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the_water_clockAuthor: Clio
Title: My Summer of Love
Pairing: American Idol: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan took a holiday the week between A Concert for Diana in London and Eva Longoria's wedding in Paris. Three guesses as to what he was up to, and the first two don't count.
Length: 10,500 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: HUGE thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dana_kujan and allysonsedai for their beta work and for a couple of key suggestions. The entire thing is NOT NC-17, though it does get dirty in places. Also, play spot the romcom reference! There will be one for each of the seven days. Headers taken from various Donna Summer songs.
saturday: so you'd better treat her right
The great thing about having a friend who is very wealthy is that when you need to go to Europe, he just sends his plane for you. I’ve been completely spoiled by no security, no customs, not even having to go into the airport because the car goes directly to the tarmac. Not to mention being able to ride on a plane holding hands with Simon—when Randy is with us, which is often, that’s all he will allow, though we often sneak kisses when he’s in the bathroom or napping. When he’s not, well, let’s just say that I have cherished memories of getting my brains fucked out tens of thousands of feet above Oklahoma.
Randy, having a more flexible day job than I do, went to London earlier, so I had the plane to myself for the long flight from LA. I ate, prepared for my meetings on Monday, slept for most of it, but when awake I daydreamed about seeing Simon again. I didn’t touch myself, though I probably could have masturbated at least five times, because I didn’t care if I was a hair trigger when I got there, I wanted to save myself for my old man.
Tony, the copilot, woke me once we were over Ireland and the three of us ate a little breakfast in the cockpit before they focused on navigating the crowded British airspace and I washed up so as to look at least halfway decent when I arrived. Coming into City is the best, another thing that Simon has spoiled me with, and I got off the plane prescreened through customs and ready to slip into the car waiting to take me to him.
But I almost stopped short on the stair when I saw, through the open car door, a pair of shapely legs, crossed at the knee, the upper leg turning its ankle to flirtatiously dangle a pump from its black-stockinged toe. Why on earth Simon would send a girl to pick me up I didn’t know, other than that he was otherwise occupied and this was his idea of a joke. As we put my bags in the trunk I looked through the rear window at her jet-black hair in a pageboy cut, a black wrap around her shoulders, and cigarette smoke curling up out of the crack in the side window. Well, at least she was high class.
I was a little nervous as I ducked my head into the car, not sure what I would say to this woman, but I didn’t have to worry, as she spoke first.
“I’ve got a head for business and a bod for sin,” said a familiar low voice.
I almost hit my head on the roof of the car I was so startled. For there was Simon in black thigh-high stockings with lace at the top, a black satin teddy with demi-cups and some cleverly hidden tummy control, a black satiny wrap around his shoulders, and a black pageboy wig, with a slash of deep red lipstick on his thin lips. And it was so hot, so unexpected, I lost my ability to speak.
“Did I get the line right?” Simon asked, chucking his cigarette out the window.
“Yep,” I replied, sitting down slowly.
“And that’s the right film, isn’t it? With the legs in the car?”
“Yep.” Jim, Simon’s driver, was chuckling and shaking his head as he shut the door behind me. Damn him, he’d known all along.
“I was going to get a blond wig,” he said, sitting forward slightly to bring his head out of the shadows, “but it wasn’t really me. I got a red one, but I thought I’d save that until later. You mightn’t have recognized me.”
“No, I, uh, I like the black,” I stuttered.
“Well, I know how you love that film.”
“I do.” I ran a hand down his right leg, the one further from me, and he shifted, letting his legs fall further apart, and I could see the bulge that was barely contained by the crotch of the teddy. It made me even hotter to think of him, sitting here waiting for me and getting hard just thinking about my reaction.
“And I know how you love costumes.”
I pulled his shoes off and chucked them on the floor in front of him, pulling his left leg up on the seat so he was straddling me. “Simon.”
“Mmm?”
I leaned in further. “Shut up.”
He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. “Make me.”
I slipped my right hand around his neck and pulled him toward me, kissing him hard, and he kissed right back, hungrily, his lips sticky from the lipstick, and GOD but June had been a long damn month. My left hand was running up and down his right leg, sliding along the stockings, feeling the strong hairy leg under them. I let his lips go, my mouth moving down along his neck to his chest, where his nipples and the pockets of fat and muscle that sat behind them were just barely encased by the demi cups of the teddy.
“I thought about shaving,” he said, his voice hitching as I seized on a nipple, “but it was too much effort.”
“No, it’s hotter that you didn’t,” I replied, and it was, the flash of strong hairy thigh above the top of his stockings and the chest hair rising out of the demi cups making it all look so perverse. “It wouldn’t have been you.” My right hand had slid down along his neck and shoulder to play with the tit I wasn’t sucking.
“Can’t have that,” he agreed, gasping.
I pulled back. “If there were time, I’d fuck you right here in this car,” I said, and his eyes flashed at that, “but there isn’t.” I sat back, away from him, back against the back seat. “But if you’re going to dress like a hooker, you’ll have to earn your fee.”
Simon’s mouth drew back into a satisfied smile and he batted his eyelashes coquettishly as he stroked my thigh and asked, “What would you like, Mr. Seacrest?”
Oh, I liked this character. “I’d like you to get down on your knees and suck me off, and you’d better finish before we get to your house. I’d hate Jim to have to wait for us.” I spread my legs further, pushing my denim-clad crotch forward. I was so hard I knew it would be no problem for him; I just hoped I could hold back at least until he’d got me into his mouth.
Simon lost no time sliding down onto the floor in front of me, unzipping my jeans and reaching in to pull my cock out through the fly in my Calvins. He licked at the precome on the swollen head, then opened wide and sucked me down, wrapping one hand around the base of my cock and stroking my thigh with the other.
“Use a lot of lip,” I said, putting my hands on his shoulders. “I want to see that ring of red on my dick while I’m fucking you later.”
Simon moaned, sucking harder, and I was doing everything I could not to come before he got his own pleasure out of the act. But it had been so long since a wet mouth had been wrapped around my cock—Shana is a great girl, but giving head she will not do, even with reciprocity—and he was so yummy in his outfit and so adorable with his romcom reference and I loved him so and it was all too much to think about, and the silky hair of the wig was brushing against my cock and I was shouting and coming hard into his mouth and he was sucking even harder, sucking the come right out of me, like he does.
I slumped down into the seat and he pulled back, grinning, pleased with himself, licking his lips and absentmindedly rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing his already streaked lipstick onto his cheek. He looked seedy, debauched, like some aging junkie trannie streetwalker rather than the high priced call girl he’d resembled when I’d arrived.
“Come here,” I said, and he sat up, into my arms and on my lap, and we made out, because, come be dammed, I couldn’t not kiss him. I was getting used to the taste, and anyway, he’d swallowed most of it, so it was more like he’d been sprinkled with thai fish sauce or something. “You do love me, don’t you?” I asked.
“You know it, “he said, beaming.
When we arrived at his house, he certainly acted like a girl, holding his pumps in one hand, fingers in the heels, and handing his wrap to me to carry up the stairs from the garage to the master bedroom. Without the heels of the pumps or his usual boots, and with me still in shoes, I was suddenly taller than him, and I felt strangely protective and gentlemanly. It was sexy, watching his slim ass move back and forth in all that black satin, and I wondered if we could get a bunny costume for him, as a tail would have been a nice addition. I made a mental note to get some silk pajamas, a dressing gown and a pipe once I was back in LA.
“Sheila left food for us in the pantry,” Simon said, tossing his shoes into the closet. “I don’t plan on letting you out of this house until the morning. I’m just telling you that right now.”
“Sounds good to me,” I replied, putting his wrap on the back of a chair and slipping out of my jacket and shoes.
Simon sat down on the edge of the bed, then slid back. “You know why I picked this lingerie?”
“The tummy control panel?” I asked, smirking at him as I unbuttoned my shirt.
“No, Ryan,” Simon said, but he couldn’t help but smile, and even flush a little as he stared at my naked chest. “It’s got snaps at the crotch.”
“How convenient for both of us,” I said, slipping the jeans I’d never bothered to refasten down over my hips and pushing off boxer briefs and socks with them.
If Simon was surprised that I was hard again already, he didn’t show it, merely looking me up and down with his usual appreciative leer. Then, as if snapping out of a reverie, his expression softened, becoming dare I say, slutty. He tucked his head down and looked up at me from under eyebrows and lashes. “So what was that you said about fucking me?”
“Just you wait,” I growled, jumping on the bed to claim my man.
sunday: they said it on the air
Of course I’d been in London with Simon before, met some of his friends, heck, just a few weeks before I’d been at the taping of that bio thing. Usually at these things Randy was around, or Simon was so busy that he needed to leave me to my own devices, knowing that I could certainly handle myself at such a gathering. But at the Concert for Diana, even though Randy was there, Simon wouldn’t let me leave his side. He shepherded me around, both before and after we introduced Nelly Furtado, like some weird combination of protégé and boyfriend. Now, I’m not his protégé and I certainly didn’t need him to introduce me to any artists, not to mention that we aren’t open about our romance to any of these people.
And yet, despite the inability to place exactly how others saw us, I found spending the day attached to his hip to be surprisingly natural. Maybe this relationship is based on something other than sex after all.
We left the after party quite late. I lay back against the back seat of the car, fidgety, my internal clock still off despite the long day and Simon’s efforts to exhaust me the day before.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah, it was a good day.”
“What did you think of the princes, then?”
I smiled. “They were charming and handsome, like you’d think a prince would be.”
“They seemed to like you, though with royals you can never tell.”
I cocked my head. What an odd thing to say! Why would he care if two princes I’d probably never meet again—“Simon?”
“Mmm?”
“Were you showing me off today?”
“What?”
“Why were you keeping me by your side and introducing me to everyone you could find?”
“Well, you know, you do have a weakness for accents,” Simon said, “what with that whole Hugh Grant obsession. I wasn’t sure I wanted to set you loose.”
“Right, because that’s the only thing I love about you, your accent.”
“Well, you are young and talented and good looking—“
“And you’re wealthy and powerful and vain as hell so don’t even give me that.”
“You do have an alarming penchant for inappropriate flirtation when left to your own devices, Ryan.”
“Whatever.”
“You were certainly flirting with David Furnish.”
“Please, he is so married, and besides, at the time you were giggling in the corner with his husband! What were you two talking about, anyway?”
“You of course.”
“Of course.”
“Elton wants to give you a nickname.”
“Oh? What?”
“Meg, you know, for Meg Ryan.”
“Queen of the romcoms! I love it! Though I’m not sure how well it goes with Gladys. I don’t even understand that; you don’t look like a Gladys to me.”
“Sharon’s mind works in mysterious ways.”
“Well, were they impressed, at least?”
“My friends? Well, you know, you can be rather impressive when you put your mind to it.”
“Me? Oh, I’m just a boy standing in front of another boy, asking him to love him.”
“Again with the Hugh Grant!”
“Come on, Simon, you know you’re the only man in England I’d look twice at.”
Simon laughed. “That’s not true.”
“Okay so that’s not true, but you’re the only one who would put up with me with such good humor.”
“You are very high maintenance.”
“As are you,” I replied. “I was thinking, when I was talking to David, he’s so low key. Can you really have two divas in one relationship?”
“I don’t see why not. We seem to manage.”
“He said blithely.”
“Do you have any complaints?”
I thought for a moment, more for effect than anything else. “No important ones.”
“There you go then,” he said, and put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer to him. He lay his head back on the seat, closing his eyes. “Long day.”
I cuddled into his shoulder, playing with the buttons of his shirt. “You’re still going to fuck me when we get home, right?” I asked.
He opened one eye. “Yes, but then straight to sleep. Work day tomorrow.”
