Superpornsunday RPS- I am going to hell. Shiny hell.
Author:
llassah
Fandom: Canadian RPS
Pairing: Hugh Dillon/Callum Keith Rennie
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Huge snuggles both to
jamethiel_bane for the pairing and prompt (if she says she didn’t, she is LYING), and to
lordessrenegade for being a superspecial fastdirty beta (even if she is faar too clean for RPS *snickers*)
It was done so casually. Just a quick ruffling of Callum’s hair, nothing untoward in that. Looked perfectly normal, just a buddy-buddy gesture that Callum could just swat away with a grin, bumping hips as they walked in step. But god, his scalp had always been a complete fucking hot spot for him; fastest way to get him hard without touching his cock was hands running through his hair, strong fingers massaging his scalp until he was moving into it, practically purring. And since he had had his hair cut short, for what Hugh called his ‘creepy fucking psycho number 97’, his scalp was…well, some days he wondered if he could come just from a head massage, and not the head Hugh normally paid attention to either.
And Hugh knew this. The fucker knew all about it, and he kept on getting him all wired up in public, and it was about as far from buddies as it was possible to get without murdering someone. They were at some Canadian TV awards party thing, one of those mutual backslappings where the only fun thing was working out how many people in the room they had slept with- they had got everyone but three last time, but Hugh figured those three were probably fucking each other, so that had worked out okay- and now Callum was having to think about the most unarousing thing possible, and Hugh was snickering quietly, and days like these he felt like taking the Stanislavski Method to its logical conclusion and channelling psycho number 97 right up to the prison sentence.
Dean and the Spelling female naked together eventually did the trick, and with a quick shudder, Callum braced himself for the schmoozing that was pretty much inevitable. He was used to timing the nods, and smiling every time the other person laughed, so he was cruising through the evening, no problems there-
Hugh caught his eye and smiled, bringing one hand up to rub the top of his own head. Callum swallowed, closing his eyes momentarily, sense-memory potent, immediate.
“You ok there, Cal?”
Molly, amused and concerned. She steered him away from whoever the hell it was that he had just been nodding at, hand on his elbow, head turned towards him so it looked like they were just chatting as Callum grabbed his coat and looked for refuge. They ended up outside, looking out over the golf course of the hotel this was being held at as Callum got his thoughts together, angry and horny mingling together as he gripped the railing, white knuckled.
“I’m gonna kill Hugh,” he said at last. Not even Dean and the female doing the nasty was cutting it, and what the fuck was he doing, messing with Callum like that in public? Among friends, yeah, okay, that was expected now, but with strangers? There was the thrill of danger, true, but there was also the risk of a three page spread in The Enquirer, not that he was particularly big news, but-
“What’s he doing?”
“Scalp,” he said at last, knowing she’d understand. She patted his shoulder sympathetically.
“Poor baby,” she murmured, with that amused crooked smile that never failed to get a smile out of him. He grinned ruefully, hand going to the back of his neck, a gesture that usually calmed him, but tonight-
“Fuck I’m…twitchy, you know? Antsy. Think I’ll go back to the hotel, try and get some sleep.”
“You want some company?”
Another smile, sweet, almost careless, an offer free of pressure- on nights when he needed simple comfort, he accepted- but comfort wasn’t what he wanted tonight.
“Thanks, Molly, but I’m- I need-”
“To punch Hugh or something?”
“I’ll take or something. He has a mean right hook.”
Callum looked over to the doorway. The light from the party inside made Hugh into a silhouette, but he could tell he was smirking. Molly raised an eyebrow at him, do I stay? He shook his head and she brushed past Hugh, back into the party, leaving the two of them alone in the courtyard.
“You gonna apologize?” he asked, turning back to the golf course, wishing the glow from the city lights didn’t block out the stars.
“Do you really want me to?”
Christ. The simple answer, and the complicated one, and both were right and wrong, as the ease of their friendship was wrapped up in choices and longing looks, gasped out orgasms in hotel rooms where the walls were thin and the mattress creaked. Where ‘you want this?’ had two answers, and fighting against himself gave him a peace he had never dared hope for. He chose an answer that was neither, avoided questions for another day.
“Hotel?”
Hugh nodded, and they walked in silence down to the car, stayed silent for the whole journey, although Callum’s awareness of every shift Hugh made in the seat, of his breathing, the way he was looking across at him every so often, made it like he was singing or shouting, unavoidable, impossible to ignore. Callum swallowed, licked his too-dry lips and tapped out a meandering rhythm on the steering wheel. He was too unsettled even to try and suppress the signs of nervousness that had to be a fucking beacon, taking him so far past playing it cool that he might as well have yelled, told Hugh everything, spilled his guts out until he even knew the things that Callum had only half articulated to himself in the hours before dawn, the wolf hours when the world seemed quietest and bleakest. He stopped the car in the hotel parking lot, sat there watching the play of the shadows in the pools of sickly yellow light.
