Fic: I Think We're Alone Now
May. 11th, 2010 02:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silentdescanttitle: I Think We're Alone Now
pairing: Frank/Ray
rating: NC-17
words: 1560
warning: loosely-defined hand fetish
summary: The bus is not a private place. Frank knows this. It doesn’t stop him. Sometimes a guy just needs to stick his fingers in his ass.
disclaimer: entirely untrue. also entirely unbetaed.
a/n: this is for kink bingo. hand fetish. and it completes my first bingo line!!! :D straight verticle line along the right side: hand fetish, film/photography, sensory deprivation, gunplay, and shaving/depilation. whew, just in time before the amnesty deadline (next weekend). \o/ it's kind of great that my go-to scenarios for defeating writer's block are kinky sex scenes.
The bus is not a private place. Frank knows this. It doesn’t stop him.
Sometimes a guy just needs to stick his fingers in his ass.
The tour is seriously getting to him; he can jerk off at night, in his bunk, where the guys can hear him, or he can jerk off in the porta-potties at the venues, which is, quite frankly, disgusting. Neither option is appealing, so Frank just doesn’t jerk off. There are even less opportunities for what Frank really needs, too. It’s driving him insane, especially with the heat and the closeness of absolutely everybody on the tour.
So when everyone heads to the opposite side of the parking lot to celebrate another successful day, Frank goes back to the mercifully empty bus. It’s now or never; he can’t foresee another spare minute to himself until they get back to Jersey.
He strips off his pants and boxers as soon as he gets the door closed behind him. Doing this on the couch right by the door is just asking for trouble, and there’s no way he’s cramming himself into his bunk; he goes through to the back lounge, moving aside an empty guitar case and a messily-coiled cable to make room on the seat there.
Then he gives up on the seat and slides to the floor, already fisting his cock. It takes him zero-point-two seconds to get himself fully hard—God, he is so ready for this. Holding his dick in his hand is a relief in itself, but it’s just not enough. Frank digs the lube out of the pocket of his hoodie and then rids himself of the rest of his clothing, turning around on his knees to lean over the seat.
With his left hand, Frank reaches behind himself and drags his fingers down the cleft of his ass. It makes his stomach flutter with anticipation. He doesn’t want to think about how fucking long it’s been since he’s gotten laid.
Frank strokes his cock for a moment, building up to the moment properly. He closes his eyes, sighing with pleasure, and rests his forehead on the seat cushion.
“Oh my God, I’ve missed this,” he gasps, squeezing and twisting his hand.
Then he lets go of his cock and flicks open the cap of the lube. He wets the fingers of his left hand and brings them back to his asshole, pressing his middle finger in first. It’s a little tight, a little uncomfortable—God, it’s been so long—but Frank takes it slow, gently thrusting in and out, only pushing in to the second knuckle. When he feels a moan building in his chest, he pulls his hand back and adds his index finger.
That thrust is so sweet, stretching him just right. He wants more almost right away, but for once in this whole fucking year, he’s alone, and he’s determined to make it last.
Of course, that’s when the door opens and Ray bursts in, looking for his shoes.
“Jesus Christ, Ray!” Frank cries. He’s frozen in place, twisted around to see the door, fingers up his ass, completely naked.
“Jesus Christ, Frank!” Ray echoes. He’s holding a shoe, which he then flings into the air in surprise. It lands on Frank’s discarded hoodie. “What the fuck!”
“Fuck you, what the fuck, what are you fucking doing here?” Frank asks shrilly. He realizes after a few seconds that he still has his fingers in his ass and his hand around his cock.
“I needed my fucking shoes!” Ray says, as if that explains things. Ray takes a breath. “Frank.”
“What the fuck, Ray,” Frank says, gritting his teeth. It’s become obvious to him that he won’t move at all with Ray still in the room, and he’s in a rather embarrassing position.
Ray, unbelievably, drops to his knees behind Frank and touches his wrist, where it’s bent awkwardly to accommodate the angle. His brow furrows. Frank tries not to flinch at the touch.
“I didn’t know…”
Frank’s not sure if that means Ray didn’t know he was in here, or if Ray didn’t know Frank liked to take it up the ass, but it doesn’t really matter. He almost tells Ray not to judge him, but he knows Ray would never, especially not about this.
“Can I…”
Frank exhales sharply. He faces forward again, both to relieve the strain in his back and so he doesn’t have to look at Ray’s expression. “Um,” he says.
