Fic: Just a Touch Monaboyd NC-17
Title: Just a Touch
Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: LoTR
Timeframe: Filming LoTR
Summary: Sometimes just a touch can say everything.
Author's Note: First time I've written in 6+ months. No beta, therefore the mistakes are my own, so please let me know about any glaring errors. :)
You feel his hands that are on your waist tighten their grip before they move lower, farther back, down. They cup your butt and pull you forward just enough so your body is completely against his. You can’t escape and you don’t really want to. You like him like this, aggressive, dominant. He likes you like this, plaintive, captured. His hands knead and your groins bump with each pulse of the music blasting from overhead. Your eyes are shut but you find it hard to open them, find it hard not to fall into the rhythm of his body, of the song. His forehead touches yours and you know his eyes are closed, too, know he is concentrating on the movement, on the feeling of you so near, on the way your body fits against his. You can’t hear anything over the din but you can feel puffs of air against your skin, your lips, and you know he’s saying something. Does it matter? Probably not. Not now, not when a touch can say so much more. It isn’t until he leans his head away and you open your eyes to find him staring at you questioningly that you realize he has asked you something. Should you pretend you did hear him? Should you ask him to repeat it? The dark look in his eye doesn’t suggest it so you gulp and slowly nod your head. His boyish wicked grin curls his lips and you suddenly question your decision. Maybe you should have asked.
It doesn’t take long to understand what he asked you, as his hands move to your waist and he’s slowly kneeling in front of you, lips shiny and inviting. You’re hard before he even gets to his knees, cock straining against the fabric of your jeans. You aren’t wearing underwear, you never do, it gets in the way. “Of what?” People ask you. It isn’t until moments like these that you remember why, as one deft hand moves to the zipper of your pants, sliding it down agonizingly slow. He’s being a bastard on purpose, teasing you, taunting you with his lips as he slides a pink tongue across his bottom lip. You hate him and want him and curse him under your breath. He can tell he’s wound you up, can tell by the way you keep biting your lower lip, the way your hands can’t stay still at your sides, the way… what are you suppose to do with your hands in a situation like this? Is there some etiquette for receiving blow-jobs in public spaces? Do they hang limply at your side? Do you curl your fingers in his hair? Yes, that, that’s what you’ll do… as soon as he starts but he hasn’t started yet because he’s a bastard like that and just staring up at you with those green eyes while you squirm and he’s just fucking loving this, isn’t he? Fucking Scottish bastard…
He licks his lips again and you swear your knees will buckle before his mouth even touches you but his grip on your hips is strong and supporting. His hand wraps around your cock and exposes you to the club air, warm and smoky. You thank god that it’s so dark, that a bright light only flashes every few seconds and only for the fraction of one. You’re fairly certain no one can see and fuck it if they can, no one cares. They might watch, get themselves off at the sight of a man being sucked off by the perfect mouth of another man but they won’t recognize you, it’s far too dark. What’s to recognize anyway? And who the fuck cares because now he’s stroking your cock, fingers wrapped tightly around the shaft while his tongue and lips begin to tease the head, gently sucking the pre-cum off you. Without your permission, at least you don’t remember your brain giving the order, your hand comes to his face, a single finger caressing the soft, clean-shaven cheek before your fingers curl in his hair. For a brief moment, you wonder what this would be like if he were in his wig, what it would feel like to tangle your fingers in those long curls as that hot mouth glides over you cock. But he brings you back to the present as his hand moves back to you hip and his mouth does the rest of the work. Those bow-shaped lips and wet tongue slide up and down your dick, tongue flicking playfully over the head every time he pulls back. His pace starts slow, something he knows will drive you crazy very quickly. Fucking dirty little… But then his mouth moves down the entire length of your shaft as he takes you as deeply as he can.
