|Erin Ptah (ptahrrific) wrote,|
@ 2012-02-14 03:11 am UTC
|Entry tags:||genre: fluff, genre: romance, genre: smut, pairing: alt!"stephen"/jon, series: fake news|
Rating: NC-17 (bondage, masturbation, fantasy sex+aphrodisiac, language)
Disclaimer: #NotIntendedToBeAFactualStatement. Characters belong to the Report. Names of real people are used in a fictitious context, and all dialogue, actions, and content are products of the author's imagination only.
A tale from the happy!AU, same setup as Pink Ropes. Jon's a little shy talking about his fantasy life around Stephen. But Stephen wants to knooooooow. Clearly there is only one solution to this, and it involves elaborate bondage. With pretty knots!
For the asexual_fandom Asexy Valentine's Fest. This plotbunny came into being after reading a couple of "asexual character in sexual situation" scenes, which left me craving a version of the scenario that didn't feel tormented and uncomfortable on the ace character's part.
Stephen secures the rope tight against Jon's shoulder blade, pulling the newest loop around his upper arm until the knot-bounded diamond on the center of his chest is tugged into a lopsided pentagon, and says, "Jon? How come you don't get off with me in the room?"
If someone had told Jon a year ago that he was going to be kneeling naked on silk sheets while a stunningly handsome man spent close to an hour tying him up just right, he would have marveled that he could last that long. Now his legs are harnessed together by a cat's-cradle web that Stephen built piece by piece, its top half still in morph with every new twist, and he finds himself appreciating the elegant Celtic loop over his navel more than the length of rope pulled snug between his thighs. Even though the latter gives his junk a friendly rub every time he shifts.
"Listen, if you're worrying, don't," says Jon, twitching just enough to get a fresh feel for every line of pressure. It's a weirdly specific full-body massage, augmented by Stephen's frequent caresses, every sensation drunk in and savored and preserved for later use. "There's a reason I'm not exactly complaining, here."
Stephen scoots around behind him, nuzzling the far slope of Jon's neck and drawing the rope at a low angle up his ribcage. "But you still like sex too, right?"
Jon snorts. Fingers brush lightly over his skin, looping rope around rope until the pentagon fractures into a hexagon. "Well, yeah. But that would take a certain kind of, uh, stimulation."
A loop and a tug and the rope is secure. When the trailing length of it falls against Jon's butt and rolls off somewhere by his ankle, he realizes Stephen isn't done with the design, just putting it on hold for a while.
A second later Stephen bounces onto the mattress in front of him, bare-chested and bare-footed. After a shower at sunrise and a long easy day, his brown hair is at its loosest and fluffiest; he's naked except for a pair of soft violet pajama pants with hearts on them. "I know! That's why I left your hands free! See?"
Both of Jon's arms are unbound and mobile from the elbow down. The angle would be awkward, but he could work with that if he tried. He fidgets against his thighs instead, knuckles worrying the sensitized skin right above a loop of rope. "There's a mental aspect too, y'know? Or, well, maybe you don't."
Stephen sticks out his tongue. Jon's pretty sure that's the strongest rebuke he knows how to give. "If this is boring you, you should say so."
The last thing Jon wants is to look like he's nobly suffering through this for his partner's sake. "Stephen, believe me, I'm going to remember this later and come so hard..."
"...once I'm out of the room!" finishes Stephen. "Jon, are you avoiding the question on purpose? Because I can leave you tied up all night if I have to."
Jon's eyes widen. "This was a setup," he complains. "A trap. I've been trussed up under false pretenses."
Stephen beams. "Just because I like pink doesn't mean I can't be devious!"
"I'll keep that in mind before I agree to this again," huffs Jon. It's a pretty weak threat; they both know he doesn't mean it.
"So in theory, shibari turns you on," says Stephen, counting off each point on his fingers as he makes it. "And we know being with me turns you on, because of how you have to leave for a few minutes sometimes when we're cuddling." His toes wiggle when he's thinking hard. It's adorable. "Is it just that I make you self-conscious? Would it be better if I was naked? Or is there something missing? Dirty talk? Some fantasy?"
That last guess makes Jon grimace.
Of course, Stephen spots it. "Fantasy!" he exclaims, perking up. "Ooh, is it kinky? Is it weird? Tell me, tell me!"
"It's not weird, it's...how come you want to know this stuff, anyway?"
"I'm curious, Jon! If I can't ask my boyfriend about his deep dark sexual fantasies, who can I ask?"
