Fresh blood?
Hello all! Sort of new to this whole RPS writing thing, and I don't have a beta. I have no idea how much I'll be churning out (probably not very much), but if anyone's interested, could you drop me a line? (Taken care of- see note below!) I'm kind of anxious about how this turned out.
For everybody else, and so I'm not just spamming the list, here's parts 1-3 of my first real attempt at RPS.
Title: The First Five Times (1-3/5)
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Vague-ish descriptions of sexual activities. Unbetaed except by my own admittedly tired eye.
Beta: katze_boston, who has my eternal gratitude for finally setting me straight on the each other's vs. each others' debate, correcting clumsy, redundant and confusing sentences, and helping me achieve nirvana. Well, two out of three, anyway.
Disclaimer: If this happened and someone has evidence, two things need to happen. First of all, I need to find out where I get my psychic powers and how I can use them to spy on hot boys. Second, hand over the videotape. Until then, this didn't happen, and I certainly wouldn't be so audacious as to claim that it did. I just think it would be hot.
Summary: They'd touched before, of course, of course they had; you couldn't be best mates with someone for a year and not occasionally be crammed too tightly in the back of a taxi with them, or flying-tackled (as was often the case with Dom and Lij and Orli), or fallen asleep on, or punched or tickled or even bitten. Hell, they were so affectionate with each other the whole world already thought they were all completely bent, so when Dom touched him for the first time, really touched him, he sort of had to ask himself why he hadn't seen it coming.
*
[one: inference]
The first time Dom touched him Billy told himself it was an accident of drink and proximity and a pounding baseline. They'd touched before, of course, of course they had; you couldn't be best mates with someone for a year and not occasionally be crammed too tightly in the back of a taxi with them, or flying-tackled (as was often the case with Dom and Lij and Orli), or fallen asleep on, or punched or tickled or even bitten. Hell, they were so affectionate with each other the whole world already thought they were all completely bent, so when Dom touched him for the first time, really touched him, he sort of had to ask himself why he hadn't seen it coming.
They'd been living in each other's pockets for so long now that they oughtn't have had any secrets left worth keeping. Billy could recite verbatim favourite foods, colours, and ale and tea orders; Lij finished his sentences and Dom didn't even bother, just interrupted with his reply halfway through. And Orli- Orli had the art of nonverbal communication down so well that, that very evening, within two minutes of entering the club and without Orli uttering a single word, Billy had known: a), exactly which bird he was going to pull; b), what and how much he planned on drinking; and c), not to call him until late the next day because he would be indisposed.
So how had he managed to miss the fact that Dom apparently wanted to, well, fuck his brains out?
Willful blindness, he supposed, and continued dancing as if Dom hadn't just brushed against him like that, like Dom would like nothing more than to leave with him, now, and do things that might get them both arrested at the nearest convenient dark alley. The second time, he raised an eyebrow in Dom's direction, but all he got for his trouble was a self-satisfied little smirk and a wicked glint in dark-rimmed eyes; Dom had a vain streak a mile wide, although Billy had to concede that eyeliner was fetching on him.
His brain still hadn't quite figured out the best course of action by the third overtly sexual advance, which he took as his cue that Dom wasn't just fucking him around (ha, he thought) and really would like to take him home and pound him into the mattress. Unfortunately, by this time his body had decided for him, and Dom knew it, felt the evidence against his thigh, and the wicked glint returned with a vengeance. In a matter of moments they were making excuses to Lij, and then Billy found himself half-dragged down the street to the nearest waiting cab. (Apparently getting arrested for public indecency wasn't on tonight's agenda.)
Dom waited until they were back at his flat to kiss him, and did so without fanfare, closing the door (not slamming), pulling him closer (not yanking), moving their bodies together (not pressing). Billy thought, shit, dug in his nails, bit Dom's tongue and altogether gave restraint the night off.
From there on in it was brutal, electric, frantic, and Billy wondered why the fuck they hadn't done this sooner; everyone could use a good shag now and again and this was looking extremely promising.
When the sweat was still drying on their skin and abrasions were fading to bruises and they were panting, spent, sprawled across the bed and each other, trying to find their bearings, Dom looked up at him and grinned a little uncertainly. Billy returned it for a moment before succumbing to the exhaustion of maintaining any expression that wasn't 'well fucked' and tried to stretch the ache out of muscles that were far out of shape.