“Yes, Gladys,” I said, giggling.
Simon replied by thwapping me in the head. But he did fuck me later, so you know, it all balances out.
monday: one of a million admiring eyes
I’d stacked up my business on Monday and Tuesday so we could have a few days to ourselves in Paris before the wedding. So after some coffee I bolted out of the house to solid meetings from breakfast through the late afternoon. I would just about have time to hop back to Simon’s to change before going out to a dinner BBC was hosting to celebrate the sixth season of Idol, taking advantage of Randy and me being in town and Nigel’s show taking a week off for the American holiday.
But when I stepped out of the bathroom after my shower, I found Simon sitting in the bedroom, smoking, and he wasn’t alone. “What’s going on?” I asked.
Simon grinned, in his self-satisfied way. “I’m dressing you for the evening,” he said. “Tom is a stylist and he’s brought some things over for us to choose from.”
“Us? What am I, your kept boy?”
“You call me ‘old man.’”
“You are an old man. And I can dress myself, you know.”
He laughed! “Yeah, right.”
I sighed, and reached into the drawer Simon had cleared for me to grab a pair of Calvins. “Fine, but if there’s a brown polka dotted dress in there with a matching hat and gloves I’m not wearing it.”
“Ryan, do I look like Richard Gere?”
“No. He’s aging better than you are.”
“Ha-ha. Off you go.”
I came back out in the first of the four outfits. “You have got to be kidding me with these black jeans.”
He looked up. “Oooh, love those.”
“I can’t sit down in these. I can’t even breathe.”
“Turn round. Oh, but they look good on your arse.”
“This t-shirt keeps riding up.”
“I know.”
“I can’t even wear anything under them.”
“Even better.”
“Simon, you can see the head of my dick!”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You might want to see it, but do you want everyone else to see it?”
“Oh,” he said. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
I growled and stalked back into the bathroom to put on the next outfit, which was entirely ridiculous.
“I don’t even know what to say about this.” He had put me in tight black trousers, a tight white tank, black suspenders, and a black hat.
“I thought your arms and shoulders would look good.”
“Yeah, but the hat?”
“Hmm. Perhaps not.”
“If you want me to play Cuban street hustler when we’re alone, that’s fine, buy it, but I’m not wearing it tonight.”
“You’ll do that?”
“Sure.”
“Right, Tom, wrap it up. Next outfit.”
I came back out. “I think I could have bought this myself.” I was in an excellent pair of dark jeans that fit me like a glove and a deep teal button down shirt.
“Yes, but you’re always wearing waistcoats and they make you look smaller.”
“Waistcoats?”
Tom leaned in an whispered to me, “He means vests.”
“Oh! Um, I think they make the outfit less casual.”
“What’s the problem with casual?”
I stared at him. “Yeah, I don’t know why I even said that to you.” I rolled my eyes.
“Well, I think we’re done. I don’t need to see the last one. Let’s go,” Simon said, standing up.
“And you’re wearing that?” I asked, pointing to his usual too-long too-loose jeans and strangely fitting sweater. “When do I get to shop for you?”
“Ryan.”
“I just think you would look better in clothes that actually fit you.”
“Ryan, you know I don’t care for people looking at me.”
“Yeah, right.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “I mean, not like that. Not like a girl.”
“People look at me like a girl?”
“You put a lot of effort into your appearance, Ryan. You know how attractive you are and how people look at you. I would rather people listen to me. And I’d rather just be comfortable.”
I sighed. “Tom, can you give us a minute?”
Tom nodded, fading back into the hallway.
I turned to him, stepping forward and putting my hands on his shoulders. “I know how you like looking at me, but I like looking at you, too, you know.”
“Yes,” Simon said, putting his arms around my waist, “but you’re in love with me, as you keep pointing out.”
“I liked looking at you before I loved you.”
Simon just shrugged. “No accounting for taste.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, but can you at least start getting your jeans hemmed? All that fabric pooling around your ankles just makes you look shorter.”
“I’ll think about it,” Simon said, and gave me a quick kiss. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”
As I followed him down the stairs I asked, “Wasn’t there a fourth outfit?”
“Oh, you don’t want to try that one,” Simon said.
“Why, what did it look like?”
“Er, I believe there were shorts and a sleeveless shirt involved.”
And I discovered that behind someone on the stairs was my new favorite position for strangling them. You get the leverage from the height, and they can’t see to defend against you. Works really well.
tuesday: i saw your love at twenty paces
Tuesday night Simon asked me to dress up (and had trusted me to do it myself, thanks) and meet him for dinner at a one of his favorite restaurants. When I walked up, the maitre d’ was waiting at the door to take me through the closed restaurant into the back garden, which was decorated with lights. Off to the side was a table set for two with a red-checkered tablecloth and two bottles of Chianti, one of which served as a candlestick. Music played from a hidden stereo, the type you might have heard at an Italian restaurant in the fifties. And there was Simon, standing next to the table in a gray suit with a white dress shirt—unbuttoned, of course.
“Hey,” I said, giving him a kiss. “What’s all this?”
“Well,” he replied, pulling out my chair for me, “we won’t be able to dance at the wedding, so I thought having a nice dinner would make up for it. Besides, on the actual day we’ll be in San Diego surrounded by press and producers.”
It was hard to keep a straight face, because I knew the answer to my question, but I had to make him say it. “The actual day of what, Simon?”
He scowled at me, but I didn’t care. I could be the girl sometimes, too. “Our anniversary, Ryan. Five years ought to count for something.”
“They do,” I said, smiling. “But you’ll have to wait for your presents, because I’m having them made, and they aren’t ready yet.”
“They?” he asked, grinning greedily. “Are you expecting five years of gifts from me, Ryan?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say no.”
Simon smiled. “Good to know.”
“So where are the menus?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ve taken care of it.” He signaled the waiter, who walked back into the darkened restaurant. “Tell me about your day,” he said as he poured me a tumbler of wine. So over Chianti, and then a green salad with breadsticks, we went over my meetings and his, and our plans to go to Paris the next day.
Then the music swelled a bit, and a waiter came in with a large platter of spaghetti and meatballs and set it down between us. I looked up at Simon, and he was wearing a grey suit after all. I couldn’t help but grin.
“Your tail is wagging,” Simon said. “But if you think I’m going to push a meatball to you with my nose, you’re sadly mistaken.”
I laughed. “But you’ll do this, won’t you?” I asked, pulling a strand of spaghetti out of the pile with my fork.
After dinner we danced, Simon leading me all around the garden. “You’re a better dancer than I would have predicted.”
“Ballroom dance classes as a boy.”
I pulled back from him a bit to look him in the eyes. “Really?”
“Mother insisted, and besides, that’s where the girls were.” He spun me around.
“Ah, that sounds more like you.” I listened to the music for a bit, then said, “I thought you didn’t like the American Songbook.”
“I like it fine. I just don’t think it has anything to do with being a pop star. Why, did you expect some other music?”
“Well, I’ll admit, there was a moment after they cleared the plates that I wondered if Il Divo was going to come out into the garden and start serenading us.”
Simon looked off to the side and cleared his throat. “They’re in Rotterdam. They just finished their tour.”
“Aww, ya big cheeseball,” I said, bringing our clasped hands to my lips.
“You wouldn’t have liked it?” he asked.
“Well, for the record, Il Divo isn’t really my thing,” I replied. “But I would have been pleased that you went to all that trouble for me.”
“You really think I’m cheesy?”
“Simon, you wear shirts unbuttoned half way to your navel. You used to wear very strong cologne until I broke you of that habit. All you need to look like Tom Jones are tight trousers and a medallion.”
“Nothing wrong with looking like Tom Jones, Ryan.”
“Well, not in 1967, or for about ten minutes in 1988, or if you’re Tom Jones. But you are not Tom Jones.”
He let go of my hand, sliding his behind my shoulder, and I did the same. “Is this cheesy?” he asked, and suddenly dipped me, kissed me, and then pulled me back upright.
“Um,” I said, trying to collect my thoughts. “Well, I never said I had a problem with your cheesiness.”
Simon laughed. “I love you, Ryan Seacrest.”
I smiled back. “I know.”
wednesday: waiting for some lover to call
Wednesday morning we were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee when Simon’s mobile rang. The call wasn’t pleasant; Simon was scowling and shouting and asking “why can’t people bloody well do their jobs without my telling them how?” He hung up and tapped his fingers on the table.
“Well?” I asked.
He looked out the kitchen window. “I can’t even get into it; it’s too much of a mess and none of it would have happened if people had been doing what I’m paying them to do.” He looked at me. “But I’ll have to clean it up, and that means another day in London.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. Not your fault. I was going to play tourist in Paris, so I’ll just play tourist here.”
Simon squeezed my hand. “Thanks. Come by for lunch? I’ll need the break.”
“Of course.”
As soon as he walked out I put a call in to his assistant. “Carol? It’s Ryan. I need your help with something.”
After a nice morning in the portrait gallery, I went by the little place Carol had recommended and picked up my order, then headed to Simon’s office. I tapped at his door and he waved me in, though he was shouting at someone on the phone. I closed the door, locking it behind me.
“Well you tell him he’d better get it right and take that bit out, or he won’t be getting anything else from me. Yeah, I mean it. Peter, when’s the last time you heard me say something I didn’t mean? Right, well, we’ll see, won’t we? Call me when you know.” He hung up, then rang Carol at the desk.
“No interruptions,” Carol said, before he even started talking.
“Thanks Carol,” he said, and hung up. Then he looked up at me as though he hadn’t really seen me since I came in. “What’s this?” he asked.
“You know, Jackie Kennedy used to bring Jack lunch in a picnic basket when he was in Congress,” I said, putting my own basket down on the conference table in Simon’s office. “But I think she mostly did it to remind the girls in the office that no matter what happened after hours she was still the wife.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?” he asked, smirking.
“No. I’m not threatened by any of the men here, and I really don’t care what women you’re fucking as long as you’re being safe.” I pulled out his roast beef sandwich and vinegar crisps, my cobb salad, a seltzer for me and a lemon soda for him, two cookies, and a few other things wrapped in a sheet. “But before we eat, what time is it?”
“Noon, why?”
“What were you doing at this time a week ago?” I lay a sheet down on the floor, folded in half.
“Calling you, of course. What are you doing?”
“Taking off my clothes. I sleep in the nude when I know you’re calling.” I laid my trousers, shirt, and underpants on the back of a chair, my shoes and socks underneath it.
“But you’re here. I don’t have to call you.”
I pulled the dildo and lube from a corner of the sheet. “You said you wanted to know what I did with this,” I said, holding it up for him.
“God, Ryan,” Simon said, standing up.
“No, no,” I said, holding up a hand. “Talk to me.”
“You’re hard.”
“When you look at me like that it’s tough not to be. But in the morning when you call I usually am. Now, talk to me, like when we’re apart. Do you call me from your desk?”
“Yes,” he replied, reaching down into one of his drawers and pulling out a tube of lube and a small towel. “I sit on the edge of my desk and look out the window, but I’d rather look at you.” He came around to the other side of the desk and sat on it.
“Talk to me.”
Simon closed his eyes for a second. “Good morning darling. Already hard for me?”
“Good morning. Of course I am. What do you want me to do about it?”
Simon chuckled, staring down at me. His hand was rubbing against his crotch. “Nothing. Don’t touch it yet. I’m going to fuck you, so you should get ready for that.”
I squeezed some lube on my fingers. “Okay, I’m sticking my fingers up my ass,” I said, getting on hands and knees to do so.
“I love watching you do that,” Simon said, unbuttoning his jeans. “I love how you arch your back.”
“I can get them in further,” I said, sliding in a third finger. I wasn’t really ready for it, but I liked the rough feeling, that little edge of pain. “And it feels good.”