A shudder passes through your body and that’s the cue he needs. He quickens his rhythm without any aid from your hand and before your eyes fall shut from the feeling of his mouth and his tongue and the occasional graze of his teeth against your sensitive skin, you look down and watch him through the haze. And, of course, that’s when he glances up at you with that dark, wanting gaze and your eyes meet and one hand squeezes your ass hard and that’s when you feel it coiling in your stomach, low and warm and ready for that perfect moment. Another shudder courses down your spine and your eyes shut and your head falls back and if he were standing, if that were his ass instead of his mouth, his tongue would slide against the exposed skin of your neck, his teeth would nibble, and his lips would suck and although he can’t actually do that right now your mind tricks you into believing it’s actually happening and you can feel it, can feel his mouth against your collarbone, hot and slick, can feel his teeth draw a red line on your skin, can feel his tongue sooth whatever pain might have been given and his lips leave a round bruise.
That’s when you lose it. His grip tightens on your hips, keeping you steady as you try not to buck as you come, the orgasm that was pooling in your gut ripping through your body and leaving you breathless, heart pounding, and lightheaded. You swear you come more than once, waves of euphoric pleasure moving through your body. His mouth keeps going, sucking and licking until your completely spent and then he swallows with that damned pleased smirk on his face and you stare at him, mouth hanging open because you think it might help oxygen get to your brain a little bit quicker. You stand limply as he puts you back into your pants and zips you up, hands clinching your waist to help him off the ground. And all you can do is stare because you know and he knows and probably anyone who might have been watching knows that that was the best blow-job you’ve ever had and there’s that damn smirk on his face, reminding you, daring you to forget, who gave it to you. His arms circle your waist and he brings your body back against his, once again rocking with the music, and your eyes shut again. And he softly kisses your lips, your nose, your closed eyes and he leans his forehead against yours.
Then your eyes open and meet his again. You can see lust… desire… hunger… is that need? You know he wants to leave, wants to take you home or you to take him home. He wants a bed and you and him naked and close and together. You lean in for a kiss, something chaste that says you understand, you know, you want it, too, but when you lips meet and your tongue enters his mouth and mingles with his, the kiss deepens and goes on. One of your hands comes to the small of his back, the other to the back of his head, and his hands mimic yours and you stop swaying. You stand there, bodies still and alert. You feel his erection against your leg and press your body fully against his. You say you’re all his, any way he wants you, any time he wants, anywhere. You say it with your mouth but not with words because why use words when a touch can say so much more?
Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: LoTR
Timeframe: Filming LoTR
Summary: Sometimes just a touch can say everything.
Author's Note: First time I've written in 6+ months. No beta, therefore the mistakes are my own, so please let me know about any glaring errors. :)
You feel his hands that are on your waist tighten their grip before they move lower, farther back, down. They cup your butt and pull you forward just enough so your body is completely against his. You can’t escape and you don’t really want to. You like him like this, aggressive, dominant. He likes you like this, plaintive, captured. His hands knead and your groins bump with each pulse of the music blasting from overhead. Your eyes are shut but you find it hard to open them, find it hard not to fall into the rhythm of his body, of the song. His forehead touches yours and you know his eyes are closed, too, know he is concentrating on the movement, on the feeling of you so near, on the way your body fits against his. You can’t hear anything over the din but you can feel puffs of air against your skin, your lips, and you know he’s saying something. Does it matter? Probably not. Not now, not when a touch can say so much more. It isn’t until he leans his head away and you open your eyes to find him staring at you questioningly that you realize he has asked you something. Should you pretend you did hear him? Should you ask him to repeat it? The dark look in his eye doesn’t suggest it so you gulp and slowly nod your head. His boyish wicked grin curls his lips and you suddenly question your decision. Maybe you should have asked.
