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the_water_clockAuthor: Clio
Title: Tipping the Velvet
Pairing: American Idol: Simon Cowell/Ryan Seacrest
Rating: NC17
Summary: Simon and Ryan's new relationship is going smoothly (well, smoothly for them) when Simon suddenly turns into King of the Oversensitive People. Ryan just has to trust that Simon will clue him in to what is really bothering him . . . eventually.
Length: 3300 words
Disclaimer: I made it all up. People sort of own themselves, don't they?
Notes: Demanded by some, speedily and expertly beta'd by the delighful![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladyjaida. A sequel to Who's Afraid of Janis Ian, this story takes place about two months ago, during the semifinals and the first night of the final 12.
The fall was as great as I had hoped it would be. Simon was basically living in my house, I took as many free days as possible in London when Simon was there, and in between there was some seriously hot phone sex (please, we both talk for a living and Simon has that accent).
Instead of just getting at each other occasionally we were burrowing deep under each other’s skin and staying there. Riding the rollercoaster of Simon’s moods was actually easier than I’d thought it would be because the man is such an open book that I could see it coming a long way down the track. I can take care of myself—have been taking care of myself for a very long time—and I was used to taking care of the people around me. Now Simon wanted to take care of me, at least on occasion, and no lie—it was really hard, giving up that control sometimes, but it was worth it and so I try to be better about it.
Simon and I decided that girls don’t count and I still go out with them on occasion. Besides, I like women, like spending time with them, like the sense of accomplishment that comes from going down on them and making them come, like how they’re smooth and soft and wet and warm, which is why I get so irritable when people say I’m gay. Do gay men like sleeping with women? They do not.
Simon, though, is hard and hairy and dry and hot like fire. Boys? Boys definitely count.
So imagine my surprise when during the semifinals Simon suddenly turned into King of the Oversensitive People. The expression on his face at times was almost poisonous, like when he’s actually angry as opposed to the put-on irritability of the show. I had no idea what bug crawled up his ass (unlike during the auditions when he was having an extended pout about Kelly Clarkson) and he wasn’t talking, so I just patted him and waited for the hints.
Granted that first week I had a little trouble calibrating things, myself. It used to be that onstage was about the only place we’d flirt but now that we don’t need that for ourselves anymore the public shtick feels just like that, like shtick, and not something natural. Even when we actually got angry with each other we’d just fuck it out but now that won’t work; things are too important and complicated for that. So we just went home and had a fight and let me tell you, make-up sex is a lot better than angry sex, any day.
I was laying on the couch after the second week of semis looking over a script when Simon, on the other couch doing something or other, said, “If I’d known you like hats so much, Ryan, I’d wear them more often.”
“Mmm?” I asked. “Simon, you don’t like wearing hats.”
“I’d wear them if it turns you on.”
I looked up. He was facing me but his eyes were on whatever he was reading. Deceptively casual always spells danger from that one, so I considered my words. Then I remembered Ace and that beanie and said, “Simon, it was just a bit.”
“I know that, Ryan,” he huffed. “I was just offering.”
I put aside the script, took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose for a moment before moving from my couch to his. “You know what turns me on?”
“No, Ryan, enlighten me,” he said, not looking up as I straddled his thighs.
Gently I took his papers and pencil out of his hands and set them on the table. “High-powered record execs who chew their pencils.” I leaned in and kissed his neck. “Know where I can find one?”
“I think I can help you with that,” he said, pulling me down to him and kissing me soundly.
We went upstairs soon after and the sex was good but I could tell from the way he moved that it wasn’t over. I lay in the dark thinking for quite a while after he fell asleep, stroking his shoulder and wondering what was really bothering him.
The last week of semifinals could not come too soon. I was eager to get the E! show going and not be the entire Fox primetime schedule (well, us, 24 and Homer Simpson). Not to mention that keeping one eye on Simon was kinda stressful, especially since I couldn’t let anyone catch me doing it.
Tuesday night, everything seemed okay. Wednesday night I threw in a joke about dreaming of Simon just to make sure his attention was on me. By Thursday I relaxed, just the tiniest bit, and decided to leave him to his own devices at the party for the top 12.
This might have been a tactical error. I was just standing there talking to Ace when Simon walked up, watched us for a moment, then turned on his heel and walked away.
“Should I be worried about that?” Ace asked as we watched Simon walk out of the room.
“No, man,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’ll take care of it later. No problem.”
