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moonlettuceTitle: Understanding Aphrodite
Author: Claire
Fandom: X-Men: First Class RPS
Pairing: James/Michael
Rating: R
Word Count: 537
Summary: Michael's in drag and James wants...
Michael grunts as his back hits the wall, James already on his knees in front of him, a hand sliding up his leg and over the stockings he's wearing.
"Fuck, Michael," James murmurs, his lips pressed against Michael's thigh and muffling the words until he pulls back slightly. "Just wanted to push that dress up and suck you down. Wanted to give everyone a fucking show."
"So do it," Michael replies, fingers tangling in James's hair and cupping the back of his head as James's hands reach his boxers, tugging them down and letting Michael's hard cock spring out.
James looks at him, blue eyes wide, as he grins, fucking grins, and leans forwards, swallowing Michael in one.
"Jesus fuck--" The words come out unbidden and Michael doesn't care if anyone hears them, doesn't care if the cast, the crew or fucking God hears him right now. Because James's lips are wrapped around his cock and sucking him like he's a fucking hoover.
James's grip tightens on his thigh, where his hand is resting, and Michael knows he'll have bruises after this, knows he'll have purple and blue written across his skin in the exact shape of James's fingers, branding James's name onto his flesh as easily as if he'd taken a sharpie and scrawled his signature across a blank canvas. And he'll take it. He'll take the bruises pressed into his skin that won't fade for days so long as James just doesn't stop sucking him, so long as he stays on his knees with his lips and his teeth and his tongue - fuck, his tongue - and Michael's cock hitting the back of his throat every time he thrusts just that bit too hard, throwing James off his rhythm.
Not that there's much rhythm involved any more, not since James started pulling at his own trousers, fingers sliding inside in a one-handed manoeuvre because he hasn't released his grip on Michael's thigh yet. He moves into Michael, still sucking Michael down as he wanks himself off in an uncoordinated effort that sees him rubbing against Michael's leg more than anything else.
Michael can feel the drag of James's cock against him, can feel the sticky trail left across the nylon and the brush of James's knuckles that follows. He's getting closer now, can feel it curling in his belly and his hold on James's hair tightens, strands knotted around his fingers as sensation rips through him.
"Oh god, James--" Michael's head bangs back against the wall, and there's part of him that thinks that's going to hurt later, part of him that thinks he should care, but it's drowned out by the rest of him, drowned out by the yes and the want and the holyfuckneverstop as he empties himself down James's throat, sharp and perfect.
James swallows him down, eyes closed and head tilted back and a warm spatter against Michael's shin that leaves James half-slumped against him. James mumbles something against Michael's skin, mumbles fuck and Michael and something about how they're keeping the dress and the stockings and the boots and the stockings and the wig and did he mention the stockings. And Michael just laughs and doesn't disagree.
Author: Claire
Fandom: X-Men: First Class RPS
Pairing: James/Michael
Rating: R
Word Count: 537
Summary: Michael's in drag and James wants...
Michael grunts as his back hits the wall, James already on his knees in front of him, a hand sliding up his leg and over the stockings he's wearing.
"Fuck, Michael," James murmurs, his lips pressed against Michael's thigh and muffling the words until he pulls back slightly. "Just wanted to push that dress up and suck you down. Wanted to give everyone a fucking show."
"So do it," Michael replies, fingers tangling in James's hair and cupping the back of his head as James's hands reach his boxers, tugging them down and letting Michael's hard cock spring out.
James looks at him, blue eyes wide, as he grins, fucking grins, and leans forwards, swallowing Michael in one.
"Jesus fuck--" The words come out unbidden and Michael doesn't care if anyone hears them, doesn't care if the cast, the crew or fucking God hears him right now. Because James's lips are wrapped around his cock and sucking him like he's a fucking hoover.
James's grip tightens on his thigh, where his hand is resting, and Michael knows he'll have bruises after this, knows he'll have purple and blue written across his skin in the exact shape of James's fingers, branding James's name onto his flesh as easily as if he'd taken a sharpie and scrawled his signature across a blank canvas. And he'll take it. He'll take the bruises pressed into his skin that won't fade for days so long as James just doesn't stop sucking him, so long as he stays on his knees with his lips and his teeth and his tongue - fuck, his tongue - and Michael's cock hitting the back of his throat every time he thrusts just that bit too hard, throwing James off his rhythm.
Not that there's much rhythm involved any more, not since James started pulling at his own trousers, fingers sliding inside in a one-handed manoeuvre because he hasn't released his grip on Michael's thigh yet. He moves into Michael, still sucking Michael down as he wanks himself off in an uncoordinated effort that sees him rubbing against Michael's leg more than anything else.
Michael can feel the drag of James's cock against him, can feel the sticky trail left across the nylon and the brush of James's knuckles that follows. He's getting closer now, can feel it curling in his belly and his hold on James's hair tightens, strands knotted around his fingers as sensation rips through him.
"Oh god, James--" Michael's head bangs back against the wall, and there's part of him that thinks that's going to hurt later, part of him that thinks he should care, but it's drowned out by the rest of him, drowned out by the yes and the want and the holyfuckneverstop as he empties himself down James's throat, sharp and perfect.
James swallows him down, eyes closed and head tilted back and a warm spatter against Michael's shin that leaves James half-slumped against him. James mumbles something against Michael's skin, mumbles fuck and Michael and something about how they're keeping the dress and the stockings and the boots and the stockings and the wig and did he mention the stockings. And Michael just laughs and doesn't disagree.
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Date: 2011-08-27 11:00 pm (UTC)