Hugh put a hand across, not as cautious as Callum had expected, ran his hand slowly up the back of Callum’s head, the public gesture made more possessive, with more intent and meaning behind it. Callum turned and saw the shit-eating leer on his face. He was taking this back to a game, to push and pull, good clean lust replacing annoyance and Callum welcomed the change with a grin, undoing his seatbelt, getting out of the car and walking up to the hotel, grateful for the length of his coat, not bothering to fight the arousal that seemed to build at every step he took away from the car. Hugh kept in step with him, and they fell into the rockstar swaggers they put on whenever they were walking together, seeing who could put the most attitude into it. Up the stairs, two at a time, stumbling down the corridor trying to remember not to kiss, Callum fumbling in his pocket for his room key-
Backing Hugh against the door, kissing him hard, catching his lower lip in his teeth, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other on Hugh’s hip. He was never sure who was stronger really; it was more who wanted to win more, and he was able to keep Hugh backed right up against the door as he undid their coats then pressed in closer, knocking Hugh’s feet apart and reaching with one hand inside Hugh’s untucked shirt. His hands were cool; Hugh gasped as he ran his hand down his side- he always claimed he wasn’t ticklish, but Callum wasn’t buying it- so he did it again, determined to drive him wild, to get him hoarse and begging, quid pro fucking quo. Hugh squirmed, the movement pressing his thigh against Callum’s cock so they were both gasping, Hugh’s hand going up to Callum’s hair, holding his head as they kissed and moving his thigh against Callum’s erection until control was something everyone but them had.
Callum undid the button fly on Hugh’s jeans, privately amazed he managed it without fumbling, sunk to his knees before Hugh could say anything and undid his own fly, and then looked up at Hugh with a smirk. Hugh’s eyes- fuck, they were hungry, it was like he was memorizing everything about Callum, every line of his face, every hollow and dip. Cal kept eye contact, his hand on Hugh’s hip leaning his weight into him for balance, contact. Hugh’s hand went to the top of his head, resting there lightly.
Everything added up- the slow slide of his mouth on Hugh’s cock, the ache in his knees, the flexing of Hugh’s hand on his head, his own hand moving in rhythm with his mouth, the way Hugh was breathing through his teeth, the hiss of breath loud in the hotel room, the smell and taste of him, their needs one and the same. He pressed his tongue to the underside of Hugh’s cock, scraped his teeth lightly up the shaft, just to hear Hugh’s head felling back against the door, the breathed-out ‘fffuck’. Later, he would do the same again, but take his time, getting Hugh to the brink of coming then pulling back, letting it build up again until Hugh was ready to punch him. Now, he worked steadily, gave Hugh what his hisses and groans demanded and took pleasure out of giving as Hugh stroked his hair, hand firm and relentless.
Hugh’s curses and pleas were continuous now, like some fucked-up prayer to the patron saint of blowjobs but Callum kept moving, even through his orgasm, leaning harder on Hugh’s hip as his back arched away from the wall and he came with a strangled-sounding curse, always eager for pleasure, always fighting the end of it, orgasm dragged out of him. He leaned back, letting Hugh recover, close to coming himself. A thud on the floor, then Hugh crawled over to him and kissed him, but not on the mouth, on weird places like the back of his neck, his jaw, the middle of his left eyebrow, his hairline. Both his hands were in Callum’s hair, and Hugh stroked him so gently, so sweetly, drawing orgasm out of him with butterfly kisses and tender hands, letting Callum lean back into him as he came, the feeling so clear and good it was painful, like a bluegrass fiddle in an echoing church.
They stumbled to the bed, Cal using Hugh’s shirt to wipe off his stomach, dodging the half-assed cuff Hugh aimed at the back of his head, and lay there, too fucked-out to do anything other than breathe.
“So how long did we manage to stay at that party then?” Hugh asked at last.
“Twenty minutes, about.”
“We’re getting better then, it was half an hour last time.”
“Don’t you mean worse?”
“Blowjob or canapé, Mr. Hollywood?”