Ray touches his wrist again. He curls his fingers around Frank’s arm and pulls, gently. Frank feels depressingly empty when his fingers are gone, but the feeling doesn’t last, because then Ray’s fingers are there. Not pressing in, but just touching him, touching the skin around his asshole, spreading his cheeks with his palms.
Frank holds very still and tries not to breathe. His cock swells in his hand.
“What do you need, Frank?” Ray asks quietly.
Ray’s hands are bigger than Frank’s. His fingers are—oh fuck. Frank groans. “Fingers,” he whispers. “Fuck me.”
Ray presses one fingertip into Frank’s ass and it’s so good, it’s so much sweeter than Frank’s own fingers. Ray grabs the lube and squeezes some out onto his hand and around Frank’s ass, and for a moment, Frank wants to protest. He wants to feel every bit of Ray’s fingers, touching him and fucking him. But then Ray goes back in with two fingers, and Jesus Christ, that is good.
“Holy fuck,” Frank gasps, falling forward against the seat. He strokes his cock quickly, up and down with no finesse. Ray’s fingers are most definitely bigger than Frank’s. Frank can feel every callus, every whorl of his fingerprints as Ray thrusts into him and scissors his fingers, opening Frank up.
Ray adds a third finger after a moment, no beating around the bush, and Frank cries out loudly, pushing his ass back against Ray.
“Shut up,” Ray says under his breath. He reaches up and claps his free hand over Frank’s mouth.
“Alone,” Frank tries to say. He ends up licking Ray’s palm instead. He can taste—beer, maybe, and sweat. He swirls his tongue around.
“I walked in on you easily enough,” Ray mutters.
Frank turns his head and takes Ray’s index finger into his mouth, sucking it like he would a dick. Ray takes his hand away.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Frank asks, then Ray twists his fingers inside him and he trails off into a moan. “Fucking love your hands, man. Fucking fingers, Jesus, fuck me…”
“You want me to fuck you?” Ray asks. Frank turns his head to see his brow furrowed again. “Like, for real?”
Frank thinks about it for a second—not even a second; Ray’s fingers do something twisty and perfect in his ass—and shakes his head. “Nah, nah, fingers are good, this is good,” he murmurs. He reaches for Ray’s other hand. “Wanna taste you, though. Fucking love your fingers.”
Ray allows his hand to be pulled to Frank’s mouth again. He doesn’t seem to know what to do when Frank sucks down two of his fingers, though. Frank lets him go.
“Just… God, please, just fuck me,” Frank moans. “Feels so good.”
Frank drags Ray’s hand to his mouth and nibbles at the tips of Ray’s fingers. Then, when he sucks them into his mouth, Ray responds with the same gentle thrusts he’s giving to Frank’s ass. He swirls his tongue, spit pooling beneath it, and closes his eyes to better concentrate on tracing the lines of Ray’s knuckles.
“Jesus, Frank,” Ray murmurs. He crooks his fingers in Frank’s ass and Frank’s hips buck reflexively. He rocks into his hand, squeezing hard around the base of his cock. With his attention divided, Ray’s long fingers in his mouth almost choke him. He sucks hard instead, losing himself in it.
Then he can’t concentrate anymore; he spits out Ray’s fingers and forces himself backwards, arching his back and clenching his ass as Ray thrusts into him. Frank’s hand around his cock is almost painful, he needs to come so badly. He throws his head back, panting, and says, “More, Ray, please.”
Ray doesn’t even hesitate. He pulls his fingers out and tucks his pinky in alongside, then thrusts all four fingers quickly back into Frank’s ass. Frank cries out with nothing left to muffle the noise and shouts, “God, Ray, fuck. Fuck!”
He comes over his hand, splattering the base of the bench seat, and slumps over. His fist is still squeezing his cock, almost automatically. Ray waits for a few seconds, then withdraws his hand.
“Frank.”
“Fucking hell, I needed that,” Frank groans.
“Frank,” Ray says again. He sounds nervous. Frank looks over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” he says sincerely. “You have fucking amazing hands.”
Ray waves his fingers with a little, tiny smile. “Talented fingers, you’ve said it before.”
“True then, true now,” Frank says. He finally pushes off the bench and sits back on his heels.
“I don’t know…” Ray begins uncertainly.
Frank interrupts him. “Ray. I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I needed to get off, that’s all. Thanks for helping me out.”
Ray breaks into a grin. “You do this a lot, then? Accost your bandmates and get them to perform sexual favors?”