Dom said, “You know I'm not,” and he could have meant to say “not gay” or “not looking for a relationship” or “not making you breakfast in the morning,” but Billy understood that what he really meant was “not in love (with you),” and agreed, still a little breathless,
“Me neither.”
A nod of acknowledgement. “Good.”
They exchanged grins again and fell asleep essentially where they'd fallen. Billy was so tired he didn't even remember his nightmares.
*
[two: consistence]
The second time Billy found himself with a handful of Dom it was entirely by his own design (not that he planned it in advance, of course; the opportunity more or less presented itself). A week had passed since the club, and he'd been waiting for another chance as he watched the bruises fade. This was it; everyone else had buggered off somewhere and left the two of them standing in a small clearing by themselves. It hadn't been awkward, was the first thing Billy had noticed about his friendship with Dom after they'd fucked. It had gone back to normal. (Good, Billy thought. It could bloody well do it again.)
A stray camera left recording captured just one telling image of Billy's hand closing around Dom's wrist before the two of them disappeared into a copse of trees.
“Is this going to become a habit?” Dom asked breathlessly between kisses, hands fisting in the front of Billy's shirt as their tongues strove for dominance.
Billy ground his pelvis against his. (Fuck, that felt entirely too good.) “That a problem?”
“Not so far,” he gasped, fingers warring with the fastenings on their clothes. “Let me know if I need to clear my calendar.”
“Fuck, yeah,” agreed Billy with feeling. “That I'll do.”
“You're loud,” Dom observed around a savage mouthful of collarbone, biting hard enough to draw blood. Billy arched into the pain, gripping tighter, fingers of his left hand curling against the rough bark of the tree Dom was leaning against. “Gonna get us caught.”
Billy swiped his thumb across the head of his cock, Dom leaning heavily against him. “You're the one that almost fucked me on a dance floor in front of God and everyone.”
“Shit,” Dom muttered, and just like that they were coming, shaking, sliding to the ground.
Tucking himself back into his trousers, Billy asserted, “This doesn't change-”
And Dom nodded, pupils still dilated outrageously. “Why should it?”
Of course, there wasn't an answer for that.
*
[three: shadow]
After that there was little doubt in Billy's mind that there would be a third time, and likely a fourth, and probably a few more times after that, and he kept waiting for Dom to corner him at the pub or proposition him in the Feet trailer or something, Billy didn't know exactly what.
But Dom didn't try him again until two days later, when he appeared suspiciously and mysteriously at Billy's apartment before Billy did (because of course Dom had the spare key; what else would Billy have done with it?). Billy didn't even have time to ask what Dom was doing there (the nudity probably should have been a clue) before he was flying-tackled onto the couch. From the already heavy cock he could feel against the small of his back, he very much doubted they were going to get anywhere near the bedroom. He supposed the couch was a better idea than the kitchen table (although he filed away the possibility for further examination).
“Happy to see me?” he managed to ask into a sofa cushion as Dom's hands made themselves useful with his belt and trousers.
“Mmm,” was all the answer he got, hummed into his ear as Dom sucked on his neck. Fuck, that was going to bruise, too; those poor girls in make-up were going to have fits. “Trying to distract me?”
Billy grinned darkly and wriggled his arse. “'S it working?”
Dom pressed against him and growled. “What d'you think?”
“Damn.” And there would be other bruises this time, too, he could tell as fingers bit into his hips, his thighs, his arse, and there was stretch and burn and teeth until Dom cried out and Billy had no choice but to follow, really, having come this far.
Deep, shuddering breaths against his back, and they stayed still for a few moments gathering the shattered pieces of their minds before Billy's stomach interrupted with a loud grumble.
Dom laughed against the skin of his shoulder. “Typical.”
Billy reached round and swatted him on the back of the head. “You better have brought me food. You know I can't cook.”
“'S in the box,” came the answer, accompanied by a fairly vague sweep of an arm, but Billy understood.