There really wasn’t much to say to that. Callum turned off the light on the nightstand, wrapped himself around Hugh, and went to sleep, ignoring Hugh’s triumphant silence. Wouldn’t want to encourage him. Much.
llassah
Fandom: Canadian RPS
Pairing: Hugh Dillon/Callum Keith Rennie
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Huge snuggles both to
jamethiel_bane for the pairing and prompt (if she says she didn’t, she is LYING), and to
lordessrenegade for being a superspecial fastdirty beta (even if she is faar too clean for RPS *snickers*)
It was done so casually. Just a quick ruffling of Callum’s hair, nothing untoward in that. Looked perfectly normal, just a buddy-buddy gesture that Callum could just swat away with a grin, bumping hips as they walked in step. But god, his scalp had always been a complete fucking hot spot for him; fastest way to get him hard without touching his cock was hands running through his hair, strong fingers massaging his scalp until he was moving into it, practically purring. And since he had had his hair cut short, for what Hugh called his ‘creepy fucking psycho number 97’, his scalp was…well, some days he wondered if he could come just from a head massage, and not the head Hugh normally paid attention to either.
And Hugh knew this. The fucker knew all about it, and he kept on getting him all wired up in public, and it was about as far from buddies as it was possible to get without murdering someone. They were at some Canadian TV awards party thing, one of those mutual backslappings where the only fun thing was working out how many people in the room they had slept with- they had got everyone but three last time, but Hugh figured those three were probably fucking each other, so that had worked out okay- and now Callum was having to think about the most unarousing thing possible, and Hugh was snickering quietly, and days like these he felt like taking the Stanislavski Method to its logical conclusion and channelling psycho number 97 right up to the prison sentence.
Dean and the Spelling female naked together eventually did the trick, and with a quick shudder, Callum braced himself for the schmoozing that was pretty much inevitable. He was used to timing the nods, and smiling every time the other person laughed, so he was cruising through the evening, no problems there-
Hugh caught his eye and smiled, bringing one hand up to rub the top of his own head. Callum swallowed, closing his eyes momentarily, sense-memory potent, immediate.
“You ok there, Cal?”
Molly, amused and concerned. She steered him away from whoever the hell it was that he had just been nodding at, hand on his elbow, head turned towards him so it looked like they were just chatting as Callum grabbed his coat and looked for refuge. They ended up outside, looking out over the golf course of the hotel this was being held at as Callum got his thoughts together, angry and horny mingling together as he gripped the railing, white knuckled.
“I’m gonna kill Hugh,” he said at last. Not even Dean and the female doing the nasty was cutting it, and what the fuck was he doing, messing with Callum like that in public? Among friends, yeah, okay, that was expected now, but with strangers? There was the thrill of danger, true, but there was also the risk of a three page spread in The Enquirer, not that he was particularly big news, but-
“What’s he doing?”
“Scalp,” he said at last, knowing she’d understand. She patted his shoulder sympathetically.
“Poor baby,” she murmured, with that amused crooked smile that never failed to get a smile out of him. He grinned ruefully, hand going to the back of his neck, a gesture that usually calmed him, but tonight-
“Fuck I’m…twitchy, you know? Antsy. Think I’ll go back to the hotel, try and get some sleep.”
“You want some company?”
Another smile, sweet, almost careless, an offer free of pressure- on nights when he needed simple comfort, he accepted- but comfort wasn’t what he wanted tonight.
“Thanks, Molly, but I’m- I need-”
“To punch Hugh or something?”
“I’ll take or something. He has a mean right hook.”
Callum looked over to the doorway. The light from the party inside made Hugh into a silhouette, but he could tell he was smirking. Molly raised an eyebrow at him, do I stay? He shook his head and she brushed past Hugh, back into the party, leaving the two of them alone in the courtyard.
“You gonna apologize?” he asked, turning back to the golf course, wishing the glow from the city lights didn’t block out the stars.
“Do you really want me to?”
Christ. The simple answer, and the complicated one, and both were right and wrong, as the ease of their friendship was wrapped up in choices and longing looks, gasped out orgasms in hotel rooms where the walls were thin and the mattress creaked. Where ‘you want this?’ had two answers, and fighting against himself gave him a peace he had never dared hope for. He chose an answer that was neither, avoided questions for another day.
“Hotel?”
Hugh nodded, and they walked in silence down to the car, stayed silent for the whole journey, although Callum’s awareness of every shift Hugh made in the seat, of his breathing, the way he was looking across at him every so often, made it like he was singing or shouting, unavoidable, impossible to ignore. Callum swallowed, licked his too-dry lips and tapped out a meandering rhythm on the steering wheel. He was too unsettled even to try and suppress the signs of nervousness that had to be a fucking beacon, taking him so far past playing it cool that he might as well have yelled, told Hugh everything, spilled his guts out until he even knew the things that Callum had only half articulated to himself in the hours before dawn, the wolf hours when the world seemed quietest and bleakest. He stopped the car in the hotel parking lot, sat there watching the play of the shadows in the pools of sickly yellow light.