Ace smiled, relieved and a little vacant, and I relaxed. Good thing Simon had pitched his little silent fit in front of Ace, who thinks Simon is nuts anyway. If he’d done it in front of Chris or one of the girls—well, that would have been awkward.
I circulated the room trying not to look preoccupied and, stubbornly, staying for just as long as I’d meant to. If he wants to storm out of rooms, I thought, he can cool his heels for a while. Running every time he got his nose out of joint would set a bad precedent.
I came home about two hours later, toeing off my shoes in the entryway and setting down my case. I could see as I drove up that the upstairs lights weren’t on, so I had a good idea where he was.
Even though no lights were on out at the pool the waxing moon gave more than enough light to see by, not to mention all the light pollution from the city below. I looked around until I saw the lit end of a cigarette, back in the shadows under one of the awnings.
I walked over and stood, hands on hips. “Mind letting me know what the fuck your problem is, Simon?” I could just see his body, leaning back against the cushions in the corner.
Another slow puff, then he said, “I should think it would be obvious.”
“Don’t be such a girl, Simon,” I replied. “Just tell me so we can work it out.”
He was silent for a moment. My eyes adjusted enough that I could make out his face and he looked tired. “I thought we said boys count,” he whispered.
“Yes. Boys count.”
“So why are you spending all of your time flirting with Ace?”
“Ace?” I asked. “Is that what—have you been pitching a fit for three weeks because I’ve been flirting with Ace?”
He just looked at me. I was so frustrated I turned around and walked toward the pool, staring at the reflection of the moon in the water for a moment before I trusted myself to speak.
“Simon, I flirt with him because he flirts back. Chris looks at me like I have two heads and I’m not sure Taylor ever fully understands what’s going on.” I turned to face him.
Simon had lit a new cigarette in the mean time and he puffed on it, looking at me. “You used to flirt with me.”
I shook my finger at him. “Don’t you pull that. I still flirt with you. I’ve always flirted with the contestants; you know that. You’re the only one I’m fucking and you know that, too.”
“No one else does.”
“Are you saying you want to claim me? God, you are such a fucking caveman sometimes.”
“And you love it,” he said, smiling a bit.
I could feel myself blushing and I had to smile a little at that. “All right, I do. But you’re going to have to find another way to satisfy that particular urge.”
Simon looked down, taking a last puff on his cigarette and stamping it out in the ashtray in the corner. “I was standing there watching you talk to Ace and he had his hand on your shoulder and you two were giggling and I wanted to say, ‘Bugger off’ but I couldn’t.”
“God forbid you not just say whatever you want,” I replied. But he scowled a little so I added, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease.”
“He’s young and very pretty,” Simon said.
“More your type than mine,” I replied. “I like them older and grouchier.” I winked and he laughed, just a bit, and I knew I had him. “All I can do, darlin’, is show you how I feel. I can’t do anything about the rest of it.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know,” I said, sitting on the end of the chaise.
“I don’t put up with things I don’t like.”
“Builds character,” I replied, putting my hand on his calf. “Look, you get undressed and I’ll be right back.” I got up and walked back toward the house.
“What are you doing, Ryan?” Simon asked.
I turned, walking backwards through the doors. “Showing you I’m worth it.”
Inside, I dashed upstairs, quickly shed my clothes and slipped into my robe. I grabbed his robe, a couple of towels and washcloths from the closet and the woodsy shower gel Simon prefers. I flung lube and condoms into the pocket of my robe before dashing back out to the pool.
Simon was laying on his back, nude, on the low diving board. His feet dangled over the sides as he looked up at the stars. I put down the towels and pulled one cushion out near the side of the pool, then walked over to him. “You look good,” I said, leaning over to kiss him, upside down.
“I’d better. I’m a lot of trouble,” he said, sadly.
“Hey, where’s that Cowell arrogance?”
“What kind of man can’t even keep a young idiot from flirting with his boyfriend?”
I shrugged. “The kind of man who plans a romantic New Year’s Eve dinner for 7pm because if he can’t kiss his boyfriend at the start of the year New York time, he’ll do it on London time, for starters.” I reached out my hand. “C’mon, let’s wash off the TV.”
We walked over to the outdoor shower and did just that. I love a shower before sex; it’s like foreplay and preparation and really, sex is messy but it doesn’t have to be dirty. I always feel sort of grimy when I leave the studio, and being in LA traffic doesn’t help. Besides, then you know that everyone is clean, and I really wanted Simon to be clean. While he was distracted soaping up my chest, I moved a washcloth to his behind, sliding it between his firm cheeks.
