FIC: A Picture's Worth...
Jan. 22nd, 2006 07:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stellarmeadowTITLE: A Picture's Worth...
AUTHOR: Stellar Meadow
RATING: NC-17
STYLE: romance, mainstream, erotica
STARRING DURAN: John/Simon
SUMMARY: Sometimes you don't know what you want until you see it.
NOTES: Thanks to Rose and mistress_dd and the number of other people I bugged about this story when I couldn't get it quite right.
DISCLAIMER: If you think this is real, I'd like you to say hello to my little friend, reality. I don't believe you've met....
Simon stretched out on the bed in his hotel room. It was early yet, not even one in the morning, but he'd been down to the hotel bars, and there was nothing in any of them worth seeing. He had his standards, after all, and apparently everyone who met them was elsewhere. He'd tried John's room several times, but there was no answer, and he didn't feel like going out alone. It was never quite as much fun.
The smell of the ocean wafted in through the open curtains to the balcony, but the sound and the scent failed to soothe him the way it normally would. He sighed and got up, pushing through the thin curtains to stand on the balcony and look out at the ocean. A beautiful, clear night, with moonlight so bright it might as well be daytime. Perfect for sharing with a gorgeous partner.
Except that there were no partners to be found.
Faint sounds drifted by, and he realized that while he hadn't found a partner, someone had. He looked around at the other balconies, those that he could see anyway. The L-shaped hotel meant that there were more rooms with ocean views than in your standard square hotel, but it also meant that your balcony had closer views than just the ones from the ground.
Careful squinting revealed the source of the sound, just a few balconies over from the nearby corner of the L, on the top level, even with Simon's. So, one of the other "penthouse" suites the hotel offered, then. Of course, given that Duran occupied five of those ten suites....
He squinted harder, focusing on the face of the man leaning against the wall next to the balcony ledge. Aha...he'd thought the voice had sounded familiar, though he had never heard it sound quite like that. A fact he was beginning to regret.
At least now he knew why John wasn't answering his phone.
His conscience tugged at him for a couple of seconds, telling him he shouldn't watch any further. He told it to fuck off and leaned on the ledge, trying for a better view. After all, he couldn't very well give John an in-depth critique of his technique later if he didn't watch every second now, could he? He'd kill for a pair of binoculars, but in the meantime, perhaps he could find some good use for the camera Nick had given him for his birthday. A moment later he was back on the balcony, camera in hand, zoomed in as close as it would go.
Didn't look like there was much technique involved, now that he'd had a minute's view. John was pressed against the wall, head back, mouth open. A blonde head, either natural platinum, or, more likely, bleached to near white, was barely visible above the ledge. From the back and forth movement of the head, it was plain what she was doing--as if the fact that she was on her knees hadn't made that perfectly clear anyway.
John's reactions made it just as clear that she was very good at it, because he couldn't possibly be that good at faking it. Simon watched as John's hands left the wall to cradle the girl's head, fingers disappearing in the midst of blonde strands. A small smile crossed John's lips, and Simon swallowed a chuckle. Maybe she wasn't that good after all--it looked like John was getting off as much on just having her there on her knees as her actual technique.
But then she moved a little differently, and his hands went back to the wall, bracing him as his head landed against the wall rather abruptly. Simon suspected he'd have a hell of a headache later. He also suspected John wouldn't care, from the looks of how much he was enjoying himself.
The moans were loud enough that he could hear them clearly now, without straining, and he wondered for a second if others were watching from other balconies. Not that it would matter. The people watching had to figure out who that was on the balcony. And unless you knew John well, had, in fact, made a habit of studying him, the chances of figuring it out were slim. As the room was registered to M Bond, the actual occupant would be difficult to figure it out, even if you could get the hotel to give you the guest's name.
Unless, of course, you had binoculars. Or a camera. But if John didn't care....
That train of thought was derailed as John arched his body, hands pressing hard against the wall as he thrust his hips towards the blonde. Simon watched, mesmerized as John's face contorted, his cries reaching Simon's ears easily now.
He hadn't meant to press the button on the camera. He really hadn't. But before he knew what was happening, he heard repeated clicks, and realized he'd taken several pictures in a row. He let off the button quickly, but couldn't take his eyes off John, who was coming down now, hand petting the blonde's head like one would a favorite pet. She stood at last, a tiny little thing, barely reaching John's chest, and he leaned down to kiss her, pulling her hard against him.
It was then that Simon heard the faint applause, coming from several directions. John and the girl broke apart, looking out over the balcony in surprise for a second. Then John started laughing, and the girl joined in, her head against John's chest. He leaned into a sort of half-bow, taking her with him, and then he said something to her, nodding his head towards the room. She laughed and turned, holding his hand as they went through the balcony doors, disappearing behind the flimsy, but quite opaque, curtains covering the doorway.
Simon put the camera down on the balcony table to avoid dropping it, and sat down heavily in the chair. He shifted a couple of times, his jeans uncomfortably tight, before he got up, looking at John's room. Nothing beyond the curtains was visible, however, and he doubted they would be appearing for another performance later, so he went back into his room, camera in hand.
He put the camera on the dresser and lay on the bed again and closed his eyes, but the scene from the balcony kept replaying itself like a movie on repeat. His hand slipped down to cup his cock through his jeans, squeezing a little, but it wasn't helping. Ignoring the churning feeling in his stomach, he unzipped the jeans, pushing them out of the way and taking himself out. His hand was cool against the heated flesh there, cool and rough, and he hissed as the sensitive skin protested.
