Porn Challenge.
Feb. 9th, 2007 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsThis time ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vaudevilles set me a challenge of size kink, and dude. Writing your own kinks is hard. But it's done.
Thanks go to vaudevilles who beta read this, and goes in the list of betas that I adore for their wisdom, insight and the snarky comments that show they're not afraid to laugh at my mistakes. Also, for adding things like, 'imagine if JC and Chris could go on Dancing With the Stars' and 'you need more in there, like Justin's hand' both of which set me off on a wild thinking spree which meant I got nothing done for a while *g*
Also, I've changed lots of stuff since she saw it, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Justin’s been holding the key for hours now, hand tight around the metal, tracing his fingers over the plastic fob, the grooves that make the thirteen. A meeting at a run-down motel and room number thirteen. It would make Justin’s head hurt if he thought about meanings; so he doesn’t. Instead he steps out of the car, looking at the line of rooms, dirty windows and peeling blue painted doors.
Number thirteen is near the end, and Justin can’t believe he’s so close. A late night call, a couriered key in return, and he's re-starting something he’d left far behind.
A quick look around, and he’s hurrying forward. The key scrapes across metal as he puts it into the lock, then the door is open and he’s walking inside. There’s no one there, just the sound of water running, and a bag lying open on the floor. Justin pulls shut the door and draws the curtains, tugging them along the rails until they meet, blocking out the sun. The room is dim then, diffused sunshine and dust that sparkles in escaping beams of light..
There are pictures on the walls, garish beach scenes and palm trees dark against a brilliant blue sky. Justin stares at them, at the closed bathroom door, until finally he’s looking at the bed that dominates the room. It’s covered with a blue bedspread, and he’s trying not to think about who’s layed on it before. He sits on the bed, shoulders tense and as far away as he can get from a stain that snakes toward the ground.
Pulling off his cap, he throws it onto the dresser, and runs his fingers across his head. His fingers are wet after, and he runs them down one thigh, thinking about calling his driver, anything but staying here. Because this is insane.
He stays.
The toilet flushes and Justin looks up sharply, clenching his hands when the door opens, and Chris steps into the room. It’s been months since Justin saw Chris in the flesh. There have been phone calls and emails, brief text messages that give them the illusion of staying in touch while maintaining the distance that allows them to pretend things are okay. They’re not okay at all.
The words are crowded in Justin’s head, tangled with press statements and lyrics and assurances that he’s fine. Which he is. Justin is always fine. Except when he’s not, and when Chris says nothing, just stares at him, never looking away, all Justin can say is, “I’ve missed you.”
“I know,” Chris says, and he remains still, waiting.
Justin’s heart is racing, because he knows this, knows Chris. It’s like gaining solid ground after months at sea and Justin is standing, moving as Chris stands his ground, mouth curled up slightly on one side.
“Chris.”
Justin rests his hand on the centre of Chris’ chest, fingers splayed, grounding himself. Deep inside, something eases, and Justin feels connections begin to re-knit as Chris’ smile widens, becoming sweeter, allowing flashes of before to show.
“Justin.” Chris says, and his smile changes, becomes challenging.
Justin pushes with his hand and Chris allows the push, stepping backward until he hits the wall. Justin presses close, and his hand is trapped between their bodies. He can feel Chris’ heartbeat against his palm and swallows when Chris looks up, waiting for Justin to make a move.
Justin curls his free hand over Chris’ shoulder. He tightens his grip, watching his fingers dig into the fabric of Chris’ shirt, the strand of dark hair that brushes across the top of his hand. Justin licks across his dry lips. He’s always loved that he’s bigger than Chris. Sometimes he worries he loves it too much, but there’s something bewitching in seeing his long legs around Chris’ back, his hands, always large but looking even bigger when they’re wrapped around Chris’ wrists. It makes him feel strong – powerful – and Justin would be ashamed of his thoughts if Chris didn’t understand and allow every one.
It feels good to push harder, crowding, and Justin knows Chris will take it. His hands clasped against Justin’s hips, holding on as Justin dips his head, needing a kiss. Chris’ lips are still, unmoving, then they part and Justin uses his tongue to push inside. Running it over the inside of Chris’ mouth, rediscovering and Justin knows each taste , each sound as he moves his hand so he can cup Chris’ jaw.