Over his carton of Thai food, Dom pointed out, “This isn't a date, you know,” and Billy answered automatically, “'Course not, on a date you eat dinner before you fuck,” and they laughed even though Billy had a sudden sneaking shadow of suspicion that it wasn't really all that funny.
For everybody else, and so I'm not just spamming the list, here's parts 1-3 of my first real attempt at RPS.
Title: The First Five Times (1-3/5)
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Vague-ish descriptions of sexual activities. Unbetaed except by my own admittedly tired eye.
Beta: katze_boston, who has my eternal gratitude for finally setting me straight on the each other's vs. each others' debate, correcting clumsy, redundant and confusing sentences, and helping me achieve nirvana. Well, two out of three, anyway.
Disclaimer: If this happened and someone has evidence, two things need to happen. First of all, I need to find out where I get my psychic powers and how I can use them to spy on hot boys. Second, hand over the videotape. Until then, this didn't happen, and I certainly wouldn't be so audacious as to claim that it did. I just think it would be hot.
Summary: They'd touched before, of course, of course they had; you couldn't be best mates with someone for a year and not occasionally be crammed too tightly in the back of a taxi with them, or flying-tackled (as was often the case with Dom and Lij and Orli), or fallen asleep on, or punched or tickled or even bitten. Hell, they were so affectionate with each other the whole world already thought they were all completely bent, so when Dom touched him for the first time, really touched him, he sort of had to ask himself why he hadn't seen it coming.
*
[one: inference]
The first time Dom touched him Billy told himself it was an accident of drink and proximity and a pounding baseline. They'd touched before, of course, of course they had; you couldn't be best mates with someone for a year and not occasionally be crammed too tightly in the back of a taxi with them, or flying-tackled (as was often the case with Dom and Lij and Orli), or fallen asleep on, or punched or tickled or even bitten. Hell, they were so affectionate with each other the whole world already thought they were all completely bent, so when Dom touched him for the first time, really touched him, he sort of had to ask himself why he hadn't seen it coming.
They'd been living in each other's pockets for so long now that they oughtn't have had any secrets left worth keeping. Billy could recite verbatim favourite foods, colours, and ale and tea orders; Lij finished his sentences and Dom didn't even bother, just interrupted with his reply halfway through. And Orli- Orli had the art of nonverbal communication down so well that, that very evening, within two minutes of entering the club and without Orli uttering a single word, Billy had known: a), exactly which bird he was going to pull; b), what and how much he planned on drinking; and c), not to call him until late the next day because he would be indisposed.
So how had he managed to miss the fact that Dom apparently wanted to, well, fuck his brains out?
Willful blindness, he supposed, and continued dancing as if Dom hadn't just brushed against him like that, like Dom would like nothing more than to leave with him, now, and do things that might get them both arrested at the nearest convenient dark alley. The second time, he raised an eyebrow in Dom's direction, but all he got for his trouble was a self-satisfied little smirk and a wicked glint in dark-rimmed eyes; Dom had a vain streak a mile wide, although Billy had to concede that eyeliner was fetching on him.
His brain still hadn't quite figured out the best course of action by the third overtly sexual advance, which he took as his cue that Dom wasn't just fucking him around (ha, he thought) and really would like to take him home and pound him into the mattress. Unfortunately, by this time his body had decided for him, and Dom knew it, felt the evidence against his thigh, and the wicked glint returned with a vengeance. In a matter of moments they were making excuses to Lij, and then Billy found himself half-dragged down the street to the nearest waiting cab. (Apparently getting arrested for public indecency wasn't on tonight's agenda.)
Dom waited until they were back at his flat to kiss him, and did so without fanfare, closing the door (not slamming), pulling him closer (not yanking), moving their bodies together (not pressing). Billy thought, shit, dug in his nails, bit Dom's tongue and altogether gave restraint the night off.
From there on in it was brutal, electric, frantic, and Billy wondered why the fuck they hadn't done this sooner; everyone could use a good shag now and again and this was looking extremely promising.
When the sweat was still drying on their skin and abrasions were fading to bruises and they were panting, spent, sprawled across the bed and each other, trying to find their bearings, Dom looked up at him and grinned a little uncertainly. Billy returned it for a moment before succumbing to the exhaustion of maintaining any expression that wasn't 'well fucked' and tried to stretch the ache out of muscles that were far out of shape.