Muttering curses, Simon kicked off the jeans and stumbled into the bathroom for the lotion that was always on hotel bathroom counters, taking a hand towel back into the other room as well. He all but threw himself on the bed, flipping the lid of the bottle up and pouring a little of the lotion into his hand.
Much better, he thought, closing his eyes, the movie in his mind playing back again. So hot, out there for everyone who could to see, and without a care for what they thought. He'd not thought John had that in him, and it was more than a little unsettling that he was now wondering what else John might be up for. If he called now, would John answer? Maybe he'd be interested in sharing the girl. She obviously had precious few inhibitions.
Then again, maybe he'd be willing to just send the girl packing altogether.
And that thought was enough to have Simon gripping the bedspread, his hand working his cock furiously as his mind's eye focused on John's face when he'd come. He'd wondered before just what that would look like, and now that he knew, he wanted desperately what it would feel like to see that up close and personal. To be the cause.
He was so close then, after that half-formed fantasy, and he pressed his feet into the bed, pushing up hard as he came, spilling over his hand, gasping for breath as he milked himself dry. Eyes closed, he felt around for the towel beside him, wiping his hands before cleaning up the rest of the mess.
Towel tossed carelessly on the floor, Simon was still catching his breath when the phone rang. He felt around on the nightstand for the phone, grabbing it on the third ring. "Hello?"
"You decent?" John asked from the other end of the line.
He laughed, looking down at his body. "When have I ever been that?"
"Right. Should've known better than to ask that one," John responded with a chuckle. "I take it by the fact that you answered the phone that you're alone?"
"Well, my right hand's about, but I'm sure it wouldn't be offended if I got a better offer."
John's giggles gave Simon a jolt of pleasure, even across a phone line. "Let's have a drink."
"Bar or room?"
"Room. Did you see the selection of alcohol in the bar?" He could almost hear John shudder. "I have a much better liquor cabinet up here."
Simon rolled his eyes. "Snob."
"Don't you know it." There was a slight pause. "So, coming over then?"
"Give me five minutes." Simon sat up, his eyes landing on the camera on the dresser. "Oh, by the way, have you got that stuff you use to develop pictures?"
"Not with me, but I think Nick's got some."
The sudden huge widening of his eyes in the mirror was almost comical. "I don't want Nick developing these."
"All right...I could borrow it from him."
"Good. I'll bring the roll with me." They rung off, and Simon put down the phone, staring at the camera for a moment, wondering if this was a good idea. He could always play it off as a good prank, if John reacted badly to the pictures.
But if he got the hint....
Unlikely, his brain told him immediately, even as he rewound the film. He ignored that warning in favor of wild fantasies as he pulled on his jeans again and found a pair of shoes. A quick wash up, and he grabbed the roll of film and was out the door and down the hallway to John's room.
He knocked softly on John's door. When there was no answer, he knocked harder.
And then jumped at the voice from behind him. "Nobody's home."
"Jesus, John," he said, whirling around. "Trying to scare me to death?"
John grinned, bouncing on his heels a bit. "Sorry, mate. I went down to Nick's room to grab this." He held up a bag, which presumably held the materials to turn a bathroom into a makeshift photo lab. "I'm wired, so I figured I could develop your film tonight."
"Great." The word didn't come out quite as enthusiastically as Simon had hoped, but John didn't seem to notice as he pushed past Simon to open the door.
John put the bag on the bathroom counter. "Where's the film?" Simon handed him the roll, then walked through to the living room, noting as he walked by the open door to the bedroom that the bed was a mess. But then, John never did like for housekeeping to be in his room if he wasn't there.
What he was worried about housekeeping finding was a subject Simon never dared broach.
Simon flopped down on the couch as John poured drinks. "So," John said, handing Simon his drink before joining him on the couch, "one quick drink and then we can develop those pictures?"
"There's no rush."
"Oh, but there is," John said, his cheek on Simon's shoulder as he spoke low in Simon's ear. "I'm bursting with curiosity to see just what you couldn't take to a regular developer--or even trust to Nick."
That deep voice, low and soft as a lover's, sent a shiver through Simon that he tried desperately to suppress. "I assure you, it's nothing you haven't seen before."
"That doesn't narrow it down much," John said, amused. "I've seen quite a lot."
"So have I," Simon said, the words a little too fervent.
"In fact," John said, downing the whole of his drink. "I think I'll get started now."
Choking a little on his drink, Simon spluttered, "Now?"
"Why not?" John answered, pushing himself off the couch. "No time like the present. And I'm insanely interested in finding out what these pictures are." He started towards the bathroom. "Coming?"
*Only if I'm really lucky.* "You go ahead," Simon said, getting up. "Meet me down in the bar when you're done."
"What? You don't want to watch the pictures develop?"
"Closed in dark spaces?" Simon moved to the door. "Brings out the claustrophobic in me."
John laughed. "You've bagged more birds in closets than anyone I know." His grin widened. "Well, except me."
"John Taylor, King of the Broom Closets." Simon patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. "I'll be down at the poolside bar when you're done." Which allowed for a hasty exit, should the need arise.
One last smile, and Simon was out the door before John could question him further. He went down to the bar and found a table--no difficult feat at that time of night. There were only a few diehard partiers left out there, and Simon took a table as far from them as he could get. This would be public enough to control John from making a scene, though that was more because of what Nick would say the next day than because of any desire to be circumspect.