He hummed into my neck. “I know what you’re planning,” he said with that grin.
We rinsed and I toweled him off, rubbing all over his barrel chest, brawny arms and taut stomach while he tried to distract me with kisses. “Go lay on the cushion,” I said.
“Front or back?” he asked as he moved away from me.
“Your choice,” I said, winking.
I quickly toweled myself dry and joined him where he sat. He leaned back on his hands and his legs were spread, his cock half hard between them. I bit my lip.
“God, you look good,” I said as I sank to my knees.
“Hey,” he said. “Kiss me first.”
See, Simon is really a big softie, not mean at all. He just has very high standards. How I’ve managed to satisfy them I’m not sure; I guess he was just looking for someone like me. But I’ll take it. I sat up and leaned forward and he pulled me into the most lovely kiss. We lay there for quite a while making out, with me nestled between his spread legs. Our cocks rubbed together so we moved very slowly, not wanting anything to end before it began.
At last I released his lips and slid down his body, leaving kisses along the way. I ran my tongue along the underside of his cock but that wasn’t my destination. “Tip up,” I said, and wondered when my voice had got so husky. I sucked each one of his balls into my mouth, loving how warm and soft they felt and how he moaned. I moved lower still, to my real goal, and placed a soft kiss on his tiny hole. I wondered if mine is bigger, stretched out permanently somehow, but then scolded myself to stay in the moment and followed up my kiss with a swipe of my flat tongue, and he moaned again, relaxing and tipping his hips further. I steadied myself with a hand on each of his thighs and quickly felt his hands atop mine. My Simon, so tactile.
I’m glad Simon likes rimming because I am damn good at it after all those years of dedicated cunnilingus. It’s the same, but different; more tongue fucking, that sort of thing. I didn’t like to use a finger until the end, when I was ready to fuck him. Until then it’s just my lips and tongue, kissing and lapping and poking until that little ring of muscle relaxed. I loved the way he smelled, a little musky even after our shower and careful cleaning. I stabbed my tongue into him again and again, fucking him with it until he whined, then relented and lapped and kissed him until he calmed down, then started the cycle again. Some day I will make him come just like this, but I couldn’t resist feeling him spasm all around me when my dick was deep inside his ass. I could hear him breathing faster so I pulled away, leaving him with one last, lingering tongue kiss before sitting up and grabbing for my robe.
As I was putting on the condom and lubing up, I looked down at him. He was looking up at the stars again, waiting for me. “What do you say, Simon?” I asked him.
“Please,” he gasped.
“Please what?” I asked, rubbing the cherry lube all over my cock and then putting just a little on my lips. Simon, not a fan of “ass breath” and I really, really wanted to kiss him while we fuck.
He scowled just a little, annoyed despite his desperate state, and I loved him for it. “Please fuck me up the arse with that hard cock of yours. Please rub it against my prostate harder and harder until I come between us and make a big sticky mess that you will make us clean up before I’m ready to move. Please pound into me so hard that I’ll be walking funny tomorrow. And for God’s sake please kiss me while you’re doing it so I will shut the fuck up.”
Grinning, I slid two lubed fingers into him and he pushed back, hard and impatient, so I withdrew them. When Simon wants cock, god forbid you give him fingers. I positioned myself and slid in slowly at first, then moved so my hands were on either side of him and pushed all the way in, hard.
“Ryan!” he cried out, moving his hands to my shoulders and wrapping his legs around my waist so his heels could dig into my ass. “Yes, God, do it.”
Enough babbling. I leaned my head down and kissed him, as he asked, and started pumping my hips. After all of this build up I knew I couldn’t possibly last all that long so I tried to make up for it with the force he always likes. We both like it hard; more of a contrast to the girls, I suppose. It’s like the rest of our relationship—we can dish it out and we can take it. At least most of the time.
He was so tight; every time I fuck him I wonder why I don’t top him more often. He started squeezing with his ass, milking my cock as he pulled my tongue into his mouth and sucked it, hard. I changed my angle and he groaned, louder and louder into my mouth as my cock rubbed his prostate. I lifted up my head long enough to moan, “C’mon, darlin’, come for me” and he did, with a shout the neighbors could probably hear. There it was, that lovely orgasmic clenching, and it only took a couple of thrusts before I came, too, his name on my lips.
