Christening the Set

by IveGotChickensToFeed

Summary:

Reece and Steve have got in the habit of christening every set... in their own way. For good luck, you see.

Notes:

• For kookaburrito.

This started out as a slightly overenthusiastic idea for Kooka's birthday, who then let me know there are exactly 55 days between Halloween and Christmas!

Let's see if I manage to upload a fic every day until December 25th lol

Chapter 1: Sardines

They weren't sure who started it; it just sort of happened. They were proud of their new project and seeing it all come together was wonderful. No matter how often they'd done it, stepping into a world that had only existed in their own heads up until then, was something unreal.
It made them feel giddy, and full of energy, and more anxious than they'd like to admit. And everyone knows that anxiety makes one susceptible to superstitions.

“I feel like we should do something to celebrate, or… maybe do something for good luck.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how breaking a bottle against a ship is meant to assure many safe journeys? Like that.”
“Alas, I forgot my bottle of champagne today. Though, props will have one ready, of course.”
“Hm, yeah... However; I… can think of something else I could shake in my hand for a bit before it explodes?”
Reece cocks an eyebrow at Steve, who can't help but laugh.
“You're astonishingly bad at dirty talk, you know.”
“Well, if you're going to be like that…” He throws his hands up in semi-serious annoyance, “We don't have to christen the set. Let it be cursed!”
“No, no. I didn't say that.”
Reece rolls his eyes while Steve quickly pulls him closer.

 

And so they find themselves inside the wardrobe “just to try it out”, while everyone else has gone off to lunch.
Reece is bouncing on the balls of his feet, all giddy energy and enthusiasm, until Steve kisses him squarely on the mouth and he melts into it.
He'd planned to stay in character; to be campy, bitchy Stu, but his mind has instantly gone blank. He'll have to settle for being campy, bitchy Reece instead. He leans further into Steve, pushing him against the back of the wardrobe, until Steve tries to pull his head backwards. He chases Steve's mouth, but Steve puts his hands on either side of his face and moves him gently away.
“Just let me catch my breath for a second, dear.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I promised you something anyway. Shaking champagne bottles and all that.”

His gaze is now firmly fixed on the front of Steve's trousers, Steve’s erection visibly pressing against the zip.
Reece smacks his lips and when he opens his mouth again, he's back in character.
“I know this might come across mildly ironic from inside this closet, but I think it's time for you to come out.”
It's perfectly Stu.
Steve sighs in mild exasperation, but takes the hint and unbuckles his belt.

Before he's even had a chance to undo the zip, Reece's hand has disappeared beneath his waistband, trying to pull his cock out of his pants.
“Gently, Reece,” Steve hisses through gritted teeth.
Reece pouts at him, but slows his movements, tugging Steve's boxer shorts down with his left hand while still holding on to his cock with his right.

“Better?”
It's pure petulance. He's being purposefully slow as he strokes his fingers down Steve's shaft. Steve tries to keep looking at Reece, observe each other like they always do. Reece moves a thumb over the head of Steve's cock and visibly revels in Steve's reaction, who lets his eyes fall closed.
“Yeah,” Steve clears his throat, “better.”

Reece hums and gets to work. He knows exactly when to squeeze slightly tighter, when to slow down and when to give it a flick of the wrist. He's still observing Steve, noticing when his mouth falls open, when his whole body seems to shiver.

“Reece, I'm not going to last long.”
“Then reciprocate before my bottle explodes with the cork still in it.”
Steve can't help but snort.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means I'm about to jizz in my pants. Come on, man. Help me out.”

Steve gently untucks Reece's shirt, before unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers. He's rewarded with a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

They stand there, heads resting on each other's shoulders as they work their hands up and down each other’s cocks. It's crude, and it's silly, but then everything they do is like that.
Breathy moans and slick skin on skin are the only noises breaking the silence of the wardrobe. It feels sneaky. Hidden away like this. Like they’re teenagers, rather than befuddled old men. The idea fans the fire inside of Reece’s lower belly. He gasps when Steve flicks his wrist just so.