He was on his third drink when the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He felt heat behind him, a moment before the words.
"I didn't know you liked to watch."
The voice, low in his ear, startled Simon almost as much as the sheets of photographs tossed onto the table in front of him. He stared at the backs of the photos as John took the seat opposite him at the table.
"Don't you want to see your handiwork?" John asked.
"I--" Simon swallowed against a throat that suddenly seemed to be closed over. He cleared it. "No."
John sat back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other's thigh. Simon kept his eyes trained on those legs, not sure if he wanted to see John's face. "Go on," John said, his voice unreadable. "The quality is a bit grainy, given the low lighting, but the composition is excellent, and you've finally mastered the focus on your camera." He sighed. "I'm afraid they'll be a little smudged now, though. I couldn't wait long enough for them to dry properly."
"There was no need to hurry on my part."
"Oh, but there was. You were obviously trying to tell me something." John leaned down, his face ducking into Simon's line of sight. "What was it?"
Simon picked up the pictures, more from the need of something to look at other than John's face. Only that backfired, as the pictures showed John's face up close and more than personal, in a situation Simon had no clue how to say he wanted to see again. Preferably up close with his own two eyes and no cameral lens--or anything else--between them.
"I'm sorry."
"Bullshit." The humor in John's voice lessened the tightness in Simon's chest a little. "You're not sorry. Well, not about the pictures anyway." John snatched the photos back, and Simon's eyes met John's automatically. "So what are you sorry about, then, eh?"
"It was a prank," Simon said. "That's all. I saw you, the camera was there, and I just...did it."
Even to his own ears, something in his voice didn't ring true, and John's grin confirmed it. "Nice try," he said, "but I'm not buying."
"Fine." Simon shrugged before he rose from his chair. "Suit yourself," he said, walking away, past the pool and out to the beach. He found a secluded area behind a large lifeguard tower, shrouded in darkness, and ducked behind it. There was still light from the moon there, despite the large tower and the sand dune that made up his hideaway corner, but at least it offered some protection, he hoped.
The strong, familiar hand on his arm a moment later was little surprise. "Should've known that wasn't going to work," he mumbled as he turned to face John.
"Of course not." John's voice was smug. "Running away only makes me more curious." He stepped in closer to Simon, trapping him between the corner of the dune and the lifeguard stand. "So what is it that you're so eager not to share?"
Oh, he knew, Simon realized, swallowing hard. Everything about John in that moment spoke to his certain knowledge, his posture, his dark, seductive voice, so sure of conquest. A hunter who'd caught his prey and was content to play with it.
He knew. And he wasn't running. Was, in fact, moving even closer, until there was only a very thin layer of air between their bodies. Simon stared at the face so close to his, teeth and eyes glinting in the shafts of moonlight that filtered in through the slats of the lifeguard stand.
Simon swallowed again. He'd never run from a possible conquest before; why should he start now? His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he didn't miss the shift as John's attention focused on that movement.
Which was enough to give him the courage to reach out and grab the back of John's neck, pulling him in the short distance until their lips met. There was a second of surprise before John's arms went around Simon's back and he found himself pressed hard against the wall of the stand.
His hips surged forward, encouraged by the insistent tug of John's hands, their bodies so tightly together now it was impossible to miss John's erection, brushing against Simon's as they kissed, sending shockwaves along Simon's nerves. He pushed into John's hips, wanting more of that feeling, wanting less clothing between them, wanting so many things all want once that he groaned at the thought of having to choose one at a time. He ran his hands down John's back, confused when hard paper scraped against the back of one hand.
Carefully sliding that hand down to squeeze John's ass, he recognized the paper--the photos, rolled up and shoved into John's back pocket. The reminder of those pictures, of John's face, was enough to send another jolt through him, and Simon reached between their bodies, sliding a hand down below the waistband of John's trousers, the coarse cotton on the back of his hand a rough contrast to the smooth skin against his palm.
This time it was John who groaned, leaning harder into the kiss as he thrust into Simon's hand. Simon felt those long fingers he'd had far too many fantasies about caressing his cheeks, and then they were sliding through his hair, cradling his scalp the way they would a very old, very expensive bass.
His mind played back the memory of those same hands sliding through the blonde hair of the girl, and he pushed the memory away. Who needed memories like that when the real thing was there in his arms?
Well, there was one certain way to wipe that memory out. He pulled his hand out of John's trousers, ignoring the sound of protest, and put it on John's shoulder to spin them around. He felt the impact of John hitting the base of the stand through John's body, and winced, but it only made John pull him closer, the kisses growing almost violent in their intensity.
"Where are you going?" John demanded when Simon broke the kiss and took a step back, but Simon only smiled and ducked out of the way of the hands trying to drag him close again. They stopped as Simon dropped to his knees, hands reaching for John's waistband, the look of shock on John's face, so clearly visible now that he was leaning against the stand instead of facing it, quickly melting into a grin of pure delight.
Simon blessed the moonlight--he'd been right, it really was the perfect night for sharing with a gorgeous partner. It also allowed him to see that partner's face as Simon dealt quickly with the trousers, getting them out of the way so that nothing impeded his view of John's cock. He'd seen it before, of course, but not like this, not with the freedom to explore, to touch at will. He ran one finger down the side of it, fascinated by the way the foreskin moved with his finger at the top.
