end of the bed. It dips under his weight, but he doesn’t move forward, knees pressed to the mattress and the balls of his feet pressed to the floor, arching to balance his weight. He can see the muscles rippling under smooth expanses of skin; faded marks bitten and bruised into his collar bones and neck and hips. He wants to put new ones there; fresh ones, so that he can see them and have something fresh that will remind him and force him to remember.
His hips push into his hand as he curls his fingers around his cock, grip loose as he strokes himself slowly. He whimpers softly, and Danny has half a mind to record it instead; the sounds that Ian makes drives him crazy. He takes another picture (click click click) but he wants to touchtastefeel. The camera clicks; Ian moans, hips tipping up into his grip. He releases himself, licks the palm of his hand to make the slide easier. It’s faster then, the pace. Ian bites his lip and then remembers Danny wants to hear him. He goes slack jawed, soft and quiet noises bubbling out of his throat.
Ian can feel Danny’s eyes on him. His gaze is hot and heavy, watching him through the camera lens. He pushes his head back against the pillows, neck bared, an open invitation for being bitten and sucked and marked. He’s all long lines and planes and angles, lips parted. The hand that isn’t wrapped around his dick slides up his stomach, pressing and toying with his nipples.
This isn’t usually what he’s like when he’s by himself, he tends to just jerk off to porn or something, but he’s putting on a show, being louder and touchier and more because Danny is watching him doing it. He lifts his eyes, looking at his boyfriend, the sound of wet skin on skin sounding throughout the room. He’s not even watching through his camera anymore, just staring at him from over it, finger poised above the button. His eyes are a startling shade of blue, intense and three shades deeper than they usually are.
It’s not a conscious decision. One moment they’re staring at each other, Ian’s pupils blown wide and lips wet and parted, and the next Danny is dropping his camera onto the bed, surging forward to kiss him. “Do you have any,” he says, threading his fingers into his hair as Ian pushes his hands up his shirt, hands tracing out mindless patterns as he scrapes his nails down his chest and back. “Idea how you look like that?”
Ian doesn’t know if he’s actually supposed to answer the question (doesn’t know the answer because, no, he doesn’t know how he looks like that, he’s never been one for watching himself) so he just whines softly and mouths at the side of Danny’s neck, pushing his shirt up to try and get it off of him. Danny pulls back and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the bare floors, and Ian’s hands slide down, undoing his belt buckle and jeans with practiced ease.
There’s a short lapse of time between Danny’s pants getting off and kicked to the floor and Ian rolling them over so he’s on top. “The camera -” Danny starts, but he cuts him off with his lips, sucking on his tongue and making him writhe underneath him.
He kisses the corner of his mouth, the slope of his cheek and his jaw, hips rolling together. Danny tosses his head back, lips brushing Ian’s ear as he pants, moans. He says, “God, fuck - the noises you make. Good, so good,” and reaches down between their bodies, gripping their cocks in one hand, just this side of too tight. Danny’s eyes flicker, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as his head tips back and he moans, tugging on Ian’s hair as his hips arch into the movement.
Danny tips his head up and pulls Ian’s head down, their lips meshing together and their teeth clicking. He pants into his mouth, hands curled into his hair and around the back of neck, chest rising and falling rapidly as Ian jerks them off, muscles flexing under his skin. His eyes open to see his expression as he comes, mouth opened and tense and perfectly agonized.
His hand stops moving for a moment, one arm keeping him balanced over him and Danny just waits for him to collect himself again. When he does, his lips curl up in this really, really sexy smirk. “Hey,” he says, nudging his cheek with his nose and then shifting down the bed, pushing his legs open so he can kneel in between them. Danny blinks at him, clear blue meeting dark brown, before Ian’s lips curl up again and he leans forward, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock.
Ian’s hair is soft and it’s not something he’d admit but he likes it when Danny pulls on it, telling him what to do. Danny bites his lip hard when he props himself up on his elbows, looking down at the way Ian’s lips are stretched around his cock, hand wrapped around what he can’t fit into his mouth. He moans, deep and low, one hand reaching for his camera. He wants a picture, he fucking needs one, and his fingers graze the edge, and then grasp the strap, pulling it towards him.
It shakes in his hands; it’s surprisingly hard to hold a camera steady while your boyfriend gives you head, but Ian looks up at him as he snaps the picture. It doesn’t take long, maybe three minutes for him to come, hips arching up into his mouth. The camera ends up back on the mattress, and a full body shudder passes through him as he comes.
A lazy grin passes Ian’s face as he gets up, rolling his shoulders and feeling around for his underwear. Danny spread out naked on the bed, recovering from his orgasm as Ian goes into the bathroom to clean up. He’s a spit-not-swallow kind of guy; cum tastes nasty no matter how much fruit you eat, so he brushes his teeth and uses mouthwash.
Back out in the room, Danny’s found boxers and gotten his breathing under control. His camera is in his hands, going through the pictures he took. “You’re really fucking photogenic,” he says, lifting his eyes from the screen to the real deal, and Ian rolls his eyes, dropping onto the bed next to him.
“You have to say that,” he yawns into Danny’s shoulder, glancing at the camera and then away. It’s really weird to see that, because he knows what his dick looks like, but he’s never actually seen himself like that. “Put that camera away and sleep with me,”
Danny raises his eyebrows suggestively. “What, already? Can you really get it up again that fast?” he asks with a shit eating grin, putting his camera down on the bedside table. He rolls over onto his side, smirking at Ian and leaning up to kiss his lips.
“Fuck you Kurily,” Ian says, and Danny grins and says back, “You know you want to, Planet.”