Untitled Fic
A Stephen/Paul story (obviously). Mentions being high/drugs/sex.
It's not unpleasant, not entirely anyway, being so high that you can't focus on anything but on how weird it feels to breathe, Stephen thinks. In fact, it's rather amazing to have everything feel completely different. Your heart beats somewhere further up, blinks seem to last longer, and you seem to be able to feel/taste/smell everything that you can manage to think of for longer than a second.
For the last thirty minutes; or fifteen seconds, he's not entirely sure; he has been thinking about how good it feels to kiss Paul's lips. They've only ever done it for Chuck and Geoffrey or for a sketch, but it still was...fun. He's fairly certain it's not supposed to feel good to kiss your male co-worker or best friend, but in his inebriated state he doesn't give a damn. Right now all he can (sort of) focus on is the tingling of Imaginary Paul's supple lips, and, the real Paul who is currently giggling face-down on the ground next to him.
Stephen's pot-addled mind keeps screwing up what's real and what's not, and before he's even aware that he is talking he's asking Paul to kiss him. An equally-high Paul turns around to face him with a goofy smile.
"You-" Paul giggles even though his brain is seriously considering it because, he thinks, Stephen's always been pretty. "You want me to kiss you? Why?" Now it's Stephen's turn to laugh uncontrollably.
"I-likkkke...your lips." Of it's own accord, Stephen's head winds up against Paul's muscular stomach as he curls up in a ball and laughs. "And-and you ki-sssss good." He manages to stutter out, his brain almost not working at all.
"I do?" Stephen's laughter which had begun to abate, picked up again, and every time he took a breath his head bumped Paul's stomach more.
Something about this made Paul feel strangely warm. Not in a bad way, just odd. His very, very, high mind tried to think of another time when he felt this...warm-ish, tingly, feeling. As Stephen continued to laugh into his mid-section, the memory came to him the Exit 57 sketch. It was at the end when he pulled away like he was supposed to, at the count of ten, to see Stephen's hand still hanging in mid-air, like the man wanted to continue. His whole body had inflamed, and at the time, he had just brushed it off as being embarrassed about the cat-calls in the audience. But, wait, it hasn't felt that way to kiss him on Stranger's. His increasingly-less high mind, then, supplied him with the knowledge that they hadn't actually kissed on the show. Everything was simply implied. Hell, maybe it was just because Stephen was in character and, face it, Noblet's an ass.
Soon, he began to wonder what it would be like to kiss Stephen. Not closed mouth, short, stage kisses, but real, open-mouthed, wet, simply obscene kisses. To thread his fingers through the other man's hair as he kissed him, or maybe, knead those tight buttocks and make the other groan and plead. Turning his attention to the still-laughing comedian, he boldly caressed the ruffled head of hair.
Stephen raised his head and Paul allowed his hand to slide down the man's face. His fingers brushed the edges of Stephen's glasses, knocking them further out of kilter. He righted them, then slid his wand'ring digits down Stephen's face. Paul's fingers brushed Stephen's strong jaw and the Paul's mouth began to water at the idea of kissing the other man.
Unable to help himself, Paul pressed his mouth roughly against the comedian and mounted him. Stephen's reflexes were amazingly fast for someone who could barely form a sentence earlier, and he quickly held Paul closer. Eagerly, both men opened their mouths. Stephen swiftly sucked Paul's lower lip into his mouth, causing the other to moan. If he'd knew that he'd want this, Stephen, this badly he would've done this long ago.
~
The next few hours went by fast, but, pretty damn well. Afterwards, they lay in a tangled mass of sweaty and satiated limbs, sharing light kisses and simply basking in the glow of a new-found lover. As they began to, inexplicably, drift off to sleep, they made promises to "definitely do this again," or in Paul's case, "every-goddamn-day."
--------------------------------------
A/N: Is it bad that drugs/alcohol is a common catalyst in my stories? I also would really like if someone could offer some constructive criticism...