“Get ready because I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he said, pulling his cock out and rubbing a bit of lube on it. He laid the towel across his thighs.
“I like it hard,” I said, rubbing lube on the dildo. “I’m ready.”
“Good,” he said, grabbing his cock with a firm hand and stroking. “God, you feel so good.”
I slid in the dildo, a little at a time. “I love how you fuck me darlin’.”
“Oh, God, that’s hot,” Simon said, looking at me. I couldn’t look away from him, either, stroking himself like that, his dark red cock sticking out of his trousers while he was fully dressed making it even kinkier.
But I wanted to give him a good show, so I arched my back, pushing the dildo in and out. “Fuck me harder, darlin’,” I said, panting.
“So hard you’ll feel it all day long,” he said, stroking himself harder. “You’re so t-tight. Move for me Ryan.”
I did, pushing the dildo in and out faster, balancing on my other hand, thrusting my untouched cock into the air. “You like that?” I asked, moaning. He focused his dark, sexy stare on my ass, and his fist was around his cock. God! That I did that to him made me so hot.
And then we were just moaning, and he grunted, and came on his hand and the towel. I could tell then how practiced he was at this routine, as he didn’t get a drop on his clothing. “Don’t move,” he said, kneeling down in front of me and holding out his hand as though I was a dog. “C’mon Ryan. Try it.”
I was still panting, still hard, still with a dildo in my ass. I’d taken my hand off it so I was on both hands and knees. I looked up at him and his eyes were still so dark and I wanted to do anything, so I stuck out my tongue and licked one little pearl off his forefinger. His hands were damp with sweat and a little sticky with lube, but the come was bitter and salty in my mouth. He moaned, watching me, and it wasn’t so bad, really, though I didn’t want all of it. I pointed my tongue, licking a trail through the bigger blob of it on his palm, and he smiled at me.
“That’s enough for now,” he said, wiping his hand off on the towel, and I was a bit relieved. Though I knew he wouldn’t force me to do anything, I didn’t want to disappoint him, either. “Roll over.”
I lay on my back, tipping up my ass since the dildo was still sticking out of it, and Simon leaned down to suck me, grabbing the dildo in his own hand and fucking me good with it. I grabbed the corner of the sheet and stuffed it in my mouth to keep from shouting, and I didn’t last long, coming hard down his throat. He sucked me clean, letting me go with a soft slurp, and pulled the dildo out of me. He slid up and gave me a kiss, and I could taste my own come this time. It was different, not as bitter but maybe saltier?
I have to admit, it was sort of sweet, his little mission to get me to love it the way he does, and I was getting more used to it, though I still couldn’t imagine enjoying it shooting down my throat or leaking out of my ass. We’re monogamous—well, except for Shana and Terri, but we’re very safe with them for a lot of reasons—so it isn’t about that. I just always thought it was sort of gross and drippy. But it turns him on so much, and he did dress up for me, so I started to think about what I could do for him.
He stood up, grabbing the dildo and the towel and walking into his private loo. “I’ll wash these up, you get dressed.”
I got myself up off the floor, folding the sheet back up and putting it and the lube into my shoulder bag. I dressed, mostly, then joined Simon to wash my hands.
“If you eat lunch like that,” he said, looking at my bare feet and unbuttoned, untucked shirt, “I’ll have to jump you before you go.”
“Sounds like an incentive to me,” I said. “Mess cleaned up?”
“Well, the towel will still need to be laundered,” he said. “I do use a new one each time.”
“No, I meant—“
“Oh! Yes. I think I’ll only be here a few hours more.”
“So I was thinking, you know, I had wanted to have champagne and watch the sun set from the Eiffel Tower tonight,” I began.
“I know. This lovely lunchtime performance aside, I wish we were in Paris.”
“Forget Paris. I thought we could have it on the London Eye tonight instead?”
He grinned at me. “Now who’s cheesy?”
“I do what I can,” I said, leaning over to kiss him.
thursday: do you wanna get down?
We were finally in Paris, and it was a bit drizzly but who cares because it’s Paris. We’d left at an obscene hour in the morning after an early night, and had coffee and croissant upon arrival. After checking in, and getting a lovely welcome gift from the happy couple and an itinerary for Saturday and various recommendations, we headed out into the city, enjoying the relative anonymity to shop, see a couple of museums, have a sandwich on the plaza outside the Louvre, just be real tourists. We had a lovely dinner at a tiny place Simon’s brother had highly recommended, and a pretty walk back to our little left bank hotel. It was dreamy and romantic and wonderful.
“You know what I’d like to do tonight?” I asked.
“Fuck?” he asked, as usual bringing my head down out of the clouds faster than you can say boo.
“Well, yeah, but that isn’t what I’m talking about.”
“So what are you talking about?”
“I want to go out dancing.”
“Ryan, we just danced the other night, and where could we go and dance together?”
“Not like that. Clubbing. I want to go clubbing.”
“A gay club? Would that really be any better?”
I stopped walking, standing in one of those little spots next to the river where you see young Parisians making out. “A friend gave me the name of a club where anything goes and no one cares. It’s mixed, gay and straight and whateverthehell else. I want to dress you up and go there and dance and grind until we’re covered in sweat and hard as rocks and then go into the back and have you fuck me up against the wall until we’re both screaming.”
“You are so sexy when you get all determined like this,” he said.
“I know,” I replied, smirking.
“Okay, we’ll go, so long as at the end of the evening you aren’t on the roof wailing at the moon like a banshee.”
I smiled. “No, because I won’t be drinking champagne.”
“You will at the wedding.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll keep me in line. You always do.”
We started walking again. Then, as if he’d just realized what I’d said, Simon said, “You’re dressing me up?”
I chuckled. “What do you think I was doing yesterday afternoon while you were working? I went to that personal shopper of yours and got you some things.”
“That Tom! I knew he’d be a turncoat!”
Later, after I’d dressed him in jeans that actually fit—and my God, what they did for his ass was obscene—and a dark blue t-shirt with a regular scoop neck that was tight across his shoulders, arms and pecs but draped nicely over his not-so-firm midsection. His jeans were loose enough that he could put his cigs into them, and we didn’t need more than that and cash anyway. Well, not much more.
The club had two levels, the top one looking more pop-ish, with lots of perfectly nice people dancing perfectly nicely to perfectly nice songs. I grabbed Simon’s hand and led him downstairs where they were playing a mix of funk and techno, and the crowd, while not packed, was doing plenty of writhing.
“This is what you wanted?” Simon shouted into my ear.
“You bet!” I replied, and pulled him into the middle of the floor. Once there, I pulled him close, dancing up on him as I’d always wanted to, almost since I’d met him, and he did the same, getting the hang of it very quickly, and we danced together, at least one hand proprietarily on the other at all times, no eyes for anyone else, alone in the middle of a sea of people. We’d go get a soda, sit for a minute or two, then plunge back onto a dance floor that, like many underground clubs, never was more than pleasantly crowded.
I don’t know how long we’d been dancing before Simon finally leaned in and said, “I need you now.”
I grinned and kissed him, and he led us off the dance floor into the back hall near the bathrooms. There were couples all over the place, straight, gay, lesbian, doing whatever, in various stages of undress, though you couldn’t hear their moans over the music. Simon wasted no time, pushing me up against the wall, hard, and crushing me with his kiss, his hands grabbing my ass to pull me into him.
God, I love it when he gets like this. Our t-shirts rode up as we rubbed against each other, and I could feel his softer, furry belly against my stomach. My hands moved up from his waist to his shoulders. “You ready?” he asked.
“God, yes,” I said, kissing him again.
He moved his hands to my crotch, unfastening my jeans and sliding them down over my legs, and as I stepped out of them he held them off the icky floor. He pulled the condom and lube out of the pockets, then flung them around my shoulders. A little weird, standing in a public place in a t-shirt, underwear, and shoes and socks, but whatever, I’d done it on television more than once.
I unbuttoned the fly of his jeans, pulling out his hard cock and slipping a condom onto it before rubbing lovely lube all over it. He put the lube in his pocket, I hopped up and wrapped my legs around his waist, and he lifted me up, pushing my back up against the wall again. Then I tried to relax my ass while still holding on with my legs and back as he reached under me, pushing my underwear aside. “A thong, Ryan? Who’s cheesy now?”
I smiled. “Just for this occasion.”
“Why not just forgo pants entirely?”
“I can’t wear jeans without underwear! Not dancing!” My breath hitched as his fingers found their target, circling my little hole and then sliding in, one at a time.
“Aww, is your skin too sensitive?” he asked, mocking me even as he finger fucked me. “Poor little Ryan’s balls. Or is that poor Ryan’s little balls?”
“Shut … up,” I gasped, and he laughed.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, putting the lube away and pushing me up a bit more. I reached down, quickly, with one hand to position him, and then we let gravity do most of the work.
I hissed at the pleasure-pain of penetration, trying to relax and let him into me as I slid down, impaling myself on his cock, tightening my grip on him with my legs.
“Ooooh,” he said. “This was a very good idea.” His hands were under me now, grabbing my ass, and he pushed me firmly back against the wall and started thrusting.
I was moaning, licking his ear, moving along with him and glad that the t-shirt was protecting my back from the wall of the hallway. It was going to be fast and hard but I welcomed it, welcomed him taking me roughly in the dingy back hallway of some dodgy Parisian club.
And then he was coming, digging his head into my shoulder, shaking my body with his last desperate thrusts before slamming me hard into the wall. He looked up at me, out of breath, and I ran my hands across his face, brushing some of the sweat off his forehead, and kissed him, softly as I could.
“Can you still hold me?” I asked. “How are your legs?”
“I’m all right,” he said. “Why?”
I grinned. “Push me up.”
“Up where?”
“Your shoulders. Push me up!” I demanded, pressing down on his shoulders.
He looked confused for a moment, and then he smiled, slowly, lustily. “Ready?”
I nodded, and let go with my legs, and he pushed up on my ass and I pushed down on his shoulders, scrambling up the wall and grabbing some pipes that ran near the ceiling. I laid my legs on his shoulders, and he pushed me back up against the wall, his head between my legs and his hands under my ass still, and sucked my cock into his mouth. He’s not a deep-throater, really, but it doesn’t matter when he knows just what to do with his tongue and lips and even teeth, and his thumbs were straying into my just-fucked ass and it really wasn’t going to take much anyway. I was just trying not to strangle him, and I was glad it was dark and I still had my shirt on. I let go, moaning, shouting his name as he sucked me off, and then I came into his mouth.
I’m not sure how he lowered me to the floor; my body was jelly at that point. I do remember him helping me back into my jeans, and I did his fly back up, and he led me back into the club, to the bar for a last drink and then close the tab and out the door and find a taxi. As the car raced through the streets, I laid my head on his shoulder, his arm draped around me, and watched the bridges go by.
friday: will you be my mr. right?
We woke up very late on Friday, but it didn’t matter as our time was still our own. With Eva and Tony’s civil ceremony the paparazzi had descended and we’d decided to make ourselves as scarce as possible. Besides, we only really had one day left; Saturday would be taken up by the wedding, Sunday by lunch in London with his Mum (because she wanted to hear all about the wedding) and getting me back to LA. So, another day just laying around in bed was called for. Besides, we’d chosen the hotel for its excellent views and in-house restaurant.
After breakfast, I’d fucked my pretty boy into the mattress, letting him come all over my hand and even licking a little bit of it off just to please him before cleaning us up. We bathed, dozed, lunched on fruit and cheese, listened to the radio and danced to the slow songs, argued over some item in the Times of London about home decorating, watched the coverage of the civil ceremony on CNN, and thought about what to order for dinner.