With a hiss at that touch, John buried his fingers in Simon's hair once more, gently massaging the scalp there, and subtly moving his head closer. Simon smiled a little to himself at the technique, so seemingly caring and yet so calculating at the same time. "You know, if you want something, you could just ask instead of all this hinting," Simon said, watching two of his fingers run down the side of John's cock this time.
"Please?" John said, his voice not yet desperate enough for Simon's liking.
Eyes traveling up John's still-shirted body, making a note to get the man naked next time before starting something like this, Simon raised his head until he could see John's face. More evidence of the desperation he was looking for there than there had been in the voice, and Simon relented a bit. "Please?" he repeated in the same tone, waiting for clarification.
A growl of frustration was the first answer, and Simon's fingers ran back up John's cock again. "For fuck's sake," John hissed out, careful not to raise his voice too loud, "would you please just suck me already?"
Good enough, Simon decided. At least there could be no doubt later that they'd both wanted this. He wasted no more time, sliding his whole hand down the length of John's cock to circle the base. Wetting his lips, Simon slid a little closer and touched them to the tip of John's cock, almost a kiss, before sliding them slowly over and down the shaft.
Easier than he'd anticipated, to take John in his mouth, to use his tongue to tease and torment, guided by the vast experience of all the girls who'd gone down on Simon in the past, and by John's reactions to the various techniques. He'd wondered why all those women had been so eager to do this, and chalked it up to the willingness to do anything to get near a pop star, but now he recognized the lure of it.
Not just getting near someone; getting power over someone.
Because John was helpless. Simon knew the feeling, but it was still something else entirely to be the one causing it. To feel those thighs trembling under his hands, as though John was going to collapse at any second, to know that the wall was the only thing keeping him from falling down, the will power to stand no match for one little twist of Simon's tongue.
He could tell John was close--the movement of his hips was bordering on frantic, and the sounds he was making were putting Simon's erection in danger of castration by his own trousers. He'd been right to be sorry he'd never heard that up close before. *Won't be the last time,* he promised himself as he shifted to allow more room down below and went back to his task.
"Charlie...." One word, a warning, one that Simon refused to heed. If that little groupie could swallow, then so could he. He wasn't about to be upstaged, not here. Not now.
And then John cried out, thrusting forward one last time, nearly choking Simon in the process. He managed to pull his head back just enough, hand moving along John's cock as he emptied himself. Definitely an acquired taste, Simon thought, coughing a bit as he swallowed as fast as he could. But he could get used to it, under the right circumstances.
He released John's soft cock from his mouth with one last kiss and sat back, breathing as hard as he could hear John breathing up above. "Watch your legs," John mumbled, seconds before he slid down the side of the stand, landing hard, legs stretched out where one of Simon's had been. His eyes were closed, but he reached out, taking one of Simon's hand with his own, fingers playing over the back of Simon's knuckles.
Eyes opening at last, John looked at him. "That was...." He shrugged after a moment, either unable or unwilling to find the words.
"Yeah," Simon agreed softly, shifting again.
A move that John noticed, and he grinned. Under different circumstances, Simon thought he'd be a bit worried about the light in John's eyes, but considering their current situation, he just smiled right back. "Can you walk?" John said, raising his eyes at the large bulge between Simon's legs.
"It'd be a lot easier if someone took care of this," Simon answered, pushing his hips up.
"I'm sure." John linked their fingers and stood, hauling Simon up with him. "But," he said, pausing for a kiss, "I have much better plans for it than a quick blow job, if you can make it back to my bed."
Simon tamped down on a wave of lust that threatened to end any chance of those plans for several hours. "I think I can manage," he said, trying his best to fill his mind of anything that would cool his libido. Which did not include the currently over-sexed looking John Taylor standing before him. "If you can manage not to look like someone who just received a very thorough blow job," he said, closing his eyes quickly.
"I'll try," John said, "but it's rough, when I just got the best blow job of my life."
"Not another word," Simon said, putting the happiness those words inspired aside for later. "Or I'm making no promises."
John giggled, which did little to help, but then he let go of Simon's hand, and Simon heard the sounds of fabric and a zipper. "Eyes front, Charlie," he said from somewhere behind Simon, giving him a little shove to the shoulder.
Simon opened his eyes and started back to the hotel, John close behind, but not touching. "I feel a little silly, walking in front of you."
"Maybe you do, but I'm certainly enjoying the view," John said. "Keeps my mind off the sand up my ass, anyway."
And that made Simon smile, even as he cursed the sand for making the walk back slow going. It wasn't until they got on the lift that he looked at John again, watching as he pushed the button for the top floor.
"You're going to need a shower," Simon remarked, staring at the ceiling. "That sand can get a bit uncomfortable."
"Already is," John said, his toe nudging Simon's foot. "I may need some help making sure it all gets washed away."
Lips twitching, Simon nudged back. "I'm sure what's her name would be glad to come back and help." He frowned over at John. "What was her name?"
With a shrug, John shook his head. "Don't remember."
Simon wasn't entirely convinced--John was usually good with names, even when he was drunk or high. "I guess something must've caused it to slip your mind."
"I'd say something blew it right out of there," John agreed, eyes twinkling.
The lift stopped and they stepped off. "I thought we were going to your room," Simon said when John turned the other direction.
"We are," he said, pivoting on his heel to walk backwards a few steps while talking, "but we need something from yours first."
"We do?"
John nodded, and this time the look in his eyes definitely caused Simon concern. "Just how many rolls of film did you say you had for that camera?"
