Dirty Pictures
Pairing: Jenson Button/Nico Rosberg
Summary: AU in which Jenson is a photographer and Nico is a model.
Rating: Black Flag.
For bulletthestars
“Come on.” Nico grins, cheekily, tugging Jenson after him. It feels like he’s following Nico down a path of sin, leading straight to hell, but Jenson would walk that path gladly if it meant he gets this, Nico leading him down a hotel corridor, unlocking the door, pushing him inside. “I know you want to.”
“You know I want to do what?” Jenson asks, because he wants everything from Nico. He wants to push him down onto the bed, kneel over him, suck his cock until he loses even the ability to beg and then fuck him, bent over his back, biting the delicate curve of his shoulder as Nico moans underneath him; wants to strip him naked, lay him out, drive him desperate with faint touches; wants to get his camera out and capture Nico forever, even though he knows his best efforts would fail to capture Nico in all his glory. Nico smirks, leans up to kiss Jenson, teeth tugging at Jenson’s bottom lip.
“Photograph me.”
“I already have done, Princess.” Jenson replies, letting his hands slide around that narrow waist.
“But not the photos you want to take.” Nico murmurs, fingers playing with the wispy hairs at the nape of Jenson’s neck, pushing against the bruise he knows is there, the bruise he left there. Jenson swallows, glances over at his camera case.
“Where do you want me?” Nico murmurs, and it’s so like work, their photoshoot for some designer brand today, that Jenson has shake his head slightly to clear the thoughts. He’ll be reminded of this every time he photographs Nico from now onwards, only now he’ll have actual memories, rather than his imagination.
But he doesn’t need to tell Nico. Just gets his camera out and waits. He knows Nico’s good at this, there’s a reason he’s one of the most in-demand models right now, and Nico kisses Jenson, brief, surprisingly chaste considering what they’re about to do, before he stalks towards the bed, hips swinging. He wears jeans that cling to his arse, and he does it deliberately, but Jenson can’t complain. Instead, he lifts his camera, photographs that arse, framing it like he knows instinctively to, because he’s done it so many times before, so many photoshoots.
Instincts, instincts they’re good at. They know each other by now, years of having worked together coming into play, years of having loved each other coming into play, and Nico knows Jenson enough to know the pictures Jenson wants to take of him. And so he bends over, sliding those skin-tight jeans down his arse, and Jenson gulps, nearly drops the camera because Nico’s wearing nothing underneath them.
But mercifully, he doesn’t drop his (very expensive) camera, manages to take a picture of pale denim sliding down that perfectly rounded arse, exposing even paler skin, and Nico leaves them there, twists around to leave himself deliciously on display. Jenson wants nothing more than to sink to his knees, push those thighs further apart, mouth at that perfect, wonderful cock.
His t-shirt is next to fall to the floor, and Jenson captures the cotton sliding up his stomach, dark fabric in sharp contrast with pale skin. Pink nipples stand erect, waiting for Jenson’s mouth to slide around them, teeth tugging at them, but Nico tugs at them with his long fingers instead, moaning as Jenson’s camera clicks.
“You gonna take those jeans off?” Jenson asks, and Nico smirks, tips his head to the side.
“Maybe.” He replies, and Jenson groans, because Nico looks like sin, with his jeans around his thighs and his hand around his cock. These pictures are pornographic, of course they are, and Jenson whimpers as he catches a glimpse of his last photo, the red, weeping head of Nico’s cock peeping out from between his fingers. Nico smirks, tongue peeking out from between lips as red as the head of his cock, his other hand sliding down his body too, cupping his balls.
“Take them off.” Jenson begs, as he adjusts himself in his own jeans, toeing his shoes off, making himself more comfortable. He knows Nico will drag this out, loves to tease himself even more than Jenson loves to tease him, but Nico obeys, peels them down his legs, kicks them off and sprawls back on the bed, spreading his legs obscenely wide, displaying himself in all his glory, and Jenson knows he needs to slow down with his picture taking, else he’ll run out of memory half way through this, but he can’t resist. He can never resist Nico.
What’s even more obscene is the sight of Nico’s fingers slicked up, sliding into himself, and Jenson prides himself on managing to capture the look on his face as he does so, the closed eyes, open mouth, the sheer pleasure passing across those delicate features. Nico deliberately rolls his hips up, muscled thighs straining to lift himself up to show Jenson exactly what he’s doing; and Jenson feels like he’s shooting porn now, and it probably should be less of a turn on than it is, the thought of Nico spread out, on camera, for everyone to see. He doesn’t want to share him, yet he wants to show the world that he gets this, for himself.