I collapsed onto his chest and he stroked my back, kissing the top of my head, much as he does when I’ve been on top riding his cock. Always taking care of me, that one. My dick softened and I shifted, letting it slip out, and his legs fell back down on the cushions. I do love lying like this, just breathing and barely even thinking, but he was right; the warm stickiness would start to irritate me soon. It’s the biggest reason I still make him use a condom: I cannot stand the feeling of semen dripping out of me. Ew.
“Doesn’t the pool cleaner come tomorrow?” Simon asked.
I smiled into his chest. “Yes, but he’s 55 and wears a jumpsuit so it really isn’t an ogling opportunity.”
He snickered. “No, I was thinking, instead of another shower, we could clean up with a swim, Mr. Fluids-Are-Icky.”
I pulled my head up, putting my chin on my hand and looking at him. “I’d like that,” I replied, smiling.
I applied myself on Tuesday and gained excellent results. I threw him one of Mandisa’s shoes. We laughed about hair. He unabashedly stared at me when I stood next to him introducing Lisa. When I said he was my hell he gave me that shit-eating “and you love it” grin. And then at the end, he winked at me and I couldn’t stop smiling. As he would say, it was lovely.
I was walking out of the studio to my car when I ran into Ace and Chris and we got to talking, standing there near the entrance. Then I heard a familiar car pull up.
“All right, pretty boy, get in the car,” Simon said. “We’ve got places to go.” He was wearing sunglasses and had changed into an even tighter t-shirt. The top of his black convertible was down and his fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. He was looking not at me, nor any of the three of us, but out at the street beyond.
In other words, he looked just about as sexy as he gets short of being completely indecent.
I admit, I had a moment of blind panic. I hesitated and turned to look at Ace and Chris. Ace, predictably, was just grinning at the car. Chris looked from me to Simon and said, “That’s some sweet ride, Simon.” Then he slapped me on the shoulder and said, “See you later, man.”
I blinked. “Yeah, see ya tomorrow,” I replied, chucking my bag into the back seat and slipping into the passenger seat next to Simon.
He just smiled at me as we pulled away, but as we drove down to the ocean he asked, “Arrogant enough for you?”
Title: Tipping the Velvet
Pairing: American Idol: Simon Cowell/Ryan Seacrest
Rating: NC17
Summary: Simon and Ryan's new relationship is going smoothly (well, smoothly for them) when Simon suddenly turns into King of the Oversensitive People. Ryan just has to trust that Simon will clue him in to what is really bothering him . . . eventually.
Length: 3300 words
Disclaimer: I made it all up. People sort of own themselves, don't they?
Notes: Demanded by some, speedily and expertly beta'd by the delighful
ladyjaida. A sequel to Who's Afraid of Janis Ian, this story takes place about two months ago, during the semifinals and the first night of the final 12.The fall was as great as I had hoped it would be. Simon was basically living in my house, I took as many free days as possible in London when Simon was there, and in between there was some seriously hot phone sex (please, we both talk for a living and Simon has that accent).
Instead of just getting at each other occasionally we were burrowing deep under each other’s skin and staying there. Riding the rollercoaster of Simon’s moods was actually easier than I’d thought it would be because the man is such an open book that I could see it coming a long way down the track. I can take care of myself—have been taking care of myself for a very long time—and I was used to taking care of the people around me. Now Simon wanted to take care of me, at least on occasion, and no lie—it was really hard, giving up that control sometimes, but it was worth it and so I try to be better about it.
Simon and I decided that girls don’t count and I still go out with them on occasion. Besides, I like women, like spending time with them, like the sense of accomplishment that comes from going down on them and making them come, like how they’re smooth and soft and wet and warm, which is why I get so irritable when people say I’m gay. Do gay men like sleeping with women? They do not.
Simon, though, is hard and hairy and dry and hot like fire. Boys? Boys definitely count.
So imagine my surprise when during the semifinals Simon suddenly turned into King of the Oversensitive People. The expression on his face at times was almost poisonous, like when he’s actually angry as opposed to the put-on irritability of the show. I had no idea what bug crawled up his ass (unlike during the auditions when he was having an extended pout about Kelly Clarkson) and he wasn’t talking, so I just patted him and waited for the hints.