Steve cums first, with clenched teeth and buckling knees, his free hand coming up to squeeze Reece's bicep so hard it might leave a bruise. Somehow he manages to keep stroking Reece through his own orgasm, until Reece too cums, with a shuddering breath and fluttering eyelids.

He leans into Steve, as warm and solid as ever.
“That was nice.”
Steve hums.
“So, are we doing this for every set then?”
“I do believe we will.”
“Purely for prosperity reasons, of course.”
“Naturally, no ulterior motives.”

Chapter 2: A Quiet Night In

Summary:

Sound level meter used for nefarious purposes.

Notes:

Let the madness commence

They decide that either of them can bring it up at any time during the writing and filming process. It’s not about a specific time or place. It’s just about making it relevant to the episode. Doing what will help them do well. Doing each other. Steve adds the last sentence with such a smug grin on his face, Reece has to kiss it right off.

 

They're standing in the living/dining room where most of the story will take place, planning how things will work in this space.
They've been talking about it for such a long time that everyone else has called it a day, but they're not done yet.

Reece thinks they're finally nearing the end of the conversation when Steve pulls something out of his pocket and puts it down on the counter.
“What's that?”
He's sure it'll be good, whatever it is. Steve's come up with it, so it must be good.
“I liked how we christened the set last time, but I think we can do better.”

Reece nods thoughtfully, hoping his face doesn't show how much he'd been looking forward to it.
“Couldn't agree more; doesn't answer my question, though. What's that?”
“Sound level meter.”
“Come again?”
“Yes, that's what I'm proposing.”
“Hilarious. And where does the sound level meter come in?”
“Silent movie inspired story, silent movie inspired christening. I thought we could make it a game. I blow you, you blow me, whoever makes the least sound while being sucked off gets another go.”
“You make it sound so romantic.”
Steve grins at him.
“Doesn't it sound like a good plan, though?”
“You're insane.”
“It's what you like about me.”
Reece sighs.
“Yes. Yes it is.”

Reece claps his hands together.
“Alright then, Steve “once again, I win the game” Pemberton, who gets to go first?”
“If you're up for it, I'd like to go first. Just so we know exactly how much noise you can't make.”

Reece nods. Easy. The better he does now, the louder he can be later.
“Want to move somewhere else, or are we staying right here?”
Reece glances at the massive window wall. He knows no one is going to see them, but the idea that someone might is weirdly hot.
Steve smiles as if he's read his mind.
“Let's stay here.”

Reece sits down on his knees and waits. Steve takes himself out of his trousers and, slightly annoyedly, Reece realises he's salivating. He's about to dive in when Steve stops him.
“Wait! You should hold this so you know I'm not cheating.”
Reece isn't sure how to hold the sound level meter in a way that won't interfere with what he's doing, so eventually he perches it on a chair so he can watch it as he goes. It's currently reading 12dB. He gets to work.

It's weirdly satisfying watching the number go up whenever he does something especially good, making Steve gasp or moan. It never spikes above 50dB, but Reece feels like he's doing a good job.
When Steve puts his hand in his hair and gently tugs, Reece makes it go up to 58dB himself and it slowly dawns on him how much he is going to struggle later. He redoubles his efforts.

His hands come up to hold on to Steve's ass, fingers kneading into the muscle. He encourages Steve to push and pull at his head as he pleases. It works. Steve's breathing speeds up, his moans become fractionally louder. Reece looks up at him through his eyelashes and can just about see the concentrated look on Steve's face. He hums around Steve's cock - 39dB - and is rewarded - 62dB.
When he can feel Steve get close, he pulls himself forward, taking Steve's cock as deep into his throat as he can, swallowing around him.
Steve lets out a surprised shout - 72dB -, and spasms slightly as he cums down Reece's throat.