“You love this, don’t you?” Jenson murmurs, kneeling on the bed, camera raised, catching Nico’s moan as his fingers slide deeper, perfectly positioned from the many times he’s done this so Jenson can fuck him. “I bet you’ll come without touching your cock again.” He challenges, and Nico whimpers, opening glassy eyes to stare up at him. The camera doesn’t do him justice. It never has done, and Jenson feels privileged, lucky that he gets the real thing rather than one of the thousands of images on TV, in magazines, newspapers.
And Nico does come, splattering come all over his stomach, somehow more pornographic than even the pictures of his cock, of his fingers inside his arsehole. He comes without touching his cock, just from his fingers inside him, stretching him, rubbing over his prostate. His other hand clutches the sheets, makes another picture for Jenson to take, storing away each moment of his pleasure for Jenson, and Jenson only. These are pictures of Nico that the world would pay millions to see, and Jenson knows that only he and Nico will.
“Put the camera down.” Nico murmurs, blinking up at Jenson with slumberous eyes. The camera, and its precious load of photographs, get put to one side, and Jenson shivers, fingers playing with his belt, waiting for Nico’s command.
“Can I?” Jenson asks, and Nico smiles, sultry.
“Whatever you want. You don’t need to ask, Jens.” And Jenson groans, clothes tugged off so fast he thinks he ripped his t-shirt, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that Nico’s sprawled out beneath him, complete and utter wank fodder, and Jenson can’t resist, copies Nico’s rhythm, the twist he uses, and collapses on top of Nico as soon as he comes, adding to the splatters over Nico’s stomach, gasping into the curve of Nico’s neck.
“This is disgusting.” Nico grumbles, some ten minutes later, pushing at Jenson’s shoulder, grimacing as their bodies peel apart. Jenson grins, and reaches for the camera for one final picture. It’s the one he likes the best, the one he comes back to every time Nico’s away somewhere on the other side of the world, the picture of Nico debauched, covered in their combined come.
Summary: AU in which Jenson is a photographer and Nico is a model.
Rating: Black Flag.
For bulletthestars
“Come on.” Nico grins, cheekily, tugging Jenson after him. It feels like he’s following Nico down a path of sin, leading straight to hell, but Jenson would walk that path gladly if it meant he gets this, Nico leading him down a hotel corridor, unlocking the door, pushing him inside. “I know you want to.”
“You know I want to do what?” Jenson asks, because he wants everything from Nico. He wants to push him down onto the bed, kneel over him, suck his cock until he loses even the ability to beg and then fuck him, bent over his back, biting the delicate curve of his shoulder as Nico moans underneath him; wants to strip him naked, lay him out, drive him desperate with faint touches; wants to get his camera out and capture Nico forever, even though he knows his best efforts would fail to capture Nico in all his glory. Nico smirks, leans up to kiss Jenson, teeth tugging at Jenson’s bottom lip.
“Photograph me.”
“I already have done, Princess.” Jenson replies, letting his hands slide around that narrow waist.
“But not the photos you want to take.” Nico murmurs, fingers playing with the wispy hairs at the nape of Jenson’s neck, pushing against the bruise he knows is there, the bruise he left there. Jenson swallows, glances over at his camera case.
“Where do you want me?” Nico murmurs, and it’s so like work, their photoshoot for some designer brand today, that Jenson has shake his head slightly to clear the thoughts. He’ll be reminded of this every time he photographs Nico from now onwards, only now he’ll have actual memories, rather than his imagination.
But he doesn’t need to tell Nico. Just gets his camera out and waits. He knows Nico’s good at this, there’s a reason he’s one of the most in-demand models right now, and Nico kisses Jenson, brief, surprisingly chaste considering what they’re about to do, before he stalks towards the bed, hips swinging. He wears jeans that cling to his arse, and he does it deliberately, but Jenson can’t complain. Instead, he lifts his camera, photographs that arse, framing it like he knows instinctively to, because he’s done it so many times before, so many photoshoots.