Dom said, “You know I'm not,” and he could have meant to say “not gay” or “not looking for a relationship” or “not making you breakfast in the morning,” but Billy understood that what he really meant was “not in love (with you),” and agreed, still a little breathless,
“Me neither.”
A nod of acknowledgement. “Good.”
They exchanged grins again and fell asleep essentially where they'd fallen. Billy was so tired he didn't even remember his nightmares.
*
[two: consistence]
The second time Billy found himself with a handful of Dom it was entirely by his own design (not that he planned it in advance, of course; the opportunity more or less presented itself). A week had passed since the club, and he'd been waiting for another chance as he watched the bruises fade. This was it; everyone else had buggered off somewhere and left the two of them standing in a small clearing by themselves. It hadn't been awkward, was the first thing Billy had noticed about his friendship with Dom after they'd fucked. It had gone back to normal. (Good, Billy thought. It could bloody well do it again.)
A stray camera left recording captured just one telling image of Billy's hand closing around Dom's wrist before the two of them disappeared into a copse of trees.
“Is this going to become a habit?” Dom asked breathlessly between kisses, hands fisting in the front of Billy's shirt as their tongues strove for dominance.
Billy ground his pelvis against his. (Fuck, that felt entirely too good.) “That a problem?”
“Not so far,” he gasped, fingers warring with the fastenings on their clothes. “Let me know if I need to clear my calendar.”
“Fuck, yeah,” agreed Billy with feeling. “That I'll do.”
“You're loud,” Dom observed around a savage mouthful of collarbone, biting hard enough to draw blood. Billy arched into the pain, gripping tighter, fingers of his left hand curling against the rough bark of the tree Dom was leaning against. “Gonna get us caught.”
Billy swiped his thumb across the head of his cock, Dom leaning heavily against him. “You're the one that almost fucked me on a dance floor in front of God and everyone.”
“Shit,” Dom muttered, and just like that they were coming, shaking, sliding to the ground.
Tucking himself back into his trousers, Billy asserted, “This doesn't change-”
And Dom nodded, pupils still dilated outrageously. “Why should it?”
Of course, there wasn't an answer for that.
*
[three: shadow]
After that there was little doubt in Billy's mind that there would be a third time, and likely a fourth, and probably a few more times after that, and he kept waiting for Dom to corner him at the pub or proposition him in the Feet trailer or something, Billy didn't know exactly what.
But Dom didn't try him again until two days later, when he appeared suspiciously and mysteriously at Billy's apartment before Billy did (because of course Dom had the spare key; what else would Billy have done with it?). Billy didn't even have time to ask what Dom was doing there (the nudity probably should have been a clue) before he was flying-tackled onto the couch. From the already heavy cock he could feel against the small of his back, he very much doubted they were going to get anywhere near the bedroom. He supposed the couch was a better idea than the kitchen table (although he filed away the possibility for further examination).
“Happy to see me?” he managed to ask into a sofa cushion as Dom's hands made themselves useful with his belt and trousers.
“Mmm,” was all the answer he got, hummed into his ear as Dom sucked on his neck. Fuck, that was going to bruise, too; those poor girls in make-up were going to have fits. “Trying to distract me?”
Billy grinned darkly and wriggled his arse. “'S it working?”
Dom pressed against him and growled. “What d'you think?”
“Damn.” And there would be other bruises this time, too, he could tell as fingers bit into his hips, his thighs, his arse, and there was stretch and burn and teeth until Dom cried out and Billy had no choice but to follow, really, having come this far.
Deep, shuddering breaths against his back, and they stayed still for a few moments gathering the shattered pieces of their minds before Billy's stomach interrupted with a loud grumble.
Dom laughed against the skin of his shoulder. “Typical.”
Billy reached round and swatted him on the back of the head. “You better have brought me food. You know I can't cook.”
“'S in the box,” came the answer, accompanied by a fairly vague sweep of an arm, but Billy understood.
Over his carton of Thai food, Dom pointed out, “This isn't a date, you know,” and Billy answered automatically, “'Course not, on a date you eat dinner before you fuck,” and they laughed even though Billy had a sudden sneaking shadow of suspicion that it wasn't really all that funny.