It takes Steve a good minute to get his brain back, before he asks Reece the number to beat.
“Easy!”
He rubs his hands together.
“I quite like you down there. Lie down for me, please.”
Reece does. How could he not. He feels his dick twitch in his trousers at the look on Steve's face. He really wants to win.

The tiles are slightly cold against his back, which only seems to emphasise the feverish feeling of arousal coursing through him.
He lifts his hips off the floor when Steve has undone his belt and trouser button. It feels like Steve’s all over him, and he's having to put effort into not making too much noise already. He clamps his jaw shut.

Steve pulls his pants down and laps at the tip of his cock. Before he's registered the fact that he's made a noise, he sees the sound level go up to 75dB. Goddamnit.
Steve's eyes twinkle as he looks up at him. Lost already.

He reaches down as fast as he can and pinches Steve's nipple through his shirt.
“Ow! Fuck!”

85dB.

Back in the game.
“That's cheating!”
“Soooo sorry, you didn't clarify that wasn't allowed.”
He can't help the grin that's spreading across his face, “Go on then, see if you can make me shout.”

Steve doesn't have to be told twice. He dives back in, taking Reece's cock into his mouth as far as it will go. Reece lets out a hum, but otherwise keeps quiet.
His mouth is hot and wet and Reece can feel just enough of his teeth to set him on edge slightly.
Steve’s hand comes up to squeeze at the base, his velvety tongue pressing against the underside of Reece’s cock. He had almost forgotten how good Steve is at this.

When Steve takes his balls into his other hand, he slaps a hand over his mouth to stop the loud moans that are threatening to spill.
Steve momentarily stops his ministrations to reach up and forcefully remove Reece's hand from his face.
“Stop cheating.”
Reece firmly presses his lips together and nods.
“Good boy.”
A choked little noise makes it past his lips anyway.

As soon as Steve starts up again, he knows he's not going to last much longer.
Steve hums around his cock and there he goes. Right as he starts cumming, Steve presses a finger against his rim.
“Fuck!” Reece yells, before panickedly looking at the sound level meter.

85dB.

He can't help but laugh through his orgasm. It makes him feel light-headed and giddy.
“What now? Who's won?”

Steve's sitting between his legs, also laughing. One hand on Reece's thigh, warm and solid. He squeezes briefly as he speaks,
“Ohno! A tie! This must mean we both deserve a prize! I guess we'll have to suck each other off at the same time later!”
Reece doesn't mind that in the slightest.

 

Their combined laughter is just over 90dB.

Notes:

My google searches were very Decibel heavy after writing this one.

Chapter 3: Tom & Gerri

Summary:

Copious amounts of alcohol (TW?)

Notes:

I know Reece doesn't drink. So... artistic license, I guess.

It's the night before they start filming and Reece suggests they simply sneak onto the set. It's a normal flat that no one is currently living in, but it's been set up for them already.
They haven’t dressed up, their costumes safe and sound in a bag somewhere, but Steve decided earlier in the day that they could embody the characters in a different way; he's brought two bottles of Jack's.
It's fun, and Reece feels a little reckless. He’s not used to sneaking around anymore, doing things that aren't truly illegal, but don't feel fully lawful either.
They found out it's surprisingly easy to get drunk on rum ages ago, and the drunker they get, the hornier. They therefore decided they were going to try as long as possible not to touch each other. Because everything always has to be a competition.

It's easy at the start. They're used to sitting around, having a drink and hanging out. Rather than trying to make each other break, they're just trying to make each other laugh, and it's brilliant. The longer they go on for, the worse their jokes, but the funnier they find it.
But Steve keeps topping up Reece's drink, and the more he drinks, the more impatient he gets about it.

He physically sits on his hands for a bit, making sure he won't touch Steve, then decides it's time for the attack.
He might not be allowed to physically seduce Steve, but there's always words.
“Steve,” he knows he could say it normally if he wanted to, but it's more fun to slur his words a little, “Steve. I want to have sex now.”

Steve snorts. “You know I won't let you win that easily, dear. You can come and get it, if you want it so much.”