Granted that first week I had a little trouble calibrating things, myself. It used to be that onstage was about the only place we’d flirt but now that we don’t need that for ourselves anymore the public shtick feels just like that, like shtick, and not something natural. Even when we actually got angry with each other we’d just fuck it out but now that won’t work; things are too important and complicated for that. So we just went home and had a fight and let me tell you, make-up sex is a lot better than angry sex, any day.
I was laying on the couch after the second week of semis looking over a script when Simon, on the other couch doing something or other, said, “If I’d known you like hats so much, Ryan, I’d wear them more often.”
“Mmm?” I asked. “Simon, you don’t like wearing hats.”
“I’d wear them if it turns you on.”
I looked up. He was facing me but his eyes were on whatever he was reading. Deceptively casual always spells danger from that one, so I considered my words. Then I remembered Ace and that beanie and said, “Simon, it was just a bit.”
“I know that, Ryan,” he huffed. “I was just offering.”
I put aside the script, took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose for a moment before moving from my couch to his. “You know what turns me on?”
“No, Ryan, enlighten me,” he said, not looking up as I straddled his thighs.
Gently I took his papers and pencil out of his hands and set them on the table. “High-powered record execs who chew their pencils.” I leaned in and kissed his neck. “Know where I can find one?”
“I think I can help you with that,” he said, pulling me down to him and kissing me soundly.
We went upstairs soon after and the sex was good but I could tell from the way he moved that it wasn’t over. I lay in the dark thinking for quite a while after he fell asleep, stroking his shoulder and wondering what was really bothering him.
The last week of semifinals could not come too soon. I was eager to get the E! show going and not be the entire Fox primetime schedule (well, us, 24 and Homer Simpson). Not to mention that keeping one eye on Simon was kinda stressful, especially since I couldn’t let anyone catch me doing it.
Tuesday night, everything seemed okay. Wednesday night I threw in a joke about dreaming of Simon just to make sure his attention was on me. By Thursday I relaxed, just the tiniest bit, and decided to leave him to his own devices at the party for the top 12.
This might have been a tactical error. I was just standing there talking to Ace when Simon walked up, watched us for a moment, then turned on his heel and walked away.
“Should I be worried about that?” Ace asked as we watched Simon walk out of the room.
“No, man,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’ll take care of it later. No problem.”
Ace smiled, relieved and a little vacant, and I relaxed. Good thing Simon had pitched his little silent fit in front of Ace, who thinks Simon is nuts anyway. If he’d done it in front of Chris or one of the girls—well, that would have been awkward.
I circulated the room trying not to look preoccupied and, stubbornly, staying for just as long as I’d meant to. If he wants to storm out of rooms, I thought, he can cool his heels for a while. Running every time he got his nose out of joint would set a bad precedent.
I came home about two hours later, toeing off my shoes in the entryway and setting down my case. I could see as I drove up that the upstairs lights weren’t on, so I had a good idea where he was.
Even though no lights were on out at the pool the waxing moon gave more than enough light to see by, not to mention all the light pollution from the city below. I looked around until I saw the lit end of a cigarette, back in the shadows under one of the awnings.
I walked over and stood, hands on hips. “Mind letting me know what the fuck your problem is, Simon?” I could just see his body, leaning back against the cushions in the corner.
Another slow puff, then he said, “I should think it would be obvious.”
“Don’t be such a girl, Simon,” I replied. “Just tell me so we can work it out.”
He was silent for a moment. My eyes adjusted enough that I could make out his face and he looked tired. “I thought we said boys count,” he whispered.
“Yes. Boys count.”
“So why are you spending all of your time flirting with Ace?”
“Ace?” I asked. “Is that what—have you been pitching a fit for three weeks because I’ve been flirting with Ace?”
He just looked at me. I was so frustrated I turned around and walked toward the pool, staring at the reflection of the moon in the water for a moment before I trusted myself to speak.
“Simon, I flirt with him because he flirts back. Chris looks at me like I have two heads and I’m not sure Taylor ever fully understands what’s going on.” I turned to face him.
Simon had lit a new cigarette in the mean time and he puffed on it, looking at me. “You used to flirt with me.”
I shook my finger at him. “Don’t you pull that. I still flirt with you. I’ve always flirted with the contestants; you know that. You’re the only one I’m fucking and you know that, too.”
“No one else does.”
“Are you saying you want to claim me? God, you are such a fucking caveman sometimes.”
“And you love it,” he said, smiling a bit.