Coarse hair prickles against Justin’s fingers and he can feel the warmth of Chris’ bottom lip as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue inside Chris’ mouth.
Chris tightens his hold on Justin’s hips, digging in and Justin thrusts forward. Chris has nowhere to go, just pushes himself up on tip-toes to nip at Justin’s lip. He moves his hands and slides them under Justin’s t-shirt, rucking it up, his fingernails digging into Justin’s back.
The sting makes Justin growl deep in his throat. In one smooth move he steps back, grabs hold of Chris and twists them around. Chris follows instinctively and they step smoothly toward the bed. They fall back and Justin is looming over Chris, his knees against Chris’ thighs. Leaning forward, he reaches for Chris’ hands, interlocking their fingers then stretching so Chris’ arms are pulled up along the bed.
The position is awkward, but Justin holds it, muscles tense and back bowed as he looks down.
“Stay still,” Justin says and he shifts so his hands are on the bed, either side of Chris’ head. He leans down, holding himself up as he licks along the curve of Chris’ ear, following the line until he can nip at the lobe then tongue across the double hoops.
Justin keeps going, down to the hollow between neck and ear. He lingers, eyes closed and mouthing at the warm skin, knowing Chris is sensitive there and enjoying the resulting sounds, small moans as Chris moves his hips.
It’s easy to read Chris, and Justin meets each movement, each sound with one of his own. There’s no need for thought, just instincts honed by years of knowledge, and Justin can’t even remember why they stopped this as he fumbles with the buttons of Chris’ shirt, impatiently pulling when they refuse to undo. The shirt finally opens, buttons flying to the floor.
Finally able to touch, Justin sits back, resting heavily on Chris’ stomach. He looks down, at dark chest hair and the necklace charm that rests against Chris’ neck. The way Chris’ throat moves as he swallows, and the way his eyes are shining, eyelashes shadowing his cheeks as he looks at Justin.
Mouth dry, Justin swallows then leans in. He licks across Chris’ nipple, biting gently as he slides his hand down Chris’ side and over the swell of his stomach. Hitting the waist band of Chris’ pants, Justin pushes his fingers between fabric and skin, stroking down until there’s no doubt Chris is wearing nothing underneath. Realising that makes Justin gasp, body tight and needing even as tendrils of shame take hold, that he’s that transparent even after all this time.
“Chris…”
“Justin, shut up.”
Chris pushes himself up on one elbow. His eyes are dark, his lips narrowed and slick as he hooks Justin’s head with one hand, pulling him close. The kiss is brutal in its intensity, and Justin responds in kind, meeting Chris’ tongue with his own, their mouths crushed together and Justin can feel the sting of teeth digging into his bottom lip. He pushes Chris back down. One hard shove and Chris is ready and waiting. Justin crawls back, his hands resting on the fabric of Chris’ shirt, his knees against Chris’ thighs. Justin’s body is arched, his muscles tense. Only his chest moves, as he breathes heavily, caught in this moment of memories and getting what he’s needed for so long. Justin lets himself down then, his body covering Chris’, rubbing together, Chris’ hand against Justin’s head, urging him on with soft moans, the way he thrusts up his hips.
Justin shimmies his body, and Chris is like fire beneath him. Burning as Justin wraps their legs together, nuzzling at Chris’ shoulder, sucking hard as Chris tilts his head to the side, exposing the line of his neck. Justin bites, hard, making Chris whimper. It’s almost too much, sound and taste and touch, and Justin is out of control, heat building and his hands are wrapped around Chris’ upper arms, clinging as he hurtles toward the edge. Then he’s coming hard, gasping as the world fades away until only Chris remains.
Justin finally opens his eyes. Running his tongue over his lip, he tastes blood, and Chris is so close – close enough that he’s breathing Justin’s air – face to face, and there’s no secrets between them, nothing that Justin has to hide.