“But Steve,” and he's put the whine on now, “I need you. I want you to fuck me, right here, right now on this sofa.” He's not breaking eye contact with Steve.
“I need you to stretch me with your tongue, I need you to bend me in half and fuck me until I forget my own name.”
Steve's mouth has opened slightly of its own accord. Reece can see he's just drunk enough to not think clearly anymore. Every single one of his words is traveling straight to Steve's dick. He can see clear proof of this too.
“I could be so good to you. I know exactly how you like it. Just come over here and I'll show you.”
Reece bats his eyelashes at him for good measure.

Steve's eyes are unfocused and Reece can see him starting to squirm, but then he seems to snap out of it. He smirks and shakes his head at these words.
“You'll have to come to me, Reece.”
“But Steve!” His name feels like a moan in his mouth, “I crave your mouth on my neck, your hands on my hips. I need your cock inside of me, splitting me open, making me see stars. I want to scream your name as you pound into m…”
And before Reece knows it, he's being folded in half on the sofa.

His mind is swimming pleasantly as he watches Steve crawl over him. He's won. He's won. And perhaps not just in the game, but in life as well, because Steve grabs his wrists and pins them to the arm of the sofa above his head with one hand.
His other hand reaches for the bottle.
“Such a dirty mouth. I think you should disinfect it with some of this. Open wide.”
He can't do anything but do as he's told. Swallowing as Steve pours. He splutters and it burns on the way down, but it warms him up on the inside.
Suddenly the world is not just swimming, but actively spinning. Reece tries to pull free of Steve's grip, but to no avail. Then, Steve grinds down into his crotch which makes the spinning world explode with stars.

While it becomes more and more difficult to focus on the world around him, Steve attacks his neck with kisses and bites and licks.
He's moaning and whining, and all around him is Steve. Pressing down on him, holding onto him. He can smell him, and feel him, and hear him. He feels drunk off Steve's attention at the best of times, but now, the mixture of Steve and alcohol brings it all to a new level. He's only half aware of the world, but fully conscious of the pleasure building inside him.

Steve's rutting against him with abandon, sucking bruises into his skin. Between kisses, he's whispering to him how easy he is. How easy it would be to take advantage of him. How lucky he himself is that Reece gives him all of this willingly.

And even if Reece didn't want to give him this willingly, he feels too far gone to do anything, but lie there, and take it. Fortunately, he’s more than happy to just lie there and take it.
What he really wants is to be fucked to within an inch of his life, but his tongue has disconnected from his brain, and the current friction feels too good to get Steve to stop anyway.
His head is lolling from side to side as Steve continues his attack, pressing down on the hickeys he’s sucked into Reece’s skin.

Reece zones back into Steve's words, not having realised he'd zoned out in the first place, and hears him talk about how pretty he is. How difficult it is to keep his hands off of him even when sober. How impossible it becomes when they're drunk.

The only coherent thought in his brain is the urgent need to cum. He's too drunk to think about the consequences of cumming in his trousers. He just needs the release. He needs Steve to groan his name into the space between them as his hips spasm with the force of his orgasm.
When he tries to move his arms, he finds that Steve has let go of them. He tries to grab hold of Steve's sweater, to pull him closer, and only succeeds in hitting Steve in the back.
“Ow! You little…” Steve’s hips come down with more force, his fingers pulling at Reece’s hair, tipping his head back so he can suck at the soft skin of his throat some more.

The world whirls, and his body jerks, and before he knows it he's shouting Steve's name as he cums, the ever spinning world having never looked so spectacular. And still Steve keeps going. The overstimulation is too much, but his tongue is not working and his mouth has checked out, so all he can do is sob and babble as Steve moves against him over and over, until he too is cumming.

Steve immediately collapses on top of him, knocking the breath out of Reece as he does so.
He's too tired to complain, and Steve’s weight feels good as it pushes him deeper into the sofa. They both fall asleep almost instantly, the regret only settling in when they both wake up with mouths as dry as the Sahara and their pants stained with dried semen.