Then the room phone rang, and the concierge said he had a package for each of us, and should he send them up? A moment later, the bellboy knocked and handed Simon two wrapped parcels, both from stores we’d been to the day before.
“I bought you a present yesterday,” Simon said. “But I see you bought something for me as well.”
We opened the boxes at the same time. “Oh, Simon,” I said, holding up the gray-green cashmere sweater. I stood up, shrugging off my robe, and slipped the sweater over my head, then went into the bathroom to look in the full-length mirror. Simon came up behind me, wearing the deep blue sweater I’d bought him, which fit him much like the t-shirt from the night before, and had a very modest v-neck (for Simon).
“Do you like it?” he asked.
I looked at him in the mirror. “It’s gorgeous,” I said, and it was. It was the sort of medium gauge that could be worn alone or under a jacket, and the crew neck lay nicely on my throat. Never mind what the color did for my eyes. “I love it. Do you like yours?”
“Yes, it’s very nice. Very comfortable,” he added, pushing up at the sleeves.
“Will you wear it?”
“Yes, Ryan, I will wear it. But not in a Parisian hotel room in July,” he replied, slipping it back off and laying it neatly in his bag. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”
“I wanted to. And it just looked like you,” I said, folding my own sweater. “And this one looks like that first one you bought me. Remember, when you were wooing me? I still wear that sweater.”
Simon came up behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders and turning me around. “I remember. I remember that beard you had that fall, too. You nearly have one now.”
“You like it?” I asked, nuzzling into his neck.
“You know I do,” he replied.
“You’re getting a little burn on your cheeks,” I said, rubbing my fingertips across them, covered in a day’s stubble.
“I don’t care. But you know where I really like it?”
“Where?”
“On my thighs,” he muttered before kissing me.
I pulled back. “I can do that.” I reached down to pick up the phone. “Restaurant please? Thank you.” Simon, typically, was trying to distract me with kisses on my neck. “Yes, hello. How long does it take for a roast chicken? Forty-five minutes? Great, we’ll have that, and what does it come with? Ooh, croutons? Yes, can I ask for extra mushrooms? Thank you. And two green salads. Please, wine would be lovely. Just cheese and fruit, thanks. Oh, and sparkling water too please. No, just send it all up together. Thank you.” I hung up the phone and pulled Simon up for a proper kiss.
“A roast chicken? Bit boring, isn’t it?” he said, after a bit.
“Not in Paris,” I replied, licking along his collar bone. “Would you rather I ordered blue soup to start, orange pudding to end, and for a main course congealed green gunge?”
“No, that sounds like British food. It comes with just mushrooms?” he asked.
“Haricots verts and those little onions, too, but you have a bad habit of eating all my mushrooms, Cowell.”
“I like mushrooms,” he said, kissing me.
“Now, what was that you said about your thighs?” I asked, pushing him back onto the bed. He slid around, laying between the pillows, his legs spread slightly, and it was hot just to watch him displaying his body for me in his confident way. I slid between his legs, crawling toward him.
“Ryan, the condom?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Just, tell me when you’re going to come, okay?”
His eyes grew wide. “I will,” he agreed.
“And no hands on my head. I’m trusting you here.”
“I’d never trick you; you’d never do it again.” He grinned.
I shook my head—I love that his reasons I should trust him are because he’s too selfish to lie to me—and lay down, my arms around his legs. I nuzzled down to lick along the crease where his thigh met his body, letting my beard rub against his inner thigh, and making him moan. He wasn’t hard quite yet but he was getting there, so I lifted up his cock and slid my tongue along his balls. He tipped his hips up and I sucked one of them into my mouth, holding it there gently, rolling it with my tongue, and I could sense him fidgeting above me. My hand stroked him, slowly getting him harder, as I moved to the other ball and then the other thigh, and he stirred, moving his leg, rubbing it against my cheek.
“Are you clean?” I asked.
Simon poked his head up, tensing the stomach muscles that were there under that bit of softness. “We’re in Paris.”
I scowled. “How is that an answer?”
“We have a bidet, Ryan.”
“Oh, right,” I replied, then dipped my head down further to swipe my tongue across his little hole, and he hummed. Such a tight little hole, and when I stuck my pointed tongue inside it almost feels like it’s being sucked in. I lapped at him for a bit, more to turn him on than anything else, and when he felt nice and hard in my hand I looked up. “Is the lube up there? Where did it end up?”
Simon sat up, feeling around him, and I was shuffling through the sheets too, and then he said, “I think it’s still in the bathroom. Don’t bother with it.”
“But—“
“Give me your hand,” he said. I did, and he sucked my fingers into his mouth, slowly, one at a time, staring at me with those dark eyes of his, so hot that my other hand, which was stroking his cock, slowed as he distracted me. “That’s enough,” he said.
I had to actually shake my head to clear it, and then moved back down between his legs, sitting up on my knees now, and started loosening him with my fingers as I sucked his cock into my mouth. How different, without a condom, which I actually had never done before, never having been with anyone I trusted enough. There was a little salty tang of his pre-come, and the familiar ridges and veins felt sharper, and his foreskin, now not bound in latex, moved around more in my mouth. But his favorite places were still the same, as were my methods, and as I sucked more and more of him down my throat, I slid more of the length of my fingers up his ass, and I could feel him shuddering above me.
I glanced up and he was keeping his hands busy rubbing his tits, staring at me, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Rarely could I get him relaxed enough to give up this much control, and I was going to take good advantage of it. His ass felt tight and hot around my fingers, and I concentrated more on wriggling them around to rub his prostate than thrusting in and out, with the lack of lube. His cock felt hot and hard down my throat and I bounced up and down on it, pulling up until just the head rested in the roof of my mouth, then sucking the length of it in until my face was buried in his skin and I breathed in his musky scent.
Then he was brushing his hand over my hair to get my attention. “Ryan? Ryan, gonna come soon,” he panted.
I pulled my mouth off of him, licking along the shaft instead and using my other hand on him, and he came, shouting my name, spurting on his belly and dribbling down my hand, clenching around my fingers.
“Ryan, God, Ryan,” he said.
I licked the little bit of come that still clung to the head of his dick, and along his shaft again, cleaning him up a bit. Then I nuzzled into his thigh again, soothing him, and slowly pulled my fingers out of his ass. “Darlin’, I’m just going to go get the lube.”
He put a hand on my shoulder, lifting his head to look at me. “No, don’t go.”
I pushed up on one arm. “But—“
“Use my come,” he whispered. “Use my come and fuck me.”
“Jesus, Simon.” I pulled up on my knees and took my right hand, which had some of his come on it, and rubbed it on my dick, and it certainly was warmer than lube often was, but not nearly slippery enough, and I worried. I scooped up the come that had fallen on his tummy and near the base of his dick and spread that on me, too, and it was intimate in a way I’d never thought about before. It was kind of like, well, it was like he had made his own lube, like women do, and we didn’t need any artificial help, and there was something hot and real about that. Maybe Simon was right, about the whole come thing.
I slid into him very slowly, because he was so tight even with the loosening I’d already done, even though he’d already come, even though I’d fucked him pretty hard about seven hours before. I didn’t really want to fuck him hard this time, just wanted to be inside him, feel him all around me.
He was gorgeous, grasping at the sheets, his head pushing against the pillow, his skin still flushed slightly from his orgasm. “Ryan, Ryan,” he was muttering. “My come, fuck me, come inside me with my come.”
I was in, and I sank down on top of him, letting him wrap arms and legs around me, rubbing my hands along his chest. Like before, when I’d had my left hand shoved up his ass, I just wriggled and twisted, rubbing our bodies together rather than thrusting. He wanted it, yes, but I still didn’t want to hurt him. And he was so tight, anyway, and the awareness of what we were doing was so overwhelming. I could still taste him, his dick, his balls, his ass, his come in my mouth. My left hand had been in his ass and my right hand was still a little sticky with his come. I could smell our sweat and it was all so elemental, and I suddenly understood what he meant when he said dirty like it was a good thing.
He was writhing and whimpering beneath me, “please, Ryan, please, fuck me good.”
I could feel him shake a little as I ground against him, inside and out. “You like that?”
“Ungh, more, fuck me.”
I tweaked his nipples and he shuddered again. I’d never seen him like this, such a begging little mess, slack jawed and whining, and it made me want to fuck him harder. I pushed further into him, grinding harder, moving in rough little circles. “So good, darlin’.”
“Ryan,” he whispered, grabbing my ass, pushing me hard against him and keeping me there, “please, kiss me.”
I did, slipping my tongue into his willing mouth, my everything into his willing everything, and I felt him really shake and clench—could he really have come again?—and I came, too, shouting into his mouth, and he was whining into mine, and I’d never had it like that.
I collapsed onto his chest, slipping out of him, and his legs fell back onto the bed, though one arm stayed around me, his hand at the small of my back.
“Wow,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen you like that.”
“I’ve never been like that.”
I looked up, folding my hands on his chest and resting my chin on them. “Never, not with anyone?”
He shook his head. “You know you’re not like anyone, Ryan.”
I smiled, then glanced at the clock. “Food will be coming soon. Time enough for a quick shower though.”
“After that bath,” Simon said, “we might need new towels.”
“And new sheets. Wet spot doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I kissed his chest, then his lips, then slid down his body. There was one more thing I wanted to do, before we got all clean. I pushed at his legs, just a little, and then I took one swipe of my tongue at his ass, my come and his leaking out of his tender little hole.
“Oh God, Ryan. I never thought I’d see you do that.”
“You’re not like anyone either, Simon,” I said, smiling up at him. “You go start the shower, and I’ll call housekeeping.”
By the time we emerged from the shower we had a pile of clean fluffy towels, clean robes, a freshly made bed, and a roast chicken staying warm in its metal room service cart. We ate out on the balcony, looking out over the city lights, and there were plenty of mushrooms, thank you. He even threw some fruit in my mouth, “for old times’ sake,” he said, but it all felt like new times to me.
Title: My Summer of Love
Pairing: American Idol: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan took a holiday the week between A Concert for Diana in London and Eva Longoria's wedding in Paris. Three guesses as to what he was up to, and the first two don't count.
Length: 10,500 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: HUGE thanks to
dana_kujan and allysonsedai for their beta work and for a couple of key suggestions. The entire thing is NOT NC-17, though it does get dirty in places. Also, play spot the romcom reference! There will be one for each of the seven days. Headers taken from various Donna Summer songs.saturday: so you'd better treat her right
The great thing about having a friend who is very wealthy is that when you need to go to Europe, he just sends his plane for you. I’ve been completely spoiled by no security, no customs, not even having to go into the airport because the car goes directly to the tarmac. Not to mention being able to ride on a plane holding hands with Simon—when Randy is with us, which is often, that’s all he will allow, though we often sneak kisses when he’s in the bathroom or napping. When he’s not, well, let’s just say that I have cherished memories of getting my brains fucked out tens of thousands of feet above Oklahoma.
Randy, having a more flexible day job than I do, went to London earlier, so I had the plane to myself for the long flight from LA. I ate, prepared for my meetings on Monday, slept for most of it, but when awake I daydreamed about seeing Simon again. I didn’t touch myself, though I probably could have masturbated at least five times, because I didn’t care if I was a hair trigger when I got there, I wanted to save myself for my old man.
Tony, the copilot, woke me once we were over Ireland and the three of us ate a little breakfast in the cockpit before they focused on navigating the crowded British airspace and I washed up so as to look at least halfway decent when I arrived. Coming into City is the best, another thing that Simon has spoiled me with, and I got off the plane prescreened through customs and ready to slip into the car waiting to take me to him.
