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Feb. 8th, 2012 12:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cathybitesfar above the world
[hockey rps, artem anisimov/brandon dubinsky, r, 1308 words)
Artie is in space. Dubi isn't. written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
pass_shoot_porn for the prompt oddity, which really only ever makes me think of one thing, and thus we have this story.
The monitor hummed, and Artie held his breath until it flickered on, Brandon's face slowly coming into view. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, mouth tight with worry, hair even more of a mess than the last time Artie had seen him.
He looked perfect.
"Hi," Artie said, reaching out to place his palm against the monitor.
Brandon smiled, returning the gesture. The glass was warm under Artie's hand and he shut his eyes for a moment, imagining Brandon's touch.
They both dropped their hands, and Brandon peered out from the screen at him. "How much time do we have?" He bit down on his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth.
(Artie knew that later, he would complain about it being chapped and look for his Chapstick. He would turn the apartment inside-out and not be able to find it, not until he gave up and went to grab his keys to go out and buy more. There would be a tube of it in the key dish, where Artie always left it for Brandon to find.)
He glanced at the readings, the numbers flashing red and yellow at him, and forced a smile on his face before turning back to Brandon. "Enough time." Not nearly enough, but Artie would take what he could.
Brandon nodded. He reached up, and for a terrifying moment, the monitor went dark. Artie was halfway out of his seat before Brandon came back into view, his camera adjusted so that Artie could fully see him, leaning back in his chair. "Is this good?"
Artie swallowed, throat too dry to speak, and nodded. He glanced up at his panel and frowned. "I can't move camera here."
"It's okay. I just need to see your face."
A terrible ache knotted in his chest, and Artie took a deep breath around it, tried to will it away. Something behind him started to flash and he leaned forward, hoping to fill the screen with only his face. "Brandon..."
"I'm here. I won't leave." Artie watched as he sat up in the chair. "What do you want me to do?"
"Your...please, your shirt." Brandon nodded, grabbing the hem of his shirt and started to yank it up. "No, slow. Like I was there."
Brandon nodded again, and pulled his shirt up slowly, arching into the movement. Artie reached out, fingers gliding over the monitor, tracing the planes of Brandon's body that were so familiar to him now.
(The first time they had slept together, Artie had sent Brandon into giggles every time he touched him. He'd almost walked out in embarrassment, but Brandon stopped him. "Sorry, I'm sorry, but you keep *tickling* me." He then grabbed Artie's hand and showed him where to touch him.)
"Now what?"
Artie's heart pounded, and he could feel beads of sweat roll down the back of his next. He felt hot all over, flushing just from the memory of Brandon stripping his shirt off. He wished for just a hint of a cool breeze, but the cooling system had been one of the first to fail. Brandon leaned forward, waiting, and Artie said, "Touch yourself."
He expected Brandon to make a game of it, but they were both too aware of how little time there was. Brandon just nodded, sitting back in his chair and undoing his pants, shoving them down to mid-thigh. Artie swore when he realized Brandon wasn't wearing underwear. Brandon just smiled and shrugged, said, "I didn't want to waste too much time."
He kept to that, too, wrapping a hand around his dick, stroking slowly. Artie scooted his chair closer to the monitor, eyes wide. His hand curled against his leg, remembering the feel of Brandon's cock, the heft and width of it. "What are you thinking?"
It took a moment for Brandon to answer. "Last summer, when we went camping."
Artie scowled. "That was a horrible time."
Brandon's eyes met his, and Artie felt the heat across the miles, sliding down his spine and coiling up deep in his gut. "It wasn't all bad."
(It had rained for three days straight, and finally, on the fourth, Artie was able to convince Brandon to give up and go to a hotel. They spent the rest of the week there, wrapped up in each other, and the last night, Artie fucked Brandon for the first time.)
"I think about it all the time now," Brandon continued, voice breathy as he jerked himself off. "Think about you, the way you hold me down, won't let me move as you fuck me." Artie thought about it, too, how Brandon begged, legs wrapped tight around Artie's waist. He unzipped his jumpsuit, shaking the sleeves off before reaching into his shorts and wrapping a hand around his cock.
"Are you touching yourself?"
Artie nodded, almost frantically as he thrust into his fist. "I can stand."
"No, just, fuck. Just tell me."
Artie swallowed heavily. It was stupid to be embarrassed about this, not now, not after all they'd been through, all that Brandon would go through. He ignored the heat spreading across his face and said, "It's like. I pretend it's New Year's. At the party." He closed his eyes, picturing it. "You cornered me out in the back, in the dark. Didn't even know what was happening until you were in my pants."