It's not unpleasant, not entirely anyway, being so high that you can't focus on anything but on how weird it feels to breathe, Stephen thinks. In fact, it's rather amazing to have everything feel completely different. Your heart beats somewhere further up, blinks seem to last longer, and you seem to be able to feel/taste/smell everything that you can manage to think of for longer than a second.
For the last thirty minutes; or fifteen seconds, he's not entirely sure; he has been thinking about how good it feels to kiss Paul's lips. They've only ever done it for Chuck and Geoffrey or for a sketch, but it still was...fun. He's fairly certain it's not supposed to feel good to kiss your male co-worker or best friend, but in his inebriated state he doesn't give a damn. Right now all he can (sort of) focus on is the tingling of Imaginary Paul's supple lips, and, the real Paul who is currently giggling face-down on the ground next to him.
Stephen's pot-addled mind keeps screwing up what's real and what's not, and before he's even aware that he is talking he's asking Paul to kiss him. An equally-high Paul turns around to face him with a goofy smile.
"You-" Paul giggles even though his brain is seriously considering it because, he thinks, Stephen's always been pretty. "You want me to kiss you? Why?" Now it's Stephen's turn to laugh uncontrollably.
"I-likkkke...your lips." Of it's own accord, Stephen's head winds up against Paul's muscular stomach as he curls up in a ball and laughs. "And-and you ki-sssss good." He manages to stutter out, his brain almost not working at all.
"I do?" Stephen's laughter which had begun to abate, picked up again, and every time he took a breath his head bumped Paul's stomach more.
Something about this made Paul feel strangely warm. Not in a bad way, just odd. His very, very, high mind tried to think of another time when he felt this...warm-ish, tingly, feeling. As Stephen continued to laugh into his mid-section, the memory came to him the Exit 57 sketch. It was at the end when he pulled away like he was supposed to, at the count of ten, to see Stephen's hand still hanging in mid-air, like the man wanted to continue. His whole body had inflamed, and at the time, he had just brushed it off as being embarrassed about the cat-calls in the audience. But, wait, it hasn't felt that way to kiss him on Stranger's. His increasingly-less high mind, then, supplied him with the knowledge that they hadn't actually kissed on the show. Everything was simply implied. Hell, maybe it was just because Stephen was in character and, face it, Noblet's an ass.
Soon, he began to wonder what it would be like to kiss Stephen. Not closed mouth, short, stage kisses, but real, open-mouthed, wet, simply obscene kisses. To thread his fingers through the other man's hair as he kissed him, or maybe, knead those tight buttocks and make the other groan and plead. Turning his attention to the still-laughing comedian, he boldly caressed the ruffled head of hair.
Stephen raised his head and Paul allowed his hand to slide down the man's face. His fingers brushed the edges of Stephen's glasses, knocking them further out of kilter. He righted them, then slid his wand'ring digits down Stephen's face. Paul's fingers brushed Stephen's strong jaw and the Paul's mouth began to water at the idea of kissing the other man.
Unable to help himself, Paul pressed his mouth roughly against the comedian and mounted him. Stephen's reflexes were amazingly fast for someone who could barely form a sentence earlier, and he quickly held Paul closer. Eagerly, both men opened their mouths. Stephen swiftly sucked Paul's lower lip into his mouth, causing the other to moan. If he'd knew that he'd want this, Stephen, this badly he would've done this long ago.
~
The next few hours went by fast, but, pretty damn well. Afterwards, they lay in a tangled mass of sweaty and satiated limbs, sharing light kisses and simply basking in the glow of a new-found lover. As they began to, inexplicably, drift off to sleep, they made promises to "definitely do this again," or in Paul's case, "every-goddamn-day."
--------------------------------------
A/N: Is it bad that drugs/alcohol is a common catalyst in my stories? I also would really like if someone could offer some constructive criticism...