“Not yet,” Frank replies impishly. “You think I should?”
fin.
pairing: Frank/Ray
rating: NC-17
words: 1560
warning: loosely-defined hand fetish
summary: The bus is not a private place. Frank knows this. It doesn’t stop him. Sometimes a guy just needs to stick his fingers in his ass.
disclaimer: entirely untrue. also entirely unbetaed.
a/n: this is for kink bingo. hand fetish. and it completes my first bingo line!!! :D straight verticle line along the right side: hand fetish, film/photography, sensory deprivation, gunplay, and shaving/depilation. whew, just in time before the amnesty deadline (next weekend). \o/ it's kind of great that my go-to scenarios for defeating writer's block are kinky sex scenes.
The bus is not a private place. Frank knows this. It doesn’t stop him.
Sometimes a guy just needs to stick his fingers in his ass.
The tour is seriously getting to him; he can jerk off at night, in his bunk, where the guys can hear him, or he can jerk off in the porta-potties at the venues, which is, quite frankly, disgusting. Neither option is appealing, so Frank just doesn’t jerk off. There are even less opportunities for what Frank really needs, too. It’s driving him insane, especially with the heat and the closeness of absolutely everybody on the tour.
So when everyone heads to the opposite side of the parking lot to celebrate another successful day, Frank goes back to the mercifully empty bus. It’s now or never; he can’t foresee another spare minute to himself until they get back to Jersey.
He strips off his pants and boxers as soon as he gets the door closed behind him. Doing this on the couch right by the door is just asking for trouble, and there’s no way he’s cramming himself into his bunk; he goes through to the back lounge, moving aside an empty guitar case and a messily-coiled cable to make room on the seat there.
Then he gives up on the seat and slides to the floor, already fisting his cock. It takes him zero-point-two seconds to get himself fully hard—God, he is so ready for this. Holding his dick in his hand is a relief in itself, but it’s just not enough. Frank digs the lube out of the pocket of his hoodie and then rids himself of the rest of his clothing, turning around on his knees to lean over the seat.
With his left hand, Frank reaches behind himself and drags his fingers down the cleft of his ass. It makes his stomach flutter with anticipation. He doesn’t want to think about how fucking long it’s been since he’s gotten laid.
Frank strokes his cock for a moment, building up to the moment properly. He closes his eyes, sighing with pleasure, and rests his forehead on the seat cushion.
“Oh my God, I’ve missed this,” he gasps, squeezing and twisting his hand.
Then he lets go of his cock and flicks open the cap of the lube. He wets the fingers of his left hand and brings them back to his asshole, pressing his middle finger in first. It’s a little tight, a little uncomfortable—God, it’s been so long—but Frank takes it slow, gently thrusting in and out, only pushing in to the second knuckle. When he feels a moan building in his chest, he pulls his hand back and adds his index finger.
That thrust is so sweet, stretching him just right. He wants more almost right away, but for once in this whole fucking year, he’s alone, and he’s determined to make it last.
Of course, that’s when the door opens and Ray bursts in, looking for his shoes.
“Jesus Christ, Ray!” Frank cries. He’s frozen in place, twisted around to see the door, fingers up his ass, completely naked.
“Jesus Christ, Frank!” Ray echoes. He’s holding a shoe, which he then flings into the air in surprise. It lands on Frank’s discarded hoodie. “What the fuck!”
“Fuck you, what the fuck, what are you fucking doing here?” Frank asks shrilly. He realizes after a few seconds that he still has his fingers in his ass and his hand around his cock.
“I needed my fucking shoes!” Ray says, as if that explains things. Ray takes a breath. “Frank.”
“What the fuck, Ray,” Frank says, gritting his teeth. It’s become obvious to him that he won’t move at all with Ray still in the room, and he’s in a rather embarrassing position.
Ray, unbelievably, drops to his knees behind Frank and touches his wrist, where it’s bent awkwardly to accommodate the angle. His brow furrows. Frank tries not to flinch at the touch.
“I didn’t know…”
Frank’s not sure if that means Ray didn’t know he was in here, or if Ray didn’t know Frank liked to take it up the ass, but it doesn’t really matter. He almost tells Ray not to judge him, but he knows Ray would never, especially not about this.
“Can I…”
Frank exhales sharply. He faces forward again, both to relieve the strain in his back and so he doesn’t have to look at Ray’s expression. “Um,” he says.