But I almost stopped short on the stair when I saw, through the open car door, a pair of shapely legs, crossed at the knee, the upper leg turning its ankle to flirtatiously dangle a pump from its black-stockinged toe. Why on earth Simon would send a girl to pick me up I didn’t know, other than that he was otherwise occupied and this was his idea of a joke. As we put my bags in the trunk I looked through the rear window at her jet-black hair in a pageboy cut, a black wrap around her shoulders, and cigarette smoke curling up out of the crack in the side window. Well, at least she was high class.
I was a little nervous as I ducked my head into the car, not sure what I would say to this woman, but I didn’t have to worry, as she spoke first.
“I’ve got a head for business and a bod for sin,” said a familiar low voice.
I almost hit my head on the roof of the car I was so startled. For there was Simon in black thigh-high stockings with lace at the top, a black satin teddy with demi-cups and some cleverly hidden tummy control, a black satiny wrap around his shoulders, and a black pageboy wig, with a slash of deep red lipstick on his thin lips. And it was so hot, so unexpected, I lost my ability to speak.
“Did I get the line right?” Simon asked, chucking his cigarette out the window.
“Yep,” I replied, sitting down slowly.
“And that’s the right film, isn’t it? With the legs in the car?”
“Yep.” Jim, Simon’s driver, was chuckling and shaking his head as he shut the door behind me. Damn him, he’d known all along.
“I was going to get a blond wig,” he said, sitting forward slightly to bring his head out of the shadows, “but it wasn’t really me. I got a red one, but I thought I’d save that until later. You mightn’t have recognized me.”
“No, I, uh, I like the black,” I stuttered.
“Well, I know how you love that film.”
“I do.” I ran a hand down his right leg, the one further from me, and he shifted, letting his legs fall further apart, and I could see the bulge that was barely contained by the crotch of the teddy. It made me even hotter to think of him, sitting here waiting for me and getting hard just thinking about my reaction.
“And I know how you love costumes.”
I pulled his shoes off and chucked them on the floor in front of him, pulling his left leg up on the seat so he was straddling me. “Simon.”
“Mmm?”
I leaned in further. “Shut up.”
He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. “Make me.”
I slipped my right hand around his neck and pulled him toward me, kissing him hard, and he kissed right back, hungrily, his lips sticky from the lipstick, and GOD but June had been a long damn month. My left hand was running up and down his right leg, sliding along the stockings, feeling the strong hairy leg under them. I let his lips go, my mouth moving down along his neck to his chest, where his nipples and the pockets of fat and muscle that sat behind them were just barely encased by the demi cups of the teddy.
“I thought about shaving,” he said, his voice hitching as I seized on a nipple, “but it was too much effort.”
“No, it’s hotter that you didn’t,” I replied, and it was, the flash of strong hairy thigh above the top of his stockings and the chest hair rising out of the demi cups making it all look so perverse. “It wouldn’t have been you.” My right hand had slid down along his neck and shoulder to play with the tit I wasn’t sucking.
“Can’t have that,” he agreed, gasping.
I pulled back. “If there were time, I’d fuck you right here in this car,” I said, and his eyes flashed at that, “but there isn’t.” I sat back, away from him, back against the back seat. “But if you’re going to dress like a hooker, you’ll have to earn your fee.”
Simon’s mouth drew back into a satisfied smile and he batted his eyelashes coquettishly as he stroked my thigh and asked, “What would you like, Mr. Seacrest?”
Oh, I liked this character. “I’d like you to get down on your knees and suck me off, and you’d better finish before we get to your house. I’d hate Jim to have to wait for us.” I spread my legs further, pushing my denim-clad crotch forward. I was so hard I knew it would be no problem for him; I just hoped I could hold back at least until he’d got me into his mouth.
Simon lost no time sliding down onto the floor in front of me, unzipping my jeans and reaching in to pull my cock out through the fly in my Calvins. He licked at the precome on the swollen head, then opened wide and sucked me down, wrapping one hand around the base of my cock and stroking my thigh with the other.
“Use a lot of lip,” I said, putting my hands on his shoulders. “I want to see that ring of red on my dick while I’m fucking you later.”
Simon moaned, sucking harder, and I was doing everything I could not to come before he got his own pleasure out of the act. But it had been so long since a wet mouth had been wrapped around my cock—Shana is a great girl, but giving head she will not do, even with reciprocity—and he was so yummy in his outfit and so adorable with his romcom reference and I loved him so and it was all too much to think about, and the silky hair of the wig was brushing against my cock and I was shouting and coming hard into his mouth and he was sucking even harder, sucking the come right out of me, like he does.
I slumped down into the seat and he pulled back, grinning, pleased with himself, licking his lips and absentmindedly rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing his already streaked lipstick onto his cheek. He looked seedy, debauched, like some aging junkie trannie streetwalker rather than the high priced call girl he’d resembled when I’d arrived.
“Come here,” I said, and he sat up, into my arms and on my lap, and we made out, because, come be dammed, I couldn’t not kiss him. I was getting used to the taste, and anyway, he’d swallowed most of it, so it was more like he’d been sprinkled with thai fish sauce or something. “You do love me, don’t you?” I asked.
“You know it, “he said, beaming.
When we arrived at his house, he certainly acted like a girl, holding his pumps in one hand, fingers in the heels, and handing his wrap to me to carry up the stairs from the garage to the master bedroom. Without the heels of the pumps or his usual boots, and with me still in shoes, I was suddenly taller than him, and I felt strangely protective and gentlemanly. It was sexy, watching his slim ass move back and forth in all that black satin, and I wondered if we could get a bunny costume for him, as a tail would have been a nice addition. I made a mental note to get some silk pajamas, a dressing gown and a pipe once I was back in LA.
“Sheila left food for us in the pantry,” Simon said, tossing his shoes into the closet. “I don’t plan on letting you out of this house until the morning. I’m just telling you that right now.”
“Sounds good to me,” I replied, putting his wrap on the back of a chair and slipping out of my jacket and shoes.
Simon sat down on the edge of the bed, then slid back. “You know why I picked this lingerie?”
“The tummy control panel?” I asked, smirking at him as I unbuttoned my shirt.
“No, Ryan,” Simon said, but he couldn’t help but smile, and even flush a little as he stared at my naked chest. “It’s got snaps at the crotch.”
“How convenient for both of us,” I said, slipping the jeans I’d never bothered to refasten down over my hips and pushing off boxer briefs and socks with them.
If Simon was surprised that I was hard again already, he didn’t show it, merely looking me up and down with his usual appreciative leer. Then, as if snapping out of a reverie, his expression softened, becoming dare I say, slutty. He tucked his head down and looked up at me from under eyebrows and lashes. “So what was that you said about fucking me?”
“Just you wait,” I growled, jumping on the bed to claim my man.
sunday: they said it on the air
Of course I’d been in London with Simon before, met some of his friends, heck, just a few weeks before I’d been at the taping of that bio thing. Usually at these things Randy was around, or Simon was so busy that he needed to leave me to my own devices, knowing that I could certainly handle myself at such a gathering. But at the Concert for Diana, even though Randy was there, Simon wouldn’t let me leave his side. He shepherded me around, both before and after we introduced Nelly Furtado, like some weird combination of protégé and boyfriend. Now, I’m not his protégé and I certainly didn’t need him to introduce me to any artists, not to mention that we aren’t open about our romance to any of these people.
And yet, despite the inability to place exactly how others saw us, I found spending the day attached to his hip to be surprisingly natural. Maybe this relationship is based on something other than sex after all.
We left the after party quite late. I lay back against the back seat of the car, fidgety, my internal clock still off despite the long day and Simon’s efforts to exhaust me the day before.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah, it was a good day.”
“What did you think of the princes, then?”
I smiled. “They were charming and handsome, like you’d think a prince would be.”
“They seemed to like you, though with royals you can never tell.”
I cocked my head. What an odd thing to say! Why would he care if two princes I’d probably never meet again—“Simon?”
“Mmm?”
“Were you showing me off today?”
“What?”
“Why were you keeping me by your side and introducing me to everyone you could find?”
“Well, you know, you do have a weakness for accents,” Simon said, “what with that whole Hugh Grant obsession. I wasn’t sure I wanted to set you loose.”
“Right, because that’s the only thing I love about you, your accent.”
“Well, you are young and talented and good looking—“
“And you’re wealthy and powerful and vain as hell so don’t even give me that.”
“You do have an alarming penchant for inappropriate flirtation when left to your own devices, Ryan.”
“Whatever.”
“You were certainly flirting with David Furnish.”
“Please, he is so married, and besides, at the time you were giggling in the corner with his husband! What were you two talking about, anyway?”
“You of course.”
“Of course.”
“Elton wants to give you a nickname.”
“Oh? What?”
“Meg, you know, for Meg Ryan.”
“Queen of the romcoms! I love it! Though I’m not sure how well it goes with Gladys. I don’t even understand that; you don’t look like a Gladys to me.”
“Sharon’s mind works in mysterious ways.”
“Well, were they impressed, at least?”
“My friends? Well, you know, you can be rather impressive when you put your mind to it.”
“Me? Oh, I’m just a boy standing in front of another boy, asking him to love him.”
“Again with the Hugh Grant!”
“Come on, Simon, you know you’re the only man in England I’d look twice at.”
Simon laughed. “That’s not true.”
“Okay so that’s not true, but you’re the only one who would put up with me with such good humor.”
“You are very high maintenance.”
“As are you,” I replied. “I was thinking, when I was talking to David, he’s so low key. Can you really have two divas in one relationship?”
“I don’t see why not. We seem to manage.”
“He said blithely.”
“Do you have any complaints?”
I thought for a moment, more for effect than anything else. “No important ones.”
“There you go then,” he said, and put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer to him. He lay his head back on the seat, closing his eyes. “Long day.”
I cuddled into his shoulder, playing with the buttons of his shirt. “You’re still going to fuck me when we get home, right?” I asked.
He opened one eye. “Yes, but then straight to sleep. Work day tomorrow.”
“Yes, Gladys,” I said, giggling.
Simon replied by thwapping me in the head. But he did fuck me later, so you know, it all balances out.
monday: one of a million admiring eyes
I’d stacked up my business on Monday and Tuesday so we could have a few days to ourselves in Paris before the wedding. So after some coffee I bolted out of the house to solid meetings from breakfast through the late afternoon. I would just about have time to hop back to Simon’s to change before going out to a dinner BBC was hosting to celebrate the sixth season of Idol, taking advantage of Randy and me being in town and Nigel’s show taking a week off for the American holiday.
But when I stepped out of the bathroom after my shower, I found Simon sitting in the bedroom, smoking, and he wasn’t alone. “What’s going on?” I asked.
Simon grinned, in his self-satisfied way. “I’m dressing you for the evening,” he said. “Tom is a stylist and he’s brought some things over for us to choose from.”
“Us? What am I, your kept boy?”
“You call me ‘old man.’”
“You are an old man. And I can dress myself, you know.”
He laughed! “Yeah, right.”
I sighed, and reached into the drawer Simon had cleared for me to grab a pair of Calvins. “Fine, but if there’s a brown polka dotted dress in there with a matching hat and gloves I’m not wearing it.”
“Ryan, do I look like Richard Gere?”
“No. He’s aging better than you are.”
“Ha-ha. Off you go.”
I came back out in the first of the four outfits. “You have got to be kidding me with these black jeans.”
He looked up. “Oooh, love those.”
“I can’t sit down in these. I can’t even breathe.”
“Turn round. Oh, but they look good on your arse.”
“This t-shirt keeps riding up.”
“I know.”
“I can’t even wear anything under them.”
“Even better.”
“Simon, you can see the head of my dick!”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You might want to see it, but do you want everyone else to see it?”
“Oh,” he said. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
I growled and stalked back into the bathroom to put on the next outfit, which was entirely ridiculous.