Hugh put a hand across, not as cautious as Callum had expected, ran his hand slowly up the back of Callum’s head, the public gesture made more possessive, with more intent and meaning behind it. Callum turned and saw the shit-eating leer on his face. He was taking this back to a game, to push and pull, good clean lust replacing annoyance and Callum welcomed the change with a grin, undoing his seatbelt, getting out of the car and walking up to the hotel, grateful for the length of his coat, not bothering to fight the arousal that seemed to build at every step he took away from the car. Hugh kept in step with him, and they fell into the rockstar swaggers they put on whenever they were walking together, seeing who could put the most attitude into it. Up the stairs, two at a time, stumbling down the corridor trying to remember not to kiss, Callum fumbling in his pocket for his room key-
Backing Hugh against the door, kissing him hard, catching his lower lip in his teeth, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other on Hugh’s hip. He was never sure who was stronger really; it was more who wanted to win more, and he was able to keep Hugh backed right up against the door as he undid their coats then pressed in closer, knocking Hugh’s feet apart and reaching with one hand inside Hugh’s untucked shirt. His hands were cool; Hugh gasped as he ran his hand down his side- he always claimed he wasn’t ticklish, but Callum wasn’t buying it- so he did it again, determined to drive him wild, to get him hoarse and begging, quid pro fucking quo. Hugh squirmed, the movement pressing his thigh against Callum’s cock so they were both gasping, Hugh’s hand going up to Callum’s hair, holding his head as they kissed and moving his thigh against Callum’s erection until control was something everyone but them had.
Callum undid the button fly on Hugh’s jeans, privately amazed he managed it without fumbling, sunk to his knees before Hugh could say anything and undid his own fly, and then looked up at Hugh with a smirk. Hugh’s eyes- fuck, they were hungry, it was like he was memorizing everything about Callum, every line of his face, every hollow and dip. Cal kept eye contact, his hand on Hugh’s hip leaning his weight into him for balance, contact. Hugh’s hand went to the top of his head, resting there lightly.
Everything added up- the slow slide of his mouth on Hugh’s cock, the ache in his knees, the flexing of Hugh’s hand on his head, his own hand moving in rhythm with his mouth, the way Hugh was breathing through his teeth, the hiss of breath loud in the hotel room, the smell and taste of him, their needs one and the same. He pressed his tongue to the underside of Hugh’s cock, scraped his teeth lightly up the shaft, just to hear Hugh’s head felling back against the door, the breathed-out ‘fffuck’. Later, he would do the same again, but take his time, getting Hugh to the brink of coming then pulling back, letting it build up again until Hugh was ready to punch him. Now, he worked steadily, gave Hugh what his hisses and groans demanded and took pleasure out of giving as Hugh stroked his hair, hand firm and relentless.
Hugh’s curses and pleas were continuous now, like some fucked-up prayer to the patron saint of blowjobs but Callum kept moving, even through his orgasm, leaning harder on Hugh’s hip as his back arched away from the wall and he came with a strangled-sounding curse, always eager for pleasure, always fighting the end of it, orgasm dragged out of him. He leaned back, letting Hugh recover, close to coming himself. A thud on the floor, then Hugh crawled over to him and kissed him, but not on the mouth, on weird places like the back of his neck, his jaw, the middle of his left eyebrow, his hairline. Both his hands were in Callum’s hair, and Hugh stroked him so gently, so sweetly, drawing orgasm out of him with butterfly kisses and tender hands, letting Callum lean back into him as he came, the feeling so clear and good it was painful, like a bluegrass fiddle in an echoing church.
They stumbled to the bed, Cal using Hugh’s shirt to wipe off his stomach, dodging the half-assed cuff Hugh aimed at the back of his head, and lay there, too fucked-out to do anything other than breathe.
“So how long did we manage to stay at that party then?” Hugh asked at last.
“Twenty minutes, about.”
“We’re getting better then, it was half an hour last time.”
“Don’t you mean worse?”
“Blowjob or canapé, Mr. Hollywood?”
There really wasn’t much to say to that. Callum turned off the light on the nightstand, wrapped himself around Hugh, and went to sleep, ignoring Hugh’s triumphant silence. Wouldn’t want to encourage him. Much.