Ray touches his wrist again. He curls his fingers around Frank’s arm and pulls, gently. Frank feels depressingly empty when his fingers are gone, but the feeling doesn’t last, because then Ray’s fingers are there. Not pressing in, but just touching him, touching the skin around his asshole, spreading his cheeks with his palms.
Frank holds very still and tries not to breathe. His cock swells in his hand.
“What do you need, Frank?” Ray asks quietly.
Ray’s hands are bigger than Frank’s. His fingers are—oh fuck. Frank groans. “Fingers,” he whispers. “Fuck me.”
Ray presses one fingertip into Frank’s ass and it’s so good, it’s so much sweeter than Frank’s own fingers. Ray grabs the lube and squeezes some out onto his hand and around Frank’s ass, and for a moment, Frank wants to protest. He wants to feel every bit of Ray’s fingers, touching him and fucking him. But then Ray goes back in with two fingers, and Jesus Christ, that is good.
“Holy fuck,” Frank gasps, falling forward against the seat. He strokes his cock quickly, up and down with no finesse. Ray’s fingers are most definitely bigger than Frank’s. Frank can feel every callus, every whorl of his fingerprints as Ray thrusts into him and scissors his fingers, opening Frank up.
Ray adds a third finger after a moment, no beating around the bush, and Frank cries out loudly, pushing his ass back against Ray.
“Shut up,” Ray says under his breath. He reaches up and claps his free hand over Frank’s mouth.
“Alone,” Frank tries to say. He ends up licking Ray’s palm instead. He can taste—beer, maybe, and sweat. He swirls his tongue around.
“I walked in on you easily enough,” Ray mutters.
Frank turns his head and takes Ray’s index finger into his mouth, sucking it like he would a dick. Ray takes his hand away.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Frank asks, then Ray twists his fingers inside him and he trails off into a moan. “Fucking love your hands, man. Fucking fingers, Jesus, fuck me…”
“You want me to fuck you?” Ray asks. Frank turns his head to see his brow furrowed again. “Like, for real?”
Frank thinks about it for a second—not even a second; Ray’s fingers do something twisty and perfect in his ass—and shakes his head. “Nah, nah, fingers are good, this is good,” he murmurs. He reaches for Ray’s other hand. “Wanna taste you, though. Fucking love your fingers.”
Ray allows his hand to be pulled to Frank’s mouth again. He doesn’t seem to know what to do when Frank sucks down two of his fingers, though. Frank lets him go.
“Just… God, please, just fuck me,” Frank moans. “Feels so good.”
Frank drags Ray’s hand to his mouth and nibbles at the tips of Ray’s fingers. Then, when he sucks them into his mouth, Ray responds with the same gentle thrusts he’s giving to Frank’s ass. He swirls his tongue, spit pooling beneath it, and closes his eyes to better concentrate on tracing the lines of Ray’s knuckles.
“Jesus, Frank,” Ray murmurs. He crooks his fingers in Frank’s ass and Frank’s hips buck reflexively. He rocks into his hand, squeezing hard around the base of his cock. With his attention divided, Ray’s long fingers in his mouth almost choke him. He sucks hard instead, losing himself in it.
Then he can’t concentrate anymore; he spits out Ray’s fingers and forces himself backwards, arching his back and clenching his ass as Ray thrusts into him. Frank’s hand around his cock is almost painful, he needs to come so badly. He throws his head back, panting, and says, “More, Ray, please.”
Ray doesn’t even hesitate. He pulls his fingers out and tucks his pinky in alongside, then thrusts all four fingers quickly back into Frank’s ass. Frank cries out with nothing left to muffle the noise and shouts, “God, Ray, fuck. Fuck!”
He comes over his hand, splattering the base of the bench seat, and slumps over. His fist is still squeezing his cock, almost automatically. Ray waits for a few seconds, then withdraws his hand.
“Frank.”
“Fucking hell, I needed that,” Frank groans.
“Frank,” Ray says again. He sounds nervous. Frank looks over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” he says sincerely. “You have fucking amazing hands.”
Ray waves his fingers with a little, tiny smile. “Talented fingers, you’ve said it before.”
“True then, true now,” Frank says. He finally pushes off the bench and sits back on his heels.
“I don’t know…” Ray begins uncertainly.
Frank interrupts him. “Ray. I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I needed to get off, that’s all. Thanks for helping me out.”
Ray breaks into a grin. “You do this a lot, then? Accost your bandmates and get them to perform sexual favors?”
“Not yet,” Frank replies impishly. “You think I should?”
fin.