Somehow they still manage a second round, feeling only mildly tipsy by then, before they have to hastily leave to be back in time to start filming. No one notices the extra bottles in some of the shots.

Notes:

o;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;oio

(important message by my cat who decided now was the perfect time to lie on top of my keyboard)

Chapter 4: Last Gasp

Summary:

Steve puts on a little show

Notes:

I dedicate this chapter to Batata, for reasons known to absolutely everybody :)

They'd discussed not being in every episode beforehand, but when the time comes, it still feels very odd.
Reece is around, but in his own clothes. He’s there as Steve gets his make up and costume done, and all the equipment is set up.

They're about to start filming when Steve pulls him into a now empty trailer. He tugs on Reece's arm until they're flush against each other, and locks the door behind him.
“We haven't done our ritual.” He says it with his nose in Reece's neck, and his arms wrapped around his torso.
“I know. I'd been thinking about that.” Reece sounds slightly breathless as he says it. Still nosing at Reece's neck, Steve just hums in reply. Making it clear that he wants Reece to elaborate.
“Well you see, I'm not in this one. So I don't think I should be involved.”
Steve abruptly stops and steps away, hands still on Reece's shoulders.
“What?”
“I don't think I should be involved in this one,” Reece says as if it pains him. He straightens up and lifts his chin and looks down his nose at Steve.
“I think… you should put on a show for me.”

And with that, he disentangles himself from Steve, and sits down on the built-in mini sofa. He carefully positions himself, so his knees are spread wide, and his arms are crossed.
Steve swallows as he faces Reece.
“What sort of a show did you have in mind?”
Reece breathes deeply and cocks his head to the side in thought. He looks the pinnacle of relaxation. Steve's sure it's all an act. He's sure Reece has long since decided what he wants. And what he wants, he gets.
He lets the silence stretch out between them and Steve can feel himself getting hard in his trousers. Goddamnit, nothing is even happening yet, but then maybe that's exactly why he's feeling like this. Hot under the collar. Waiting for what is to come... Hopefully himself.
Eventually, Reece breaks the silence.
“I want you to take your trousers off. Then I want you to start,” he swallows, “pleasuring yourself for me.”

Steve does as he is told. He kicks his trousers and pants off at the same time. He notices Reece's intake of breath at his already erect cock.
He looks up at Reece and sees that the first cracks are already starting to form in his laid-back façade. His mouth has fallen open, and he's no longer sitting back as casually as he was before.
This alone is enough for Steve's cock to twitch. He purposefully takes himself in hand and starts stroking. Reece's eyes follow the movement hungrily.

Out of habit more than anything, Steve closes his eyes.
Reece clears his throat.
“What are you thinking about?”
Steve does not need to think about the answer to that question.
“You.”
“Then why have you closed your eyes?”
Steve has no real answer. That won't stop him from talking, however.

“I… I like to imagine it's your hand around my cock instead. With my eyes closed, I can imagine it's you, on your knees in front of me. You're looking up at me through those pretty, pretty lashes. I imagine you're about to suck me off,” he pauses to listen to the soft moan Reece lets out at his words, “with my eyes closed I can almost feel your velvety lips around the tip of my cock. I can imagine my hand holding on to your hair, guiding you, pulling softly to elicit those perfect little sounds you make.” A smile plays on Steve's lips as Reece demonstrates exactly what he means by perfect little sounds.

He hears Reece rearrange himself as he continues.
“With my eyes closed, I can imagine fucking your mouth. The tight heat of your throat around my cock, choking slightly whenever I push in too deep. Taking me so perfectly, anyway.”
He lets out a moan at his own words now and thumbs at the slit of his cock.

He cracks open one eye to look at Reece. There's a soft flush on his face and he's leaning forward now. One of his hands is kneading his cock through his trousers.
“Reece.”
“Yes.” It's breathy and hopeful.
“Stop touching