I could feel myself blushing and I had to smile a little at that. “All right, I do. But you’re going to have to find another way to satisfy that particular urge.”
Simon looked down, taking a last puff on his cigarette and stamping it out in the ashtray in the corner. “I was standing there watching you talk to Ace and he had his hand on your shoulder and you two were giggling and I wanted to say, ‘Bugger off’ but I couldn’t.”
“God forbid you not just say whatever you want,” I replied. But he scowled a little so I added, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease.”
“He’s young and very pretty,” Simon said.
“More your type than mine,” I replied. “I like them older and grouchier.” I winked and he laughed, just a bit, and I knew I had him. “All I can do, darlin’, is show you how I feel. I can’t do anything about the rest of it.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know,” I said, sitting on the end of the chaise.
“I don’t put up with things I don’t like.”
“Builds character,” I replied, putting my hand on his calf. “Look, you get undressed and I’ll be right back.” I got up and walked back toward the house.
“What are you doing, Ryan?” Simon asked.
I turned, walking backwards through the doors. “Showing you I’m worth it.”
Inside, I dashed upstairs, quickly shed my clothes and slipped into my robe. I grabbed his robe, a couple of towels and washcloths from the closet and the woodsy shower gel Simon prefers. I flung lube and condoms into the pocket of my robe before dashing back out to the pool.
Simon was laying on his back, nude, on the low diving board. His feet dangled over the sides as he looked up at the stars. I put down the towels and pulled one cushion out near the side of the pool, then walked over to him. “You look good,” I said, leaning over to kiss him, upside down.
“I’d better. I’m a lot of trouble,” he said, sadly.
“Hey, where’s that Cowell arrogance?”
“What kind of man can’t even keep a young idiot from flirting with his boyfriend?”
I shrugged. “The kind of man who plans a romantic New Year’s Eve dinner for 7pm because if he can’t kiss his boyfriend at the start of the year New York time, he’ll do it on London time, for starters.” I reached out my hand. “C’mon, let’s wash off the TV.”
We walked over to the outdoor shower and did just that. I love a shower before sex; it’s like foreplay and preparation and really, sex is messy but it doesn’t have to be dirty. I always feel sort of grimy when I leave the studio, and being in LA traffic doesn’t help. Besides, then you know that everyone is clean, and I really wanted Simon to be clean. While he was distracted soaping up my chest, I moved a washcloth to his behind, sliding it between his firm cheeks.
He hummed into my neck. “I know what you’re planning,” he said with that grin.
We rinsed and I toweled him off, rubbing all over his barrel chest, brawny arms and taut stomach while he tried to distract me with kisses. “Go lay on the cushion,” I said.
“Front or back?” he asked as he moved away from me.
“Your choice,” I said, winking.
I quickly toweled myself dry and joined him where he sat. He leaned back on his hands and his legs were spread, his cock half hard between them. I bit my lip.
“God, you look good,” I said as I sank to my knees.
“Hey,” he said. “Kiss me first.”
See, Simon is really a big softie, not mean at all. He just has very high standards. How I’ve managed to satisfy them I’m not sure; I guess he was just looking for someone like me. But I’ll take it. I sat up and leaned forward and he pulled me into the most lovely kiss. We lay there for quite a while making out, with me nestled between his spread legs. Our cocks rubbed together so we moved very slowly, not wanting anything to end before it began.
At last I released his lips and slid down his body, leaving kisses along the way. I ran my tongue along the underside of his cock but that wasn’t my destination. “Tip up,” I said, and wondered when my voice had got so husky. I sucked each one of his balls into my mouth, loving how warm and soft they felt and how he moaned. I moved lower still, to my real goal, and placed a soft kiss on his tiny hole. I wondered if mine is bigger, stretched out permanently somehow, but then scolded myself to stay in the moment and followed up my kiss with a swipe of my flat tongue, and he moaned again, relaxing and tipping his hips further. I steadied myself with a hand on each of his thighs and quickly felt his hands atop mine. My Simon, so tactile.
I’m glad Simon likes rimming because I am damn good at it after all those years of dedicated cunnilingus. It’s the same, but different; more tongue fucking, that sort of thing. I didn’t like to use a finger until the end, when I was ready to fuck him. Until then it’s just my lips and tongue, kissing and lapping and poking until that little ring of muscle relaxed. I loved the way he smelled, a little musky even after our shower and careful cleaning. I stabbed my tongue into him again and again, fucking him with it until he whined, then relented and lapped and kissed him until he calmed down, then started the cycle again. Some day I will make him come just like this, but I couldn’t resist feeling him spasm all around me when my dick was deep inside his ass. I could hear him breathing faster so I pulled away, leaving him with one last, lingering tongue kiss before sitting up and grabbing for my robe.