Instincts, instincts they’re good at. They know each other by now, years of having worked together coming into play, years of having loved each other coming into play, and Nico knows Jenson enough to know the pictures Jenson wants to take of him. And so he bends over, sliding those skin-tight jeans down his arse, and Jenson gulps, nearly drops the camera because Nico’s wearing nothing underneath them.
But mercifully, he doesn’t drop his (very expensive) camera, manages to take a picture of pale denim sliding down that perfectly rounded arse, exposing even paler skin, and Nico leaves them there, twists around to leave himself deliciously on display. Jenson wants nothing more than to sink to his knees, push those thighs further apart, mouth at that perfect, wonderful cock.
His t-shirt is next to fall to the floor, and Jenson captures the cotton sliding up his stomach, dark fabric in sharp contrast with pale skin. Pink nipples stand erect, waiting for Jenson’s mouth to slide around them, teeth tugging at them, but Nico tugs at them with his long fingers instead, moaning as Jenson’s camera clicks.
“You gonna take those jeans off?” Jenson asks, and Nico smirks, tips his head to the side.
“Maybe.” He replies, and Jenson groans, because Nico looks like sin, with his jeans around his thighs and his hand around his cock. These pictures are pornographic, of course they are, and Jenson whimpers as he catches a glimpse of his last photo, the red, weeping head of Nico’s cock peeping out from between his fingers. Nico smirks, tongue peeking out from between lips as red as the head of his cock, his other hand sliding down his body too, cupping his balls.
“Take them off.” Jenson begs, as he adjusts himself in his own jeans, toeing his shoes off, making himself more comfortable. He knows Nico will drag this out, loves to tease himself even more than Jenson loves to tease him, but Nico obeys, peels them down his legs, kicks them off and sprawls back on the bed, spreading his legs obscenely wide, displaying himself in all his glory, and Jenson knows he needs to slow down with his picture taking, else he’ll run out of memory half way through this, but he can’t resist. He can never resist Nico.
What’s even more obscene is the sight of Nico’s fingers slicked up, sliding into himself, and Jenson prides himself on managing to capture the look on his face as he does so, the closed eyes, open mouth, the sheer pleasure passing across those delicate features. Nico deliberately rolls his hips up, muscled thighs straining to lift himself up to show Jenson exactly what he’s doing; and Jenson feels like he’s shooting porn now, and it probably should be less of a turn on than it is, the thought of Nico spread out, on camera, for everyone to see. He doesn’t want to share him, yet he wants to show the world that he gets this, for himself.
“You love this, don’t you?” Jenson murmurs, kneeling on the bed, camera raised, catching Nico’s moan as his fingers slide deeper, perfectly positioned from the many times he’s done this so Jenson can fuck him. “I bet you’ll come without touching your cock again.” He challenges, and Nico whimpers, opening glassy eyes to stare up at him. The camera doesn’t do him justice. It never has done, and Jenson feels privileged, lucky that he gets the real thing rather than one of the thousands of images on TV, in magazines, newspapers.
And Nico does come, splattering come all over his stomach, somehow more pornographic than even the pictures of his cock, of his fingers inside his arsehole. He comes without touching his cock, just from his fingers inside him, stretching him, rubbing over his prostate. His other hand clutches the sheets, makes another picture for Jenson to take, storing away each moment of his pleasure for Jenson, and Jenson only. These are pictures of Nico that the world would pay millions to see, and Jenson knows that only he and Nico will.
“Put the camera down.” Nico murmurs, blinking up at Jenson with slumberous eyes. The camera, and its precious load of photographs, get put to one side, and Jenson shivers, fingers playing with his belt, waiting for Nico’s command.
“Can I?” Jenson asks, and Nico smiles, sultry.
“Whatever you want. You don’t need to ask, Jens.” And Jenson groans, clothes tugged off so fast he thinks he ripped his t-shirt, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that Nico’s sprawled out beneath him, complete and utter wank fodder, and Jenson can’t resist, copies Nico’s rhythm, the twist he uses, and collapses on top of Nico as soon as he comes, adding to the splatters over Nico’s stomach, gasping into the curve of Nico’s neck.
“This is disgusting.” Nico grumbles, some ten minutes later, pushing at Jenson’s shoulder, grimacing as their bodies peel apart. Jenson grins, and reaches for the camera for one final picture. It’s the one he likes the best, the one he comes back to every time Nico’s away somewhere on the other side of the world, the picture of Nico debauched, covered in their combined come.