“I don’t even know what to say about this.” He had put me in tight black trousers, a tight white tank, black suspenders, and a black hat.
“I thought your arms and shoulders would look good.”
“Yeah, but the hat?”
“Hmm. Perhaps not.”
“If you want me to play Cuban street hustler when we’re alone, that’s fine, buy it, but I’m not wearing it tonight.”
“You’ll do that?”
“Sure.”
“Right, Tom, wrap it up. Next outfit.”
I came back out. “I think I could have bought this myself.” I was in an excellent pair of dark jeans that fit me like a glove and a deep teal button down shirt.
“Yes, but you’re always wearing waistcoats and they make you look smaller.”
“Waistcoats?”
Tom leaned in an whispered to me, “He means vests.”
“Oh! Um, I think they make the outfit less casual.”
“What’s the problem with casual?”
I stared at him. “Yeah, I don’t know why I even said that to you.” I rolled my eyes.
“Well, I think we’re done. I don’t need to see the last one. Let’s go,” Simon said, standing up.
“And you’re wearing that?” I asked, pointing to his usual too-long too-loose jeans and strangely fitting sweater. “When do I get to shop for you?”
“Ryan.”
“I just think you would look better in clothes that actually fit you.”
“Ryan, you know I don’t care for people looking at me.”
“Yeah, right.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “I mean, not like that. Not like a girl.”
“People look at me like a girl?”
“You put a lot of effort into your appearance, Ryan. You know how attractive you are and how people look at you. I would rather people listen to me. And I’d rather just be comfortable.”
I sighed. “Tom, can you give us a minute?”
Tom nodded, fading back into the hallway.
I turned to him, stepping forward and putting my hands on his shoulders. “I know how you like looking at me, but I like looking at you, too, you know.”
“Yes,” Simon said, putting his arms around my waist, “but you’re in love with me, as you keep pointing out.”
“I liked looking at you before I loved you.”
Simon just shrugged. “No accounting for taste.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, but can you at least start getting your jeans hemmed? All that fabric pooling around your ankles just makes you look shorter.”
“I’ll think about it,” Simon said, and gave me a quick kiss. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”
As I followed him down the stairs I asked, “Wasn’t there a fourth outfit?”
“Oh, you don’t want to try that one,” Simon said.
“Why, what did it look like?”
“Er, I believe there were shorts and a sleeveless shirt involved.”
And I discovered that behind someone on the stairs was my new favorite position for strangling them. You get the leverage from the height, and they can’t see to defend against you. Works really well.
tuesday: i saw your love at twenty paces
Tuesday night Simon asked me to dress up (and had trusted me to do it myself, thanks) and meet him for dinner at a one of his favorite restaurants. When I walked up, the maitre d’ was waiting at the door to take me through the closed restaurant into the back garden, which was decorated with lights. Off to the side was a table set for two with a red-checkered tablecloth and two bottles of Chianti, one of which served as a candlestick. Music played from a hidden stereo, the type you might have heard at an Italian restaurant in the fifties. And there was Simon, standing next to the table in a gray suit with a white dress shirt—unbuttoned, of course.
“Hey,” I said, giving him a kiss. “What’s all this?”
“Well,” he replied, pulling out my chair for me, “we won’t be able to dance at the wedding, so I thought having a nice dinner would make up for it. Besides, on the actual day we’ll be in San Diego surrounded by press and producers.”
It was hard to keep a straight face, because I knew the answer to my question, but I had to make him say it. “The actual day of what, Simon?”
He scowled at me, but I didn’t care. I could be the girl sometimes, too. “Our anniversary, Ryan. Five years ought to count for something.”
“They do,” I said, smiling. “But you’ll have to wait for your presents, because I’m having them made, and they aren’t ready yet.”
“They?” he asked, grinning greedily. “Are you expecting five years of gifts from me, Ryan?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say no.”
Simon smiled. “Good to know.”
“So where are the menus?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ve taken care of it.” He signaled the waiter, who walked back into the darkened restaurant. “Tell me about your day,” he said as he poured me a tumbler of wine. So over Chianti, and then a green salad with breadsticks, we went over my meetings and his, and our plans to go to Paris the next day.
Then the music swelled a bit, and a waiter came in with a large platter of spaghetti and meatballs and set it down between us. I looked up at Simon, and he was wearing a grey suit after all. I couldn’t help but grin.
“Your tail is wagging,” Simon said. “But if you think I’m going to push a meatball to you with my nose, you’re sadly mistaken.”
I laughed. “But you’ll do this, won’t you?” I asked, pulling a strand of spaghetti out of the pile with my fork.
After dinner we danced, Simon leading me all around the garden. “You’re a better dancer than I would have predicted.”
“Ballroom dance classes as a boy.”
I pulled back from him a bit to look him in the eyes. “Really?”
“Mother insisted, and besides, that’s where the girls were.” He spun me around.
“Ah, that sounds more like you.” I listened to the music for a bit, then said, “I thought you didn’t like the American Songbook.”
“I like it fine. I just don’t think it has anything to do with being a pop star. Why, did you expect some other music?”
“Well, I’ll admit, there was a moment after they cleared the plates that I wondered if Il Divo was going to come out into the garden and start serenading us.”
Simon looked off to the side and cleared his throat. “They’re in Rotterdam. They just finished their tour.”
“Aww, ya big cheeseball,” I said, bringing our clasped hands to my lips.
“You wouldn’t have liked it?” he asked.
“Well, for the record, Il Divo isn’t really my thing,” I replied. “But I would have been pleased that you went to all that trouble for me.”
“You really think I’m cheesy?”
“Simon, you wear shirts unbuttoned half way to your navel. You used to wear very strong cologne until I broke you of that habit. All you need to look like Tom Jones are tight trousers and a medallion.”
“Nothing wrong with looking like Tom Jones, Ryan.”
“Well, not in 1967, or for about ten minutes in 1988, or if you’re Tom Jones. But you are not Tom Jones.”
He let go of my hand, sliding his behind my shoulder, and I did the same. “Is this cheesy?” he asked, and suddenly dipped me, kissed me, and then pulled me back upright.
“Um,” I said, trying to collect my thoughts. “Well, I never said I had a problem with your cheesiness.”
Simon laughed. “I love you, Ryan Seacrest.”
I smiled back. “I know.”
wednesday: waiting for some lover to call
Wednesday morning we were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee when Simon’s mobile rang. The call wasn’t pleasant; Simon was scowling and shouting and asking “why can’t people bloody well do their jobs without my telling them how?” He hung up and tapped his fingers on the table.
“Well?” I asked.
He looked out the kitchen window. “I can’t even get into it; it’s too much of a mess and none of it would have happened if people had been doing what I’m paying them to do.” He looked at me. “But I’ll have to clean it up, and that means another day in London.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. Not your fault. I was going to play tourist in Paris, so I’ll just play tourist here.”
Simon squeezed my hand. “Thanks. Come by for lunch? I’ll need the break.”
“Of course.”
As soon as he walked out I put a call in to his assistant. “Carol? It’s Ryan. I need your help with something.”
After a nice morning in the portrait gallery, I went by the little place Carol had recommended and picked up my order, then headed to Simon’s office. I tapped at his door and he waved me in, though he was shouting at someone on the phone. I closed the door, locking it behind me.
“Well you tell him he’d better get it right and take that bit out, or he won’t be getting anything else from me. Yeah, I mean it. Peter, when’s the last time you heard me say something I didn’t mean? Right, well, we’ll see, won’t we? Call me when you know.” He hung up, then rang Carol at the desk.
“No interruptions,” Carol said, before he even started talking.
“Thanks Carol,” he said, and hung up. Then he looked up at me as though he hadn’t really seen me since I came in. “What’s this?” he asked.
“You know, Jackie Kennedy used to bring Jack lunch in a picnic basket when he was in Congress,” I said, putting my own basket down on the conference table in Simon’s office. “But I think she mostly did it to remind the girls in the office that no matter what happened after hours she was still the wife.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?” he asked, smirking.
“No. I’m not threatened by any of the men here, and I really don’t care what women you’re fucking as long as you’re being safe.” I pulled out his roast beef sandwich and vinegar crisps, my cobb salad, a seltzer for me and a lemon soda for him, two cookies, and a few other things wrapped in a sheet. “But before we eat, what time is it?”
“Noon, why?”
“What were you doing at this time a week ago?” I lay a sheet down on the floor, folded in half.
“Calling you, of course. What are you doing?”
“Taking off my clothes. I sleep in the nude when I know you’re calling.” I laid my trousers, shirt, and underpants on the back of a chair, my shoes and socks underneath it.
“But you’re here. I don’t have to call you.”
I pulled the dildo and lube from a corner of the sheet. “You said you wanted to know what I did with this,” I said, holding it up for him.
“God, Ryan,” Simon said, standing up.
“No, no,” I said, holding up a hand. “Talk to me.”
“You’re hard.”
“When you look at me like that it’s tough not to be. But in the morning when you call I usually am. Now, talk to me, like when we’re apart. Do you call me from your desk?”
“Yes,” he replied, reaching down into one of his drawers and pulling out a tube of lube and a small towel. “I sit on the edge of my desk and look out the window, but I’d rather look at you.” He came around to the other side of the desk and sat on it.
“Talk to me.”
Simon closed his eyes for a second. “Good morning darling. Already hard for me?”
“Good morning. Of course I am. What do you want me to do about it?”
Simon chuckled, staring down at me. His hand was rubbing against his crotch. “Nothing. Don’t touch it yet. I’m going to fuck you, so you should get ready for that.”
I squeezed some lube on my fingers. “Okay, I’m sticking my fingers up my ass,” I said, getting on hands and knees to do so.
“I love watching you do that,” Simon said, unbuttoning his jeans. “I love how you arch your back.”
“I can get them in further,” I said, sliding in a third finger. I wasn’t really ready for it, but I liked the rough feeling, that little edge of pain. “And it feels good.”
“Get ready because I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he said, pulling his cock out and rubbing a bit of lube on it. He laid the towel across his thighs.
“I like it hard,” I said, rubbing lube on the dildo. “I’m ready.”
“Good,” he said, grabbing his cock with a firm hand and stroking. “God, you feel so good.”
I slid in the dildo, a little at a time. “I love how you fuck me darlin’.”
“Oh, God, that’s hot,” Simon said, looking at me. I couldn’t look away from him, either, stroking himself like that, his dark red cock sticking out of his trousers while he was fully dressed making it even kinkier.
But I wanted to give him a good show, so I arched my back, pushing the dildo in and out. “Fuck me harder, darlin’,” I said, panting.
“So hard you’ll feel it all day long,” he said, stroking himself harder. “You’re so t-tight. Move for me Ryan.”
I did, pushing the dildo in and out faster, balancing on my other hand, thrusting my untouched cock into the air. “You like that?” I asked, moaning. He focused his dark, sexy stare on my ass, and his fist was around his cock. God! That I did that to him made me so hot.
And then we were just moaning, and he grunted, and came on his hand and the towel. I could tell then how practiced he was at this routine, as he didn’t get a drop on his clothing. “Don’t move,” he said, kneeling down in front of me and holding out his hand as though I was a dog. “C’mon Ryan. Try it.”
I was still panting, still hard, still with a dildo in my ass. I’d taken my hand off it so I was on both hands and knees. I looked up at him and his eyes were still so dark and I wanted to do anything, so I stuck out my tongue and licked one little pearl off his forefinger. His hands were damp with sweat and a little sticky with lube, but the come was bitter and salty in my mouth. He moaned, watching me, and it wasn’t so bad, really, though I didn’t want all of it. I pointed my tongue, licking a trail through the bigger blob of it on his palm, and he smiled at me.