"You're making me sound like a pervert."
"You are."
Brandon laughed. His face was flushed pink, and Artie's mouth watered, remembering how Brandon's skin tasted when it got like that, hot and raw. He could see the glisten of precome smeared over Brandon's fist, knew how close he was. Artie sped up his own movements, fist tightening around his dick. "Brandon, please," he whispered. "I want to see."
"Fuck," Brandon swore, brow furrowing. Artie could see him tense all over, could track the stutter of his hips, and he watched as Brandon came all over his fist. The phantom taste of Brandon's come was on his tongue, and Artie spilled his own orgasm out, feeling it drain out of him.
Artie leaned back in his chair, trying to catch his breath. Brandon's face smiled back at him from the monitor, hair flopping in his eyes. Artie reached up, fingers aching to smooth the strands back, and Brandon ducked his head, did it for him.
Above the monitor, the last warning light came on, washing over Artie like a cold shower. He sat up, tried not to panic. "Brandon, I have to say--"
"No, don't, okay?" Brandon moved closer to the screen. "Tell me when you get back to Earth."
"I'm not--"
"Artie, you will. Let me believe that, okay?"
Artie blinked, eyes burning, but he nodded. "Okay."
"Okay then." Brandon smiled, and the screen went dark.
"NO!" Artie jumped up, smacking it. "No no no," he said, switching to a different channel. The monitor stayed stubbornly blank, and Artie sunk into his chair, defeated.
The lights went out soon after, and there was nothing for him to do but stare out the window and watch as the world drifted slowly away.
("Artem?"
Artie looked up from the menu. This guy, with dark eyes and a mouth to die for...this wasn't what he had expected. Not that he expected much from a blind date, but when his cousin had mentioned 'a nice boy' that she wanted to set him up with, he knew that was usually code for 'but he's very unattractive.' This guy was anything but.
"You are Brandon?"
"Yeah, sorry, I know I'm late, but I couldn't find parking. I hope you weren't waiting long."
"It's okay. I don't mind." Artie shrugged, then grinned. "I will just have to pay you back someday, keep you waiting around forever."
Brandon raised an eyebrow, but smiled back. "Yeah? We'll see about that.")
title from "Space Oddity" by David Bowie. thank you for reading!
[hockey rps, artem anisimov/brandon dubinsky, r, 1308 words)
Artie is in space. Dubi isn't. written for
pass_shoot_porn for the prompt oddity, which really only ever makes me think of one thing, and thus we have this story.The monitor hummed, and Artie held his breath until it flickered on, Brandon's face slowly coming into view. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, mouth tight with worry, hair even more of a mess than the last time Artie had seen him.
He looked perfect.
"Hi," Artie said, reaching out to place his palm against the monitor.
Brandon smiled, returning the gesture. The glass was warm under Artie's hand and he shut his eyes for a moment, imagining Brandon's touch.
They both dropped their hands, and Brandon peered out from the screen at him. "How much time do we have?" He bit down on his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth.
(Artie knew that later, he would complain about it being chapped and look for his Chapstick. He would turn the apartment inside-out and not be able to find it, not until he gave up and went to grab his keys to go out and buy more. There would be a tube of it in the key dish, where Artie always left it for Brandon to find.)
He glanced at the readings, the numbers flashing red and yellow at him, and forced a smile on his face before turning back to Brandon. "Enough time." Not nearly enough, but Artie would take what he could.
Brandon nodded. He reached up, and for a terrifying moment, the monitor went dark. Artie was halfway out of his seat before Brandon came back into view, his camera adjusted so that Artie could fully see him, leaning back in his chair. "Is this good?"
Artie swallowed, throat too dry to speak, and nodded. He glanced up at his panel and frowned. "I can't move camera here."
"It's okay. I just need to see your face."
A terrible ache knotted in his chest, and Artie took a deep breath around it, tried to will it away. Something behind him started to flash and he leaned forward, hoping to fill the screen with only his face. "Brandon..."
"I'm here. I won't leave." Artie watched as he sat up in the chair. "What do you want me to do?"
"Your...please, your shirt." Brandon nodded, grabbing the hem of his shirt and started to yank it up. "No, slow. Like I was there."
Brandon nodded again, and pulled his shirt up slowly, arching into the movement. Artie reached out, fingers gliding over the monitor, tracing the planes of Brandon's body that were so familiar to him now.