---
END
AUTHOR: Stellar Meadow
RATING: NC-17
STYLE: romance, mainstream, erotica
STARRING DURAN: John/Simon
SUMMARY: Sometimes you don't know what you want until you see it.
NOTES: Thanks to Rose and mistress_dd and the number of other people I bugged about this story when I couldn't get it quite right.
DISCLAIMER: If you think this is real, I'd like you to say hello to my little friend, reality. I don't believe you've met....
Simon stretched out on the bed in his hotel room. It was early yet, not even one in the morning, but he'd been down to the hotel bars, and there was nothing in any of them worth seeing. He had his standards, after all, and apparently everyone who met them was elsewhere. He'd tried John's room several times, but there was no answer, and he didn't feel like going out alone. It was never quite as much fun.
The smell of the ocean wafted in through the open curtains to the balcony, but the sound and the scent failed to soothe him the way it normally would. He sighed and got up, pushing through the thin curtains to stand on the balcony and look out at the ocean. A beautiful, clear night, with moonlight so bright it might as well be daytime. Perfect for sharing with a gorgeous partner.
Except that there were no partners to be found.
Faint sounds drifted by, and he realized that while he hadn't found a partner, someone had. He looked around at the other balconies, those that he could see anyway. The L-shaped hotel meant that there were more rooms with ocean views than in your standard square hotel, but it also meant that your balcony had closer views than just the ones from the ground.
Careful squinting revealed the source of the sound, just a few balconies over from the nearby corner of the L, on the top level, even with Simon's. So, one of the other "penthouse" suites the hotel offered, then. Of course, given that Duran occupied five of those ten suites....
He squinted harder, focusing on the face of the man leaning against the wall next to the balcony ledge. Aha...he'd thought the voice had sounded familiar, though he had never heard it sound quite like that. A fact he was beginning to regret.
At least now he knew why John wasn't answering his phone.
His conscience tugged at him for a couple of seconds, telling him he shouldn't watch any further. He told it to fuck off and leaned on the ledge, trying for a better view. After all, he couldn't very well give John an in-depth critique of his technique later if he didn't watch every second now, could he? He'd kill for a pair of binoculars, but in the meantime, perhaps he could find some good use for the camera Nick had given him for his birthday. A moment later he was back on the balcony, camera in hand, zoomed in as close as it would go.
Didn't look like there was much technique involved, now that he'd had a minute's view. John was pressed against the wall, head back, mouth open. A blonde head, either natural platinum, or, more likely, bleached to near white, was barely visible above the ledge. From the back and forth movement of the head, it was plain what she was doing--as if the fact that she was on her knees hadn't made that perfectly clear anyway.
John's reactions made it just as clear that she was very good at it, because he couldn't possibly be that good at faking it. Simon watched as John's hands left the wall to cradle the girl's head, fingers disappearing in the midst of blonde strands. A small smile crossed John's lips, and Simon swallowed a chuckle. Maybe she wasn't that good after all--it looked like John was getting off as much on just having her there on her knees as her actual technique.
But then she moved a little differently, and his hands went back to the wall, bracing him as his head landed against the wall rather abruptly. Simon suspected he'd have a hell of a headache later. He also suspected John wouldn't care, from the looks of how much he was enjoying himself.
The moans were loud enough that he could hear them clearly now, without straining, and he wondered for a second if others were watching from other balconies. Not that it would matter. The people watching had to figure out who that was on the balcony. And unless you knew John well, had, in fact, made a habit of studying him, the chances of figuring it out were slim. As the room was registered to M Bond, the actual occupant would be difficult to figure it out, even if you could get the hotel to give you the guest's name.
Unless, of course, you had binoculars. Or a camera. But if John didn't care....
That train of thought was derailed as John arched his body, hands pressing hard against the wall as he thrust his hips towards the blonde. Simon watched, mesmerized as John's face contorted, his cries reaching Simon's ears easily now.
He hadn't meant to press the button on the camera. He really hadn't. But before he knew what was happening, he heard repeated clicks, and realized he'd taken several pictures in a row. He let off the button quickly, but couldn't take his eyes off John, who was coming down now, hand petting the blonde's head like one would a favorite pet. She stood at last, a tiny little thing, barely reaching John's chest, and he leaned down to kiss her, pulling her hard against him.
It was then that Simon heard the faint applause, coming from several directions. John and the girl broke apart, looking out over the balcony in surprise for a second. Then John started laughing, and the girl joined in, her head against John's chest. He leaned into a sort of half-bow, taking her with him, and then he said something to her, nodding his head towards the room. She laughed and turned, holding his hand as they went through the balcony doors, disappearing behind the flimsy, but quite opaque, curtains covering the doorway.
Simon put the camera down on the balcony table to avoid dropping it, and sat down heavily in the chair. He shifted a couple of times, his jeans uncomfortably tight, before he got up, looking at John's room. Nothing beyond the curtains was visible, however, and he doubted they would be appearing for another performance later, so he went back into his room, camera in hand.
He put the camera on the dresser and lay on the bed again and closed his eyes, but the scene from the balcony kept replaying itself like a movie on repeat. His hand slipped down to cup his cock through his jeans, squeezing a little, but it wasn't helping. Ignoring the churning feeling in his stomach, he unzipped the jeans, pushing them out of the way and taking himself out. His hand was cool against the heated flesh there, cool and rough, and he hissed as the sensitive skin protested.