“That’s enough for now,” he said, wiping his hand off on the towel, and I was a bit relieved. Though I knew he wouldn’t force me to do anything, I didn’t want to disappoint him, either. “Roll over.”
I lay on my back, tipping up my ass since the dildo was still sticking out of it, and Simon leaned down to suck me, grabbing the dildo in his own hand and fucking me good with it. I grabbed the corner of the sheet and stuffed it in my mouth to keep from shouting, and I didn’t last long, coming hard down his throat. He sucked me clean, letting me go with a soft slurp, and pulled the dildo out of me. He slid up and gave me a kiss, and I could taste my own come this time. It was different, not as bitter but maybe saltier?
I have to admit, it was sort of sweet, his little mission to get me to love it the way he does, and I was getting more used to it, though I still couldn’t imagine enjoying it shooting down my throat or leaking out of my ass. We’re monogamous—well, except for Shana and Terri, but we’re very safe with them for a lot of reasons—so it isn’t about that. I just always thought it was sort of gross and drippy. But it turns him on so much, and he did dress up for me, so I started to think about what I could do for him.
He stood up, grabbing the dildo and the towel and walking into his private loo. “I’ll wash these up, you get dressed.”
I got myself up off the floor, folding the sheet back up and putting it and the lube into my shoulder bag. I dressed, mostly, then joined Simon to wash my hands.
“If you eat lunch like that,” he said, looking at my bare feet and unbuttoned, untucked shirt, “I’ll have to jump you before you go.”
“Sounds like an incentive to me,” I said. “Mess cleaned up?”
“Well, the towel will still need to be laundered,” he said. “I do use a new one each time.”
“No, I meant—“
“Oh! Yes. I think I’ll only be here a few hours more.”
“So I was thinking, you know, I had wanted to have champagne and watch the sun set from the Eiffel Tower tonight,” I began.
“I know. This lovely lunchtime performance aside, I wish we were in Paris.”
“Forget Paris. I thought we could have it on the London Eye tonight instead?”
He grinned at me. “Now who’s cheesy?”
“I do what I can,” I said, leaning over to kiss him.
thursday: do you wanna get down?
We were finally in Paris, and it was a bit drizzly but who cares because it’s Paris. We’d left at an obscene hour in the morning after an early night, and had coffee and croissant upon arrival. After checking in, and getting a lovely welcome gift from the happy couple and an itinerary for Saturday and various recommendations, we headed out into the city, enjoying the relative anonymity to shop, see a couple of museums, have a sandwich on the plaza outside the Louvre, just be real tourists. We had a lovely dinner at a tiny place Simon’s brother had highly recommended, and a pretty walk back to our little left bank hotel. It was dreamy and romantic and wonderful.
“You know what I’d like to do tonight?” I asked.
“Fuck?” he asked, as usual bringing my head down out of the clouds faster than you can say boo.
“Well, yeah, but that isn’t what I’m talking about.”
“So what are you talking about?”
“I want to go out dancing.”
“Ryan, we just danced the other night, and where could we go and dance together?”
“Not like that. Clubbing. I want to go clubbing.”
“A gay club? Would that really be any better?”
I stopped walking, standing in one of those little spots next to the river where you see young Parisians making out. “A friend gave me the name of a club where anything goes and no one cares. It’s mixed, gay and straight and whateverthehell else. I want to dress you up and go there and dance and grind until we’re covered in sweat and hard as rocks and then go into the back and have you fuck me up against the wall until we’re both screaming.”
“You are so sexy when you get all determined like this,” he said.
“I know,” I replied, smirking.
“Okay, we’ll go, so long as at the end of the evening you aren’t on the roof wailing at the moon like a banshee.”
I smiled. “No, because I won’t be drinking champagne.”
“You will at the wedding.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll keep me in line. You always do.”
We started walking again. Then, as if he’d just realized what I’d said, Simon said, “You’re dressing me up?”
I chuckled. “What do you think I was doing yesterday afternoon while you were working? I went to that personal shopper of yours and got you some things.”
“That Tom! I knew he’d be a turncoat!”
Later, after I’d dressed him in jeans that actually fit—and my God, what they did for his ass was obscene—and a dark blue t-shirt with a regular scoop neck that was tight across his shoulders, arms and pecs but draped nicely over his not-so-firm midsection. His jeans were loose enough that he could put his cigs into them, and we didn’t need more than that and cash anyway. Well, not much more.
The club had two levels, the top one looking more pop-ish, with lots of perfectly nice people dancing perfectly nicely to perfectly nice songs. I grabbed Simon’s hand and led him downstairs where they were playing a mix of funk and techno, and the crowd, while not packed, was doing plenty of writhing.
“This is what you wanted?” Simon shouted into my ear.
“You bet!” I replied, and pulled him into the middle of the floor. Once there, I pulled him close, dancing up on him as I’d always wanted to, almost since I’d met him, and he did the same, getting the hang of it very quickly, and we danced together, at least one hand proprietarily on the other at all times, no eyes for anyone else, alone in the middle of a sea of people. We’d go get a soda, sit for a minute or two, then plunge back onto a dance floor that, like many underground clubs, never was more than pleasantly crowded.
I don’t know how long we’d been dancing before Simon finally leaned in and said, “I need you now.”
I grinned and kissed him, and he led us off the dance floor into the back hall near the bathrooms. There were couples all over the place, straight, gay, lesbian, doing whatever, in various stages of undress, though you couldn’t hear their moans over the music. Simon wasted no time, pushing me up against the wall, hard, and crushing me with his kiss, his hands grabbing my ass to pull me into him.
God, I love it when he gets like this. Our t-shirts rode up as we rubbed against each other, and I could feel his softer, furry belly against my stomach. My hands moved up from his waist to his shoulders. “You ready?” he asked.
“God, yes,” I said, kissing him again.
He moved his hands to my crotch, unfastening my jeans and sliding them down over my legs, and as I stepped out of them he held them off the icky floor. He pulled the condom and lube out of the pockets, then flung them around my shoulders. A little weird, standing in a public place in a t-shirt, underwear, and shoes and socks, but whatever, I’d done it on television more than once.
I unbuttoned the fly of his jeans, pulling out his hard cock and slipping a condom onto it before rubbing lovely lube all over it. He put the lube in his pocket, I hopped up and wrapped my legs around his waist, and he lifted me up, pushing my back up against the wall again. Then I tried to relax my ass while still holding on with my legs and back as he reached under me, pushing my underwear aside. “A thong, Ryan? Who’s cheesy now?”
I smiled. “Just for this occasion.”
“Why not just forgo pants entirely?”
“I can’t wear jeans without underwear! Not dancing!” My breath hitched as his fingers found their target, circling my little hole and then sliding in, one at a time.
“Aww, is your skin too sensitive?” he asked, mocking me even as he finger fucked me. “Poor little Ryan’s balls. Or is that poor Ryan’s little balls?”
“Shut … up,” I gasped, and he laughed.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, putting the lube away and pushing me up a bit more. I reached down, quickly, with one hand to position him, and then we let gravity do most of the work.
I hissed at the pleasure-pain of penetration, trying to relax and let him into me as I slid down, impaling myself on his cock, tightening my grip on him with my legs.
“Ooooh,” he said. “This was a very good idea.” His hands were under me now, grabbing my ass, and he pushed me firmly back against the wall and started thrusting.
I was moaning, licking his ear, moving along with him and glad that the t-shirt was protecting my back from the wall of the hallway. It was going to be fast and hard but I welcomed it, welcomed him taking me roughly in the dingy back hallway of some dodgy Parisian club.
And then he was coming, digging his head into my shoulder, shaking my body with his last desperate thrusts before slamming me hard into the wall. He looked up at me, out of breath, and I ran my hands across his face, brushing some of the sweat off his forehead, and kissed him, softly as I could.
“Can you still hold me?” I asked. “How are your legs?”
“I’m all right,” he said. “Why?”
I grinned. “Push me up.”
“Up where?”
“Your shoulders. Push me up!” I demanded, pressing down on his shoulders.
He looked confused for a moment, and then he smiled, slowly, lustily. “Ready?”
I nodded, and let go with my legs, and he pushed up on my ass and I pushed down on his shoulders, scrambling up the wall and grabbing some pipes that ran near the ceiling. I laid my legs on his shoulders, and he pushed me back up against the wall, his head between my legs and his hands under my ass still, and sucked my cock into his mouth. He’s not a deep-throater, really, but it doesn’t matter when he knows just what to do with his tongue and lips and even teeth, and his thumbs were straying into my just-fucked ass and it really wasn’t going to take much anyway. I was just trying not to strangle him, and I was glad it was dark and I still had my shirt on. I let go, moaning, shouting his name as he sucked me off, and then I came into his mouth.
I’m not sure how he lowered me to the floor; my body was jelly at that point. I do remember him helping me back into my jeans, and I did his fly back up, and he led me back into the club, to the bar for a last drink and then close the tab and out the door and find a taxi. As the car raced through the streets, I laid my head on his shoulder, his arm draped around me, and watched the bridges go by.
friday: will you be my mr. right?
We woke up very late on Friday, but it didn’t matter as our time was still our own. With Eva and Tony’s civil ceremony the paparazzi had descended and we’d decided to make ourselves as scarce as possible. Besides, we only really had one day left; Saturday would be taken up by the wedding, Sunday by lunch in London with his Mum (because she wanted to hear all about the wedding) and getting me back to LA. So, another day just laying around in bed was called for. Besides, we’d chosen the hotel for its excellent views and in-house restaurant.
After breakfast, I’d fucked my pretty boy into the mattress, letting him come all over my hand and even licking a little bit of it off just to please him before cleaning us up. We bathed, dozed, lunched on fruit and cheese, listened to the radio and danced to the slow songs, argued over some item in the Times of London about home decorating, watched the coverage of the civil ceremony on CNN, and thought about what to order for dinner.
Then the room phone rang, and the concierge said he had a package for each of us, and should he send them up? A moment later, the bellboy knocked and handed Simon two wrapped parcels, both from stores we’d been to the day before.
“I bought you a present yesterday,” Simon said. “But I see you bought something for me as well.”
We opened the boxes at the same time. “Oh, Simon,” I said, holding up the gray-green cashmere sweater. I stood up, shrugging off my robe, and slipped the sweater over my head, then went into the bathroom to look in the full-length mirror. Simon came up behind me, wearing the deep blue sweater I’d bought him, which fit him much like the t-shirt from the night before, and had a very modest v-neck (for Simon).
“Do you like it?” he asked.
I looked at him in the mirror. “It’s gorgeous,” I said, and it was. It was the sort of medium gauge that could be worn alone or under a jacket, and the crew neck lay nicely on my throat. Never mind what the color did for my eyes. “I love it. Do you like yours?”
“Yes, it’s very nice. Very comfortable,” he added, pushing up at the sleeves.
“Will you wear it?”
“Yes, Ryan, I will wear it. But not in a Parisian hotel room in July,” he replied, slipping it back off and laying it neatly in his bag. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”
“I wanted to. And it just looked like you,” I said, folding my own sweater. “And this one looks like that first one you bought me. Remember, when you were wooing me? I still wear that sweater.”
Simon came up behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders and turning me around. “I remember. I remember that beard you had that fall, too. You nearly have one now.”
“You like it?” I asked, nuzzling into his neck.
“You know I do,” he replied.
“You’re getting a little burn on your cheeks,” I said, rubbing my fingertips across them, covered in a day’s stubble.
“I don’t care. But you know where I really like it?”
“Where?”
“On my thighs,” he muttered before kissing me.