(The first time they had slept together, Artie had sent Brandon into giggles every time he touched him. He'd almost walked out in embarrassment, but Brandon stopped him. "Sorry, I'm sorry, but you keep *tickling* me." He then grabbed Artie's hand and showed him where to touch him.)
"Now what?"
Artie's heart pounded, and he could feel beads of sweat roll down the back of his next. He felt hot all over, flushing just from the memory of Brandon stripping his shirt off. He wished for just a hint of a cool breeze, but the cooling system had been one of the first to fail. Brandon leaned forward, waiting, and Artie said, "Touch yourself."
He expected Brandon to make a game of it, but they were both too aware of how little time there was. Brandon just nodded, sitting back in his chair and undoing his pants, shoving them down to mid-thigh. Artie swore when he realized Brandon wasn't wearing underwear. Brandon just smiled and shrugged, said, "I didn't want to waste too much time."
He kept to that, too, wrapping a hand around his dick, stroking slowly. Artie scooted his chair closer to the monitor, eyes wide. His hand curled against his leg, remembering the feel of Brandon's cock, the heft and width of it. "What are you thinking?"
It took a moment for Brandon to answer. "Last summer, when we went camping."
Artie scowled. "That was a horrible time."
Brandon's eyes met his, and Artie felt the heat across the miles, sliding down his spine and coiling up deep in his gut. "It wasn't all bad."
(It had rained for three days straight, and finally, on the fourth, Artie was able to convince Brandon to give up and go to a hotel. They spent the rest of the week there, wrapped up in each other, and the last night, Artie fucked Brandon for the first time.)
"I think about it all the time now," Brandon continued, voice breathy as he jerked himself off. "Think about you, the way you hold me down, won't let me move as you fuck me." Artie thought about it, too, how Brandon begged, legs wrapped tight around Artie's waist. He unzipped his jumpsuit, shaking the sleeves off before reaching into his shorts and wrapping a hand around his cock.
"Are you touching yourself?"
Artie nodded, almost frantically as he thrust into his fist. "I can stand."
"No, just, fuck. Just tell me."
Artie swallowed heavily. It was stupid to be embarrassed about this, not now, not after all they'd been through, all that Brandon would go through. He ignored the heat spreading across his face and said, "It's like. I pretend it's New Year's. At the party." He closed his eyes, picturing it. "You cornered me out in the back, in the dark. Didn't even know what was happening until you were in my pants."
"You're making me sound like a pervert."
"You are."
Brandon laughed. His face was flushed pink, and Artie's mouth watered, remembering how Brandon's skin tasted when it got like that, hot and raw. He could see the glisten of precome smeared over Brandon's fist, knew how close he was. Artie sped up his own movements, fist tightening around his dick. "Brandon, please," he whispered. "I want to see."
"Fuck," Brandon swore, brow furrowing. Artie could see him tense all over, could track the stutter of his hips, and he watched as Brandon came all over his fist. The phantom taste of Brandon's come was on his tongue, and Artie spilled his own orgasm out, feeling it drain out of him.
Artie leaned back in his chair, trying to catch his breath. Brandon's face smiled back at him from the monitor, hair flopping in his eyes. Artie reached up, fingers aching to smooth the strands back, and Brandon ducked his head, did it for him.
Above the monitor, the last warning light came on, washing over Artie like a cold shower. He sat up, tried not to panic. "Brandon, I have to say--"
"No, don't, okay?" Brandon moved closer to the screen. "Tell me when you get back to Earth."
"I'm not--"
"Artie, you will. Let me believe that, okay?"
Artie blinked, eyes burning, but he nodded. "Okay."
"Okay then." Brandon smiled, and the screen went dark.
"NO!" Artie jumped up, smacking it. "No no no," he said, switching to a different channel. The monitor stayed stubbornly blank, and Artie sunk into his chair, defeated.
The lights went out soon after, and there was nothing for him to do but stare out the window and watch as the world drifted slowly away.
("Artem?"
Artie looked up from the menu. This guy, with dark eyes and a mouth to die for...this wasn't what he had expected. Not that he expected much from a blind date, but when his cousin had mentioned 'a nice boy' that she wanted to set him up with, he knew that was usually code for 'but he's very unattractive.' This guy was anything but.
"You are Brandon?"
"Yeah, sorry, I know I'm late, but I couldn't find parking. I hope you weren't waiting long."
"It's okay. I don't mind." Artie shrugged, then grinned. "I will just have to pay you back someday, keep you waiting around forever."
Brandon raised an eyebrow, but smiled back. "Yeah? We'll see about that.")
title from "Space Oddity" by David Bowie. thank you for reading!