Muttering curses, Simon kicked off the jeans and stumbled into the bathroom for the lotion that was always on hotel bathroom counters, taking a hand towel back into the other room as well. He all but threw himself on the bed, flipping the lid of the bottle up and pouring a little of the lotion into his hand.
Much better, he thought, closing his eyes, the movie in his mind playing back again. So hot, out there for everyone who could to see, and without a care for what they thought. He'd not thought John had that in him, and it was more than a little unsettling that he was now wondering what else John might be up for. If he called now, would John answer? Maybe he'd be interested in sharing the girl. She obviously had precious few inhibitions.
Then again, maybe he'd be willing to just send the girl packing altogether.
And that thought was enough to have Simon gripping the bedspread, his hand working his cock furiously as his mind's eye focused on John's face when he'd come. He'd wondered before just what that would look like, and now that he knew, he wanted desperately what it would feel like to see that up close and personal. To be the cause.
He was so close then, after that half-formed fantasy, and he pressed his feet into the bed, pushing up hard as he came, spilling over his hand, gasping for breath as he milked himself dry. Eyes closed, he felt around for the towel beside him, wiping his hands before cleaning up the rest of the mess.
Towel tossed carelessly on the floor, Simon was still catching his breath when the phone rang. He felt around on the nightstand for the phone, grabbing it on the third ring. "Hello?"
"You decent?" John asked from the other end of the line.
He laughed, looking down at his body. "When have I ever been that?"
"Right. Should've known better than to ask that one," John responded with a chuckle. "I take it by the fact that you answered the phone that you're alone?"
"Well, my right hand's about, but I'm sure it wouldn't be offended if I got a better offer."
John's giggles gave Simon a jolt of pleasure, even across a phone line. "Let's have a drink."
"Bar or room?"
"Room. Did you see the selection of alcohol in the bar?" He could almost hear John shudder. "I have a much better liquor cabinet up here."
Simon rolled his eyes. "Snob."
"Don't you know it." There was a slight pause. "So, coming over then?"
"Give me five minutes." Simon sat up, his eyes landing on the camera on the dresser. "Oh, by the way, have you got that stuff you use to develop pictures?"
"Not with me, but I think Nick's got some."
The sudden huge widening of his eyes in the mirror was almost comical. "I don't want Nick developing these."
"All right...I could borrow it from him."
"Good. I'll bring the roll with me." They rung off, and Simon put down the phone, staring at the camera for a moment, wondering if this was a good idea. He could always play it off as a good prank, if John reacted badly to the pictures.
But if he got the hint....
Unlikely, his brain told him immediately, even as he rewound the film. He ignored that warning in favor of wild fantasies as he pulled on his jeans again and found a pair of shoes. A quick wash up, and he grabbed the roll of film and was out the door and down the hallway to John's room.
He knocked softly on John's door. When there was no answer, he knocked harder.
And then jumped at the voice from behind him. "Nobody's home."
"Jesus, John," he said, whirling around. "Trying to scare me to death?"
John grinned, bouncing on his heels a bit. "Sorry, mate. I went down to Nick's room to grab this." He held up a bag, which presumably held the materials to turn a bathroom into a makeshift photo lab. "I'm wired, so I figured I could develop your film tonight."
"Great." The word didn't come out quite as enthusiastically as Simon had hoped, but John didn't seem to notice as he pushed past Simon to open the door.
John put the bag on the bathroom counter. "Where's the film?" Simon handed him the roll, then walked through to the living room, noting as he walked by the open door to the bedroom that the bed was a mess. But then, John never did like for housekeeping to be in his room if he wasn't there.
What he was worried about housekeeping finding was a subject Simon never dared broach.
Simon flopped down on the couch as John poured drinks. "So," John said, handing Simon his drink before joining him on the couch, "one quick drink and then we can develop those pictures?"
"There's no rush."
"Oh, but there is," John said, his cheek on Simon's shoulder as he spoke low in Simon's ear. "I'm bursting with curiosity to see just what you couldn't take to a regular developer--or even trust to Nick."
That deep voice, low and soft as a lover's, sent a shiver through Simon that he tried desperately to suppress. "I assure you, it's nothing you haven't seen before."
"That doesn't narrow it down much," John said, amused. "I've seen quite a lot."
"So have I," Simon said, the words a little too fervent.
"In fact," John said, downing the whole of his drink. "I think I'll get started now."
Choking a little on his drink, Simon spluttered, "Now?"
"Why not?" John answered, pushing himself off the couch. "No time like the present. And I'm insanely interested in finding out what these pictures are." He started towards the bathroom. "Coming?"
*Only if I'm really lucky.* "You go ahead," Simon said, getting up. "Meet me down in the bar when you're done."
"What? You don't want to watch the pictures develop?"
"Closed in dark spaces?" Simon moved to the door. "Brings out the claustrophobic in me."
John laughed. "You've bagged more birds in closets than anyone I know." His grin widened. "Well, except me."
"John Taylor, King of the Broom Closets." Simon patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. "I'll be down at the poolside bar when you're done." Which allowed for a hasty exit, should the need arise.
One last smile, and Simon was out the door before John could question him further. He went down to the bar and found a table--no difficult feat at that time of night. There were only a few diehard partiers left out there, and Simon took a table as far from them as he could get. This would be public enough to control John from making a scene, though that was more because of what Nick would say the next day than because of any desire to be circumspect.