As I was putting on the condom and lubing up, I looked down at him. He was looking up at the stars again, waiting for me. “What do you say, Simon?” I asked him.
“Please,” he gasped.
“Please what?” I asked, rubbing the cherry lube all over my cock and then putting just a little on my lips. Simon, not a fan of “ass breath” and I really, really wanted to kiss him while we fuck.
He scowled just a little, annoyed despite his desperate state, and I loved him for it. “Please fuck me up the arse with that hard cock of yours. Please rub it against my prostate harder and harder until I come between us and make a big sticky mess that you will make us clean up before I’m ready to move. Please pound into me so hard that I’ll be walking funny tomorrow. And for God’s sake please kiss me while you’re doing it so I will shut the fuck up.”
Grinning, I slid two lubed fingers into him and he pushed back, hard and impatient, so I withdrew them. When Simon wants cock, god forbid you give him fingers. I positioned myself and slid in slowly at first, then moved so my hands were on either side of him and pushed all the way in, hard.
“Ryan!” he cried out, moving his hands to my shoulders and wrapping his legs around my waist so his heels could dig into my ass. “Yes, God, do it.”
Enough babbling. I leaned my head down and kissed him, as he asked, and started pumping my hips. After all of this build up I knew I couldn’t possibly last all that long so I tried to make up for it with the force he always likes. We both like it hard; more of a contrast to the girls, I suppose. It’s like the rest of our relationship—we can dish it out and we can take it. At least most of the time.
He was so tight; every time I fuck him I wonder why I don’t top him more often. He started squeezing with his ass, milking my cock as he pulled my tongue into his mouth and sucked it, hard. I changed my angle and he groaned, louder and louder into my mouth as my cock rubbed his prostate. I lifted up my head long enough to moan, “C’mon, darlin’, come for me” and he did, with a shout the neighbors could probably hear. There it was, that lovely orgasmic clenching, and it only took a couple of thrusts before I came, too, his name on my lips.
I collapsed onto his chest and he stroked my back, kissing the top of my head, much as he does when I’ve been on top riding his cock. Always taking care of me, that one. My dick softened and I shifted, letting it slip out, and his legs fell back down on the cushions. I do love lying like this, just breathing and barely even thinking, but he was right; the warm stickiness would start to irritate me soon. It’s the biggest reason I still make him use a condom: I cannot stand the feeling of semen dripping out of me. Ew.
“Doesn’t the pool cleaner come tomorrow?” Simon asked.
I smiled into his chest. “Yes, but he’s 55 and wears a jumpsuit so it really isn’t an ogling opportunity.”
He snickered. “No, I was thinking, instead of another shower, we could clean up with a swim, Mr. Fluids-Are-Icky.”
I pulled my head up, putting my chin on my hand and looking at him. “I’d like that,” I replied, smiling.
I applied myself on Tuesday and gained excellent results. I threw him one of Mandisa’s shoes. We laughed about hair. He unabashedly stared at me when I stood next to him introducing Lisa. When I said he was my hell he gave me that shit-eating “and you love it” grin. And then at the end, he winked at me and I couldn’t stop smiling. As he would say, it was lovely.
I was walking out of the studio to my car when I ran into Ace and Chris and we got to talking, standing there near the entrance. Then I heard a familiar car pull up.
“All right, pretty boy, get in the car,” Simon said. “We’ve got places to go.” He was wearing sunglasses and had changed into an even tighter t-shirt. The top of his black convertible was down and his fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. He was looking not at me, nor any of the three of us, but out at the street beyond.
In other words, he looked just about as sexy as he gets short of being completely indecent.
I admit, I had a moment of blind panic. I hesitated and turned to look at Ace and Chris. Ace, predictably, was just grinning at the car. Chris looked from me to Simon and said, “That’s some sweet ride, Simon.” Then he slapped me on the shoulder and said, “See you later, man.”
I blinked. “Yeah, see ya tomorrow,” I replied, chucking my bag into the back seat and slipping into the passenger seat next to Simon.
He just smiled at me as we pulled away, but as we drove down to the ocean he asked, “Arrogant enough for you?”