“It’ll be okay,” Chris says, voice rough. He lifts his head and presses a kiss against Justin’s forehead, and in that moment, Justin believes everything he says.
vaudevilles set me a challenge of size kink, and dude. Writing your own kinks is hard. But it's done.Thanks go to vaudevilles who beta read this, and goes in the list of betas that I adore for their wisdom, insight and the snarky comments that show they're not afraid to laugh at my mistakes. Also, for adding things like, 'imagine if JC and Chris could go on Dancing With the Stars' and 'you need more in there, like Justin's hand' both of which set me off on a wild thinking spree which meant I got nothing done for a while *g*
Also, I've changed lots of stuff since she saw it, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Justin’s been holding the key for hours now, hand tight around the metal, tracing his fingers over the plastic fob, the grooves that make the thirteen. A meeting at a run-down motel and room number thirteen. It would make Justin’s head hurt if he thought about meanings; so he doesn’t. Instead he steps out of the car, looking at the line of rooms, dirty windows and peeling blue painted doors.
Number thirteen is near the end, and Justin can’t believe he’s so close. A late night call, a couriered key in return, and he's re-starting something he’d left far behind.
A quick look around, and he’s hurrying forward. The key scrapes across metal as he puts it into the lock, then the door is open and he’s walking inside. There’s no one there, just the sound of water running, and a bag lying open on the floor. Justin pulls shut the door and draws the curtains, tugging them along the rails until they meet, blocking out the sun. The room is dim then, diffused sunshine and dust that sparkles in escaping beams of light..
There are pictures on the walls, garish beach scenes and palm trees dark against a brilliant blue sky. Justin stares at them, at the closed bathroom door, until finally he’s looking at the bed that dominates the room. It’s covered with a blue bedspread, and he’s trying not to think about who’s layed on it before. He sits on the bed, shoulders tense and as far away as he can get from a stain that snakes toward the ground.
Pulling off his cap, he throws it onto the dresser, and runs his fingers across his head. His fingers are wet after, and he runs them down one thigh, thinking about calling his driver, anything but staying here. Because this is insane.
He stays.
The toilet flushes and Justin looks up sharply, clenching his hands when the door opens, and Chris steps into the room. It’s been months since Justin saw Chris in the flesh. There have been phone calls and emails, brief text messages that give them the illusion of staying in touch while maintaining the distance that allows them to pretend things are okay. They’re not okay at all.
The words are crowded in Justin’s head, tangled with press statements and lyrics and assurances that he’s fine. Which he is. Justin is always fine. Except when he’s not, and when Chris says nothing, just stares at him, never looking away, all Justin can say is, “I’ve missed you.”
“I know,” Chris says, and he remains still, waiting.
Justin’s heart is racing, because he knows this, knows Chris. It’s like gaining solid ground after months at sea and Justin is standing, moving as Chris stands his ground, mouth curled up slightly on one side.
“Chris.”
Justin rests his hand on the centre of Chris’ chest, fingers splayed, grounding himself. Deep inside, something eases, and Justin feels connections begin to re-knit as Chris’ smile widens, becoming sweeter, allowing flashes of before to show.
“Justin.” Chris says, and his smile changes, becomes challenging.
Justin pushes with his hand and Chris allows the push, stepping backward until he hits the wall. Justin presses close, and his hand is trapped between their bodies. He can feel Chris’ heartbeat against his palm and swallows when Chris looks up, waiting for Justin to make a move.
Justin curls his free hand over Chris’ shoulder. He tightens his grip, watching his fingers dig into the fabric of Chris’ shirt, the strand of dark hair that brushes across the top of his hand. Justin licks across his dry lips. He’s always loved that he’s bigger than Chris. Sometimes he worries he loves it too much, but there’s something bewitching in seeing his long legs around Chris’ back, his hands, always large but looking even bigger when they’re wrapped around Chris’ wrists. It makes him feel strong – powerful – and Justin would be ashamed of his thoughts if Chris didn’t understand and allow every one.
It feels good to push harder, crowding, and Justin knows Chris will take it. His hands clasped against Justin’s hips, holding on as Justin dips his head, needing a kiss. Chris’ lips are still, unmoving, then they part and Justin uses his tongue to push inside. Running it over the inside of Chris’ mouth, rediscovering and Justin knows each taste , each sound as he moves his hand so he can cup Chris’ jaw.