They're not dark at all. They're gold-standard normal, which is the problem, because Stephen isn't.
"All it is, is that there needs to be some kind of interaction," stammers Jon at last. "And if it's not gonna be, you know, with the partner in the room, then it has to be with someone in my head. So yeah, I get a little self-conscious dreaming up these scenarios while you're right there."
"Who do you dream about? Wait! Let me guess!" Stephen claps his hands together. "Is it Brian Williams? He thinks you're cute, you know. He'd probably be flattered. Ooh, is it Springsteen?"
For the moment Jon's too boggled to duck the question. "Stephen. It's you."
"Oh!" Stephen squeezes his hands in adoration, then cocks his head. "Wait, why would you hide that? Lots of people have sex fantasies about their boyfriends."
"I don't want to impose," mutters Jon, squirming against his bonds.
One of Stephen's fingers crooks under the knot pressing against Jon's collarbones. The tug yanks a spiderweb pattern of little vibrations all over Jon's body. "See, that's the other great thing about you being tied up right now! If I feel imposed on, I can get up and walk out of the room, and you can't follow. Well, you can, but it would be at this really slow wiggle and you'd probably fall asleep before you made it to the door. So you don't have to worry at all."
"I guess that's true...." Jon frowns. "Just so we're clear, how much more non-imposing are you going to drag out of me?"
"Can I hear one of your fantasies?" asks Stephen instantly.
"Do you want to hear a story about sex?"
Stephen blinks. "Why is that weird? I like stories about ponies, and I've never been a pony."
That's an interesting point. And Jon really doesn't want to think about it too much right now, or he'll get distracted with images of ponies at some critical erotic moment. (Not just any ponies, either. Brightly colored animated ponies, with cute pictures on their flanks and names like Feather Flutter and Snowball Sparkle. If there's a more effective mood-killer, Jon hasn't met it.)
"I could help, if you want," Stephen adds. "I could ask questions. Prompt you along."
"Yeah. I mean, uh, sure. That's a good idea." Jon swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "They sort of...start off normal. Like, not in some alternate universe where you have an average sex drive. You're still you, but something temporary happens to make you want it, and you have to work it off to get back to normal." Hopefully that's a nice innocuous way of putting it....
Stephen spots all the possibilities anyway. "So for this one, is it an accident? Or did someone drug me? Do you drug me, or are there bad guys you get to save me from?"
"Let's make it an accident," says Jon quickly. "One of your cooking-segment ingredients...I don't know, mutates or whatever." No more explanation needed. The routine quasi-magical happenings at Stephen's studio make it a gift-wrapped box of plot devices. "You do the fourth-act sampling, then during the debriefing you start feeling weird."
"Do I guess why?" asks Stephen, resting his chin in his hands. "Or am I just confused?"
"Confused. Maybe a little uncomfortable. Not because it feels bad, you understand, but you're, uh, restless."
Stephen nods. "I better go see you about it, then. You're good at knowing how to fix things for me."
He says it so matter-of-factly that Jon's dick and ego swell in tandem.
"Do I make it over easily, like usual?" continues Stephen. "Or do I have to call for help?"
"You make it over. I'm still in my office. Busy day." The image is strong in Jon's mind: his grinning, bubbly Stephen subdued and dark-eyed, vibrating with a suppressed energy that's nothing like a sugar high. "I know right away that something's up. You're not real chatty, and you don't bounce around like usual, you just pace. And there's something heavy about your breathing."
"Does it get worse when I see you?" guesses Stephen.
"Not yet. I'm not dressed up or anything special."
"Bet you're dashingly rumpled, though."
"...maybe a little," admits Jon, face heating up. "Point is, you're fidgeting a lot, so finally I come over and hug you, and you grind your hips against me. Purely on instinct. That's when I know."
"You probably hold back," muses Stephen, leaning forward. "Like you've been doing here. Because you wouldn't want to take advantage, even though fantasy me totally wants it."
Jon's hand crosses his thigh to squeeze his balls. "Yeah. You have to give me some, uh, encouragement. Talk me into it, you might say."
Stephen's eyes, so close now, sparkle. "Do I beg?"
"God, yes," breathes Jon, and tips his head to the side to let Stephen kiss him.
Stephen braces himself with a steadying grip on Jon's arms, then smooths his palms up Jon's shoulders, rolling the matched lengths of rope up from the lines they've printed into Jon's flesh before letting them slide back into place. "Lean forward a little," he whispers, grabbing for the abandoned end of the rope. "I need to get this between your legs."