He was on his third drink when the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He felt heat behind him, a moment before the words.
"I didn't know you liked to watch."
The voice, low in his ear, startled Simon almost as much as the sheets of photographs tossed onto the table in front of him. He stared at the backs of the photos as John took the seat opposite him at the table.
"Don't you want to see your handiwork?" John asked.
"I--" Simon swallowed against a throat that suddenly seemed to be closed over. He cleared it. "No."
John sat back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other's thigh. Simon kept his eyes trained on those legs, not sure if he wanted to see John's face. "Go on," John said, his voice unreadable. "The quality is a bit grainy, given the low lighting, but the composition is excellent, and you've finally mastered the focus on your camera." He sighed. "I'm afraid they'll be a little smudged now, though. I couldn't wait long enough for them to dry properly."
"There was no need to hurry on my part."
"Oh, but there was. You were obviously trying to tell me something." John leaned down, his face ducking into Simon's line of sight. "What was it?"
Simon picked up the pictures, more from the need of something to look at other than John's face. Only that backfired, as the pictures showed John's face up close and more than personal, in a situation Simon had no clue how to say he wanted to see again. Preferably up close with his own two eyes and no cameral lens--or anything else--between them.
"I'm sorry."
"Bullshit." The humor in John's voice lessened the tightness in Simon's chest a little. "You're not sorry. Well, not about the pictures anyway." John snatched the photos back, and Simon's eyes met John's automatically. "So what are you sorry about, then, eh?"
"It was a prank," Simon said. "That's all. I saw you, the camera was there, and I just...did it."
Even to his own ears, something in his voice didn't ring true, and John's grin confirmed it. "Nice try," he said, "but I'm not buying."
"Fine." Simon shrugged before he rose from his chair. "Suit yourself," he said, walking away, past the pool and out to the beach. He found a secluded area behind a large lifeguard tower, shrouded in darkness, and ducked behind it. There was still light from the moon there, despite the large tower and the sand dune that made up his hideaway corner, but at least it offered some protection, he hoped.
The strong, familiar hand on his arm a moment later was little surprise. "Should've known that wasn't going to work," he mumbled as he turned to face John.
"Of course not." John's voice was smug. "Running away only makes me more curious." He stepped in closer to Simon, trapping him between the corner of the dune and the lifeguard stand. "So what is it that you're so eager not to share?"
Oh, he knew, Simon realized, swallowing hard. Everything about John in that moment spoke to his certain knowledge, his posture, his dark, seductive voice, so sure of conquest. A hunter who'd caught his prey and was content to play with it.
He knew. And he wasn't running. Was, in fact, moving even closer, until there was only a very thin layer of air between their bodies. Simon stared at the face so close to his, teeth and eyes glinting in the shafts of moonlight that filtered in through the slats of the lifeguard stand.
Simon swallowed again. He'd never run from a possible conquest before; why should he start now? His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he didn't miss the shift as John's attention focused on that movement.
Which was enough to give him the courage to reach out and grab the back of John's neck, pulling him in the short distance until their lips met. There was a second of surprise before John's arms went around Simon's back and he found himself pressed hard against the wall of the stand.
His hips surged forward, encouraged by the insistent tug of John's hands, their bodies so tightly together now it was impossible to miss John's erection, brushing against Simon's as they kissed, sending shockwaves along Simon's nerves. He pushed into John's hips, wanting more of that feeling, wanting less clothing between them, wanting so many things all want once that he groaned at the thought of having to choose one at a time. He ran his hands down John's back, confused when hard paper scraped against the back of one hand.
Carefully sliding that hand down to squeeze John's ass, he recognized the paper--the photos, rolled up and shoved into John's back pocket. The reminder of those pictures, of John's face, was enough to send another jolt through him, and Simon reached between their bodies, sliding a hand down below the waistband of John's trousers, the coarse cotton on the back of his hand a rough contrast to the smooth skin against his palm.
This time it was John who groaned, leaning harder into the kiss as he thrust into Simon's hand. Simon felt those long fingers he'd had far too many fantasies about caressing his cheeks, and then they were sliding through his hair, cradling his scalp the way they would a very old, very expensive bass.
His mind played back the memory of those same hands sliding through the blonde hair of the girl, and he pushed the memory away. Who needed memories like that when the real thing was there in his arms?
Well, there was one certain way to wipe that memory out. He pulled his hand out of John's trousers, ignoring the sound of protest, and put it on John's shoulder to spin them around. He felt the impact of John hitting the base of the stand through John's body, and winced, but it only made John pull him closer, the kisses growing almost violent in their intensity.
"Where are you going?" John demanded when Simon broke the kiss and took a step back, but Simon only smiled and ducked out of the way of the hands trying to drag him close again. They stopped as Simon dropped to his knees, hands reaching for John's waistband, the look of shock on John's face, so clearly visible now that he was leaning against the stand instead of facing it, quickly melting into a grin of pure delight.
Simon blessed the moonlight--he'd been right, it really was the perfect night for sharing with a gorgeous partner. It also allowed him to see that partner's face as Simon dealt quickly with the trousers, getting them out of the way so that nothing impeded his view of John's cock. He'd seen it before, of course, but not like this, not with the freedom to explore, to touch at will. He ran one finger down the side of it, fascinated by the way the foreskin moved with his finger at the top.