I pulled back. “I can do that.” I reached down to pick up the phone. “Restaurant please? Thank you.” Simon, typically, was trying to distract me with kisses on my neck. “Yes, hello. How long does it take for a roast chicken? Forty-five minutes? Great, we’ll have that, and what does it come with? Ooh, croutons? Yes, can I ask for extra mushrooms? Thank you. And two green salads. Please, wine would be lovely. Just cheese and fruit, thanks. Oh, and sparkling water too please. No, just send it all up together. Thank you.” I hung up the phone and pulled Simon up for a proper kiss.
“A roast chicken? Bit boring, isn’t it?” he said, after a bit.
“Not in Paris,” I replied, licking along his collar bone. “Would you rather I ordered blue soup to start, orange pudding to end, and for a main course congealed green gunge?”
“No, that sounds like British food. It comes with just mushrooms?” he asked.
“Haricots verts and those little onions, too, but you have a bad habit of eating all my mushrooms, Cowell.”
“I like mushrooms,” he said, kissing me.
“Now, what was that you said about your thighs?” I asked, pushing him back onto the bed. He slid around, laying between the pillows, his legs spread slightly, and it was hot just to watch him displaying his body for me in his confident way. I slid between his legs, crawling toward him.
“Ryan, the condom?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Just, tell me when you’re going to come, okay?”
His eyes grew wide. “I will,” he agreed.
“And no hands on my head. I’m trusting you here.”
“I’d never trick you; you’d never do it again.” He grinned.
I shook my head—I love that his reasons I should trust him are because he’s too selfish to lie to me—and lay down, my arms around his legs. I nuzzled down to lick along the crease where his thigh met his body, letting my beard rub against his inner thigh, and making him moan. He wasn’t hard quite yet but he was getting there, so I lifted up his cock and slid my tongue along his balls. He tipped his hips up and I sucked one of them into my mouth, holding it there gently, rolling it with my tongue, and I could sense him fidgeting above me. My hand stroked him, slowly getting him harder, as I moved to the other ball and then the other thigh, and he stirred, moving his leg, rubbing it against my cheek.
“Are you clean?” I asked.
Simon poked his head up, tensing the stomach muscles that were there under that bit of softness. “We’re in Paris.”
I scowled. “How is that an answer?”
“We have a bidet, Ryan.”
“Oh, right,” I replied, then dipped my head down further to swipe my tongue across his little hole, and he hummed. Such a tight little hole, and when I stuck my pointed tongue inside it almost feels like it’s being sucked in. I lapped at him for a bit, more to turn him on than anything else, and when he felt nice and hard in my hand I looked up. “Is the lube up there? Where did it end up?”
Simon sat up, feeling around him, and I was shuffling through the sheets too, and then he said, “I think it’s still in the bathroom. Don’t bother with it.”
“But—“
“Give me your hand,” he said. I did, and he sucked my fingers into his mouth, slowly, one at a time, staring at me with those dark eyes of his, so hot that my other hand, which was stroking his cock, slowed as he distracted me. “That’s enough,” he said.
I had to actually shake my head to clear it, and then moved back down between his legs, sitting up on my knees now, and started loosening him with my fingers as I sucked his cock into my mouth. How different, without a condom, which I actually had never done before, never having been with anyone I trusted enough. There was a little salty tang of his pre-come, and the familiar ridges and veins felt sharper, and his foreskin, now not bound in latex, moved around more in my mouth. But his favorite places were still the same, as were my methods, and as I sucked more and more of him down my throat, I slid more of the length of my fingers up his ass, and I could feel him shuddering above me.
I glanced up and he was keeping his hands busy rubbing his tits, staring at me, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Rarely could I get him relaxed enough to give up this much control, and I was going to take good advantage of it. His ass felt tight and hot around my fingers, and I concentrated more on wriggling them around to rub his prostate than thrusting in and out, with the lack of lube. His cock felt hot and hard down my throat and I bounced up and down on it, pulling up until just the head rested in the roof of my mouth, then sucking the length of it in until my face was buried in his skin and I breathed in his musky scent.
Then he was brushing his hand over my hair to get my attention. “Ryan? Ryan, gonna come soon,” he panted.
I pulled my mouth off of him, licking along the shaft instead and using my other hand on him, and he came, shouting my name, spurting on his belly and dribbling down my hand, clenching around my fingers.
“Ryan, God, Ryan,” he said.
I licked the little bit of come that still clung to the head of his dick, and along his shaft again, cleaning him up a bit. Then I nuzzled into his thigh again, soothing him, and slowly pulled my fingers out of his ass. “Darlin’, I’m just going to go get the lube.”
He put a hand on my shoulder, lifting his head to look at me. “No, don’t go.”
I pushed up on one arm. “But—“
“Use my come,” he whispered. “Use my come and fuck me.”
“Jesus, Simon.” I pulled up on my knees and took my right hand, which had some of his come on it, and rubbed it on my dick, and it certainly was warmer than lube often was, but not nearly slippery enough, and I worried. I scooped up the come that had fallen on his tummy and near the base of his dick and spread that on me, too, and it was intimate in a way I’d never thought about before. It was kind of like, well, it was like he had made his own lube, like women do, and we didn’t need any artificial help, and there was something hot and real about that. Maybe Simon was right, about the whole come thing.
I slid into him very slowly, because he was so tight even with the loosening I’d already done, even though he’d already come, even though I’d fucked him pretty hard about seven hours before. I didn’t really want to fuck him hard this time, just wanted to be inside him, feel him all around me.
He was gorgeous, grasping at the sheets, his head pushing against the pillow, his skin still flushed slightly from his orgasm. “Ryan, Ryan,” he was muttering. “My come, fuck me, come inside me with my come.”
I was in, and I sank down on top of him, letting him wrap arms and legs around me, rubbing my hands along his chest. Like before, when I’d had my left hand shoved up his ass, I just wriggled and twisted, rubbing our bodies together rather than thrusting. He wanted it, yes, but I still didn’t want to hurt him. And he was so tight, anyway, and the awareness of what we were doing was so overwhelming. I could still taste him, his dick, his balls, his ass, his come in my mouth. My left hand had been in his ass and my right hand was still a little sticky with his come. I could smell our sweat and it was all so elemental, and I suddenly understood what he meant when he said dirty like it was a good thing.
He was writhing and whimpering beneath me, “please, Ryan, please, fuck me good.”
I could feel him shake a little as I ground against him, inside and out. “You like that?”
“Ungh, more, fuck me.”
I tweaked his nipples and he shuddered again. I’d never seen him like this, such a begging little mess, slack jawed and whining, and it made me want to fuck him harder. I pushed further into him, grinding harder, moving in rough little circles. “So good, darlin’.”
“Ryan,” he whispered, grabbing my ass, pushing me hard against him and keeping me there, “please, kiss me.”
I did, slipping my tongue into his willing mouth, my everything into his willing everything, and I felt him really shake and clench—could he really have come again?—and I came, too, shouting into his mouth, and he was whining into mine, and I’d never had it like that.
I collapsed onto his chest, slipping out of him, and his legs fell back onto the bed, though one arm stayed around me, his hand at the small of my back.
“Wow,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen you like that.”
“I’ve never been like that.”
I looked up, folding my hands on his chest and resting my chin on them. “Never, not with anyone?”
He shook his head. “You know you’re not like anyone, Ryan.”
I smiled, then glanced at the clock. “Food will be coming soon. Time enough for a quick shower though.”
“After that bath,” Simon said, “we might need new towels.”
“And new sheets. Wet spot doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I kissed his chest, then his lips, then slid down his body. There was one more thing I wanted to do, before we got all clean. I pushed at his legs, just a little, and then I took one swipe of my tongue at his ass, my come and his leaking out of his tender little hole.
“Oh God, Ryan. I never thought I’d see you do that.”
“You’re not like anyone either, Simon,” I said, smiling up at him. “You go start the shower, and I’ll call housekeeping.”
By the time we emerged from the shower we had a pile of clean fluffy towels, clean robes, a freshly made bed, and a roast chicken staying warm in its metal room service cart. We ate out on the balcony, looking out over the city lights, and there were plenty of mushrooms, thank you. He even threw some fruit in my mouth, “for old times’ sake,” he said, but it all felt like new times to me.
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Date: 2007-08-31 08:56 am (UTC)HA! The second I read that I was like BRIDGETJONESSQQUEEE!!!
I didn't expect you to post this whole thing so fast. Loved it!
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Date: 2007-09-02 01:15 am (UTC)I'm so glad you liked it! Thanks!
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Date: 2007-09-02 01:43 am (UTC)Looking forward to your next story. =D
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Date: 2007-08-31 05:19 pm (UTC)This was just glorious. I really love how your fic is rooted in canon events, with tons of attention to detail. It all feels so real, and I absolutely adore it.
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Date: 2007-09-02 01:41 am (UTC)Rymon love! :)
Date: 2007-09-01 09:34 am (UTC)BTW, thanks for the recs.
Re: Rymon love! :)
Date: 2007-09-02 01:53 am (UTC)I'm glad you liked the recs! And I'm so pleased you liked this story as well.
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Date: 2007-09-01 08:12 pm (UTC)Aside from being wonderfully written, not to mention incredibly genuine feeling that was... so freaking hot. I'm like, in love with you for writing rimming, because no one does and it's -so- sexy, and Ryan at the end...
Guh.
...guhhh.
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Date: 2007-09-02 02:35 am (UTC)The more I read and write the more I realize that hot comes out of the feeling. You can have something that's just hot, but it's so much hotter when the sex has meaning and you can tell what it is. So thank you for that! I'm so pleased you enjoyed it!
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Date: 2007-09-02 04:39 pm (UTC)This was so much fun--I never played with Barbies, but I feel like this is part of the fun of it. I love the guys dressing each other up, and the way their whole relationship when you write it is really about their negotiating each other and their own stuff. Even stuff like "I have to wear something under jeans--especially when I'm dancing!" Because, well, yeah!
And Simon's wardrobe--I love the attention to that because it really is so fascinating, and I guess it's one of the pleasures of RPS that you look at this person and say--so why that? I mean, the way that he's wearing ill-fitting jeans and doesn't want people looking at him, but then he's got shirts unbuttoned and is one medallion away from being Tom Jones. And of course the fun of having somebody who's not perfectly in shape but that's part of what makes him unique--especially when he dresses up like Melanie Griffith. Ha!
I guess that's why it's fun being in Ryan's pov because he's always sort of--what are you up to now?
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Date: 2008-04-22 03:17 pm (UTC)You know, RPS is great in that you have this real person doing real things, and also that if you're not doing actor RPS, they aren't like, totally gorgeous and have a perfect body, etc. So eroticizing the imperfect is actually really fun, that Ryan, who's so obsessive about his own body, is all about Simon, and also that sometimes Ryan lets things slide a little, and Simon thinks it's funny, and sort of sweet.
What I adore about them is that they're both aware of how ridiculous they themselves are, but then look at the other and are like, "but omg, you are totes ridic TOO."
seriously--i am so HAPPY that you like my stories, it fills me with GLEE
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Date: 2008-02-12 12:30 am (UTC)I just read all seven chapters in one (breathless) go and I'm seriously hot and bothered here.
This is the first fic I've ever read where I actually like rimming. You just made it so incredibly sexy that I went up in smoke reading it. (And the rest, obviously)
*fans self*
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Date: 2008-04-22 02:33 pm (UTC)I feel like Ryan rimming Simon really works for them—you know that Ryan, with girls, a somewhat overly dedicated cunnilingus guy. And Simon likes things that are a little naughty. So it goes together. I'm so pleased that it worked for you!
Thanks for this comment! It made my day, and I'm so sorry I'm late in replying to it!
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Date: 2008-03-13 12:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 01:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 10:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 01:17 am (UTC)Loved the series^_^:mems:
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Date: 2009-01-04 05:27 am (UTC)