Coarse hair prickles against Justin’s fingers and he can feel the warmth of Chris’ bottom lip as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue inside Chris’ mouth.
Chris tightens his hold on Justin’s hips, digging in and Justin thrusts forward. Chris has nowhere to go, just pushes himself up on tip-toes to nip at Justin’s lip. He moves his hands and slides them under Justin’s t-shirt, rucking it up, his fingernails digging into Justin’s back.
The sting makes Justin growl deep in his throat. In one smooth move he steps back, grabs hold of Chris and twists them around. Chris follows instinctively and they step smoothly toward the bed. They fall back and Justin is looming over Chris, his knees against Chris’ thighs. Leaning forward, he reaches for Chris’ hands, interlocking their fingers then stretching so Chris’ arms are pulled up along the bed.
The position is awkward, but Justin holds it, muscles tense and back bowed as he looks down.
“Stay still,” Justin says and he shifts so his hands are on the bed, either side of Chris’ head. He leans down, holding himself up as he licks along the curve of Chris’ ear, following the line until he can nip at the lobe then tongue across the double hoops.
Justin keeps going, down to the hollow between neck and ear. He lingers, eyes closed and mouthing at the warm skin, knowing Chris is sensitive there and enjoying the resulting sounds, small moans as Chris moves his hips.
It’s easy to read Chris, and Justin meets each movement, each sound with one of his own. There’s no need for thought, just instincts honed by years of knowledge, and Justin can’t even remember why they stopped this as he fumbles with the buttons of Chris’ shirt, impatiently pulling when they refuse to undo. The shirt finally opens, buttons flying to the floor.
Finally able to touch, Justin sits back, resting heavily on Chris’ stomach. He looks down, at dark chest hair and the necklace charm that rests against Chris’ neck. The way Chris’ throat moves as he swallows, and the way his eyes are shining, eyelashes shadowing his cheeks as he looks at Justin.
Mouth dry, Justin swallows then leans in. He licks across Chris’ nipple, biting gently as he slides his hand down Chris’ side and over the swell of his stomach. Hitting the waist band of Chris’ pants, Justin pushes his fingers between fabric and skin, stroking down until there’s no doubt Chris is wearing nothing underneath. Realising that makes Justin gasp, body tight and needing even as tendrils of shame take hold, that he’s that transparent even after all this time.
“Chris…”
“Justin, shut up.”
Chris pushes himself up on one elbow. His eyes are dark, his lips narrowed and slick as he hooks Justin’s head with one hand, pulling him close. The kiss is brutal in its intensity, and Justin responds in kind, meeting Chris’ tongue with his own, their mouths crushed together and Justin can feel the sting of teeth digging into his bottom lip. He pushes Chris back down. One hard shove and Chris is ready and waiting. Justin crawls back, his hands resting on the fabric of Chris’ shirt, his knees against Chris’ thighs. Justin’s body is arched, his muscles tense. Only his chest moves, as he breathes heavily, caught in this moment of memories and getting what he’s needed for so long. Justin lets himself down then, his body covering Chris’, rubbing together, Chris’ hand against Justin’s head, urging him on with soft moans, the way he thrusts up his hips.
Justin shimmies his body, and Chris is like fire beneath him. Burning as Justin wraps their legs together, nuzzling at Chris’ shoulder, sucking hard as Chris tilts his head to the side, exposing the line of his neck. Justin bites, hard, making Chris whimper. It’s almost too much, sound and taste and touch, and Justin is out of control, heat building and his hands are wrapped around Chris’ upper arms, clinging as he hurtles toward the edge. Then he’s coming hard, gasping as the world fades away until only Chris remains.
Justin finally opens his eyes. Running his tongue over his lip, he tastes blood, and Chris is so close – close enough that he’s breathing Justin’s air – face to face, and there’s no secrets between them, nothing that Justin has to hide.
“It’ll be okay,” Chris says, voice rough. He lifts his head and presses a kiss against Justin’s forehead, and in that moment, Justin believes everything he says.
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Date: 2007-02-10 08:51 am (UTC)