It doesn’t take long to understand what he asked you, as his hands move to your waist and he’s slowly kneeling in front of you, lips shiny and inviting. You’re hard before he even gets to his knees, cock straining against the fabric of your jeans. You aren’t wearing underwear, you never do, it gets in the way. “Of what?” People ask you. It isn’t until moments like these that you remember why, as one deft hand moves to the zipper of your pants, sliding it down agonizingly slow. He’s being a bastard on purpose, teasing you, taunting you with his lips as he slides a pink tongue across his bottom lip. You hate him and want him and curse him under your breath. He can tell he’s wound you up, can tell by the way you keep biting your lower lip, the way your hands can’t stay still at your sides, the way… what are you suppose to do with your hands in a situation like this? Is there some etiquette for receiving blow-jobs in public spaces? Do they hang limply at your side? Do you curl your fingers in his hair? Yes, that, that’s what you’ll do… as soon as he starts but he hasn’t started yet because he’s a bastard like that and just staring up at you with those green eyes while you squirm and he’s just fucking loving this, isn’t he? Fucking Scottish bastard…
He licks his lips again and you swear your knees will buckle before his mouth even touches you but his grip on your hips is strong and supporting. His hand wraps around your cock and exposes you to the club air, warm and smoky. You thank god that it’s so dark, that a bright light only flashes every few seconds and only for the fraction of one. You’re fairly certain no one can see and fuck it if they can, no one cares. They might watch, get themselves off at the sight of a man being sucked off by the perfect mouth of another man but they won’t recognize you, it’s far too dark. What’s to recognize anyway? And who the fuck cares because now he’s stroking your cock, fingers wrapped tightly around the shaft while his tongue and lips begin to tease the head, gently sucking the pre-cum off you. Without your permission, at least you don’t remember your brain giving the order, your hand comes to his face, a single finger caressing the soft, clean-shaven cheek before your fingers curl in his hair. For a brief moment, you wonder what this would be like if he were in his wig, what it would feel like to tangle your fingers in those long curls as that hot mouth glides over you cock. But he brings you back to the present as his hand moves back to you hip and his mouth does the rest of the work. Those bow-shaped lips and wet tongue slide up and down your dick, tongue flicking playfully over the head every time he pulls back. His pace starts slow, something he knows will drive you crazy very quickly. Fucking dirty little… But then his mouth moves down the entire length of your shaft as he takes you as deeply as he can.
A shudder passes through your body and that’s the cue he needs. He quickens his rhythm without any aid from your hand and before your eyes fall shut from the feeling of his mouth and his tongue and the occasional graze of his teeth against your sensitive skin, you look down and watch him through the haze. And, of course, that’s when he glances up at you with that dark, wanting gaze and your eyes meet and one hand squeezes your ass hard and that’s when you feel it coiling in your stomach, low and warm and ready for that perfect moment. Another shudder courses down your spine and your eyes shut and your head falls back and if he were standing, if that were his ass instead of his mouth, his tongue would slide against the exposed skin of your neck, his teeth would nibble, and his lips would suck and although he can’t actually do that right now your mind tricks you into believing it’s actually happening and you can feel it, can feel his mouth against your collarbone, hot and slick, can feel his teeth draw a red line on your skin, can feel his tongue sooth whatever pain might have been given and his lips leave a round bruise.
That’s when you lose it. His grip tightens on your hips, keeping you steady as you try not to buck as you come, the orgasm that was pooling in your gut ripping through your body and leaving you breathless, heart pounding, and lightheaded. You swear you come more than once, waves of euphoric pleasure moving through your body. His mouth keeps going, sucking and licking until your completely spent and then he swallows with that damned pleased smirk on his face and you stare at him, mouth hanging open because you think it might help oxygen get to your brain a little bit quicker. You stand limply as he puts you back into your pants and zips you up, hands clinching your waist to help him off the ground. And all you can do is stare because you know and he knows and probably anyone who might have been watching knows that that was the best blow-job you’ve ever had and there’s that damn smirk on his face, reminding you, daring you to forget, who gave it to you. His arms circle your waist and he brings your body back against his, once again rocking with the music, and your eyes shut again. And he softly kisses your lips, your nose, your closed eyes and he leans his forehead against yours.
Then your eyes open and meet his again. You can see lust… desire… hunger… is that need? You know he wants to leave, wants to take you home or you to take him home. He wants a bed and you and him naked and close and together. You lean in for a kiss, something chaste that says you understand, you know, you want it, too, but when you lips meet and your tongue enters his mouth and mingles with his, the kiss deepens and goes on. One of your hands comes to the small of his back, the other to the back of his head, and his hands mimic yours and you stop swaying. You stand there, bodies still and alert. You feel his erection against your leg and press your body fully against his. You say you’re all his, any way he wants you, any time he wants, anywhere. You say it with your mouth but not with words because why use words when a touch can say so much more?