Jon obeys. Stephen smells so good pressed up against him, like lavender soap and cut grass.
"Fantasy me must be a wreck," continues Stephen, head resting on Jon's shoulder as he pulls the rope through Jon's thighs. "You're going to help, right?"
"I give you a handjob," pants Jon. "Seems the least...invasive. I make it as quick as I can. We're both still standing up when you come. You just about trip over your pants — they're still around your knees."
"I've got tissues on hand." Jon manages a dry smirk. "Never know when those winter sniffles are going to strike."
There are lines of rope sitting on either side of his delicates now, not wrapped around anything, just passing through. The setup is way more erotic than anything that feels vaguely like a wedgie has the right to be.
Fiddling with the lowest shibari diamond on Jon's chest, Stephen asks doubtfully, "So am I all better now? Does the handjob do the trick?"
"Seems to. For a while." His palms are slick with sweat. Handy: it'll save Stephen from having to get up and go find lotion. "We head home. I drive. You're, um, pretty shaken up and not sure how to feel...."
He trails off, flushing with sudden self-consciousness at the presumption of this. Stephen, bless him, pushes right on through it with a nonchalant "I hope fantasy me stays calm until we get parked. If I try to give you a blowjob while you're driving, it probably won't end well."
Jon laughs, and squirrels the image away for some other fantasy. "You hold it together, don't worry. Takes effort, though. You're breathing hard when we pull through the gates. I talk you down as best I can, but once we're in the elevator you — oh fuck — you jump me. Shove me up against the wall and kiss me like your life depended on it."
"Fantasy Jon likes being pushed around," teases Stephen.
"Real Jon is currently jerking off while being tied up and bullied into revealing his deep dark fantasies," Jon counters dryly. "And — hate to ruin the fun, but I'm getting a little short of breath, here—"
"Oh, sorry!" Stephen clambers around behind him, tugs on some loop at the small of Jon's back, and the whole ropy setup around his ribcage loosens. Not enough to make the shapes collapse, but enough to take the pressure off his increasingly ragged breaths. "Better?"
"Better," pants Jon. "So...we're making out in the elevator, and my god, your hips are going at it. We get to the loft, basically fall out, it's a good thing you insisted on that shag rug or someone would be breaking bones...and I say to you, Stephen, sweetheart, hurry and tell me what you want, because I'm going to go off soon if you keep this up. And you...."
This time it's arousal, not embarrassment, that makes his head swim and his voice falter. Stephen leans against his back, arms draped over his shoulders, tracing absent spirals on the pink-bounded geometries of his chest. "I what, Jon? What do I want?"
"You want me to fuck you," says Jon in a rush. "I-it sounds absolutely filthy coming out of your mouth."
Stephen's lips brush against his ear. "Ffffuck me," he murmurs, luxuriating over the taste of the words with lips and tongue. Jon's stomach does hot flips, even if Stephen ruins the effect somewhat when he follows it up with a giggle.
There's a good bit more to the story in Jon's mind. How fantasy Jon has to pin Stephen down to prepare him, because Stephen's desperate enough to hurt himself if he's given free rein with Jon's cock. How Stephen's long legs wrap around his waist and pull him in deeper, skin flushed even with the dusty-rose rug as a backdrop. How the lingering aftereffects wake Stephen in the middle of the night, and Jon heads this one off with a sleepy blowjob, not bothering to turn on the lights in favor of figuring Stephen out by touch and taste alone.
But all those images scatter on the wind as real Jon comes, here and now, spurting across his hand and his thighs and four loops of real Stephen's well-kept ropes.
"Fucking hell, Stephen," mutters Jon when he can speak again, leaning into Stephen's embrace. "I'm thinking you should hurry up and untie me now, before I pass out."
Also adorable: the way Stephen pouts. Just because it's happening behind Jon's head doesn't mean he can't imagine it. "Aw, Jon, you haven't even noticed the pattern yet."
"The wha?" breathes Jon.
Stephen taps the center of his chest.
Jon cranes his neck to look. The end of the rope has finally found its place: reaching almost to the base of Jon's throat, finding the apex of that topmost deformed diamond, and pulling it downward. Traced in rope at the center of Jon's chest is a big, bisected, beautiful shibari heart.
"You are fucking ridiculous," says Jon with a weak giggle.
Stephen's cheeks round with a smile against the side of his face. "I love you too."