With a hiss at that touch, John buried his fingers in Simon's hair once more, gently massaging the scalp there, and subtly moving his head closer. Simon smiled a little to himself at the technique, so seemingly caring and yet so calculating at the same time. "You know, if you want something, you could just ask instead of all this hinting," Simon said, watching two of his fingers run down the side of John's cock this time.
"Please?" John said, his voice not yet desperate enough for Simon's liking.
Eyes traveling up John's still-shirted body, making a note to get the man naked next time before starting something like this, Simon raised his head until he could see John's face. More evidence of the desperation he was looking for there than there had been in the voice, and Simon relented a bit. "Please?" he repeated in the same tone, waiting for clarification.
A growl of frustration was the first answer, and Simon's fingers ran back up John's cock again. "For fuck's sake," John hissed out, careful not to raise his voice too loud, "would you please just suck me already?"
Good enough, Simon decided. At least there could be no doubt later that they'd both wanted this. He wasted no more time, sliding his whole hand down the length of John's cock to circle the base. Wetting his lips, Simon slid a little closer and touched them to the tip of John's cock, almost a kiss, before sliding them slowly over and down the shaft.
Easier than he'd anticipated, to take John in his mouth, to use his tongue to tease and torment, guided by the vast experience of all the girls who'd gone down on Simon in the past, and by John's reactions to the various techniques. He'd wondered why all those women had been so eager to do this, and chalked it up to the willingness to do anything to get near a pop star, but now he recognized the lure of it.
Not just getting near someone; getting power over someone.
Because John was helpless. Simon knew the feeling, but it was still something else entirely to be the one causing it. To feel those thighs trembling under his hands, as though John was going to collapse at any second, to know that the wall was the only thing keeping him from falling down, the will power to stand no match for one little twist of Simon's tongue.
He could tell John was close--the movement of his hips was bordering on frantic, and the sounds he was making were putting Simon's erection in danger of castration by his own trousers. He'd been right to be sorry he'd never heard that up close before. *Won't be the last time,* he promised himself as he shifted to allow more room down below and went back to his task.
"Charlie...." One word, a warning, one that Simon refused to heed. If that little groupie could swallow, then so could he. He wasn't about to be upstaged, not here. Not now.
And then John cried out, thrusting forward one last time, nearly choking Simon in the process. He managed to pull his head back just enough, hand moving along John's cock as he emptied himself. Definitely an acquired taste, Simon thought, coughing a bit as he swallowed as fast as he could. But he could get used to it, under the right circumstances.
He released John's soft cock from his mouth with one last kiss and sat back, breathing as hard as he could hear John breathing up above. "Watch your legs," John mumbled, seconds before he slid down the side of the stand, landing hard, legs stretched out where one of Simon's had been. His eyes were closed, but he reached out, taking one of Simon's hand with his own, fingers playing over the back of Simon's knuckles.
Eyes opening at last, John looked at him. "That was...." He shrugged after a moment, either unable or unwilling to find the words.
"Yeah," Simon agreed softly, shifting again.
A move that John noticed, and he grinned. Under different circumstances, Simon thought he'd be a bit worried about the light in John's eyes, but considering their current situation, he just smiled right back. "Can you walk?" John said, raising his eyes at the large bulge between Simon's legs.
"It'd be a lot easier if someone took care of this," Simon answered, pushing his hips up.
"I'm sure." John linked their fingers and stood, hauling Simon up with him. "But," he said, pausing for a kiss, "I have much better plans for it than a quick blow job, if you can make it back to my bed."
Simon tamped down on a wave of lust that threatened to end any chance of those plans for several hours. "I think I can manage," he said, trying his best to fill his mind of anything that would cool his libido. Which did not include the currently over-sexed looking John Taylor standing before him. "If you can manage not to look like someone who just received a very thorough blow job," he said, closing his eyes quickly.
"I'll try," John said, "but it's rough, when I just got the best blow job of my life."
"Not another word," Simon said, putting the happiness those words inspired aside for later. "Or I'm making no promises."
John giggled, which did little to help, but then he let go of Simon's hand, and Simon heard the sounds of fabric and a zipper. "Eyes front, Charlie," he said from somewhere behind Simon, giving him a little shove to the shoulder.
Simon opened his eyes and started back to the hotel, John close behind, but not touching. "I feel a little silly, walking in front of you."
"Maybe you do, but I'm certainly enjoying the view," John said. "Keeps my mind off the sand up my ass, anyway."
And that made Simon smile, even as he cursed the sand for making the walk back slow going. It wasn't until they got on the lift that he looked at John again, watching as he pushed the button for the top floor.
"You're going to need a shower," Simon remarked, staring at the ceiling. "That sand can get a bit uncomfortable."
"Already is," John said, his toe nudging Simon's foot. "I may need some help making sure it all gets washed away."
Lips twitching, Simon nudged back. "I'm sure what's her name would be glad to come back and help." He frowned over at John. "What was her name?"
With a shrug, John shook his head. "Don't remember."
Simon wasn't entirely convinced--John was usually good with names, even when he was drunk or high. "I guess something must've caused it to slip your mind."
"I'd say something blew it right out of there," John agreed, eyes twinkling.
The lift stopped and they stepped off. "I thought we were going to your room," Simon said when John turned the other direction.
"We are," he said, pivoting on his heel to walk backwards a few steps while talking, "but we need something from yours first."
"We do?"
John nodded, and this time the look in his eyes definitely caused Simon concern. "Just how many rolls of film did you say you had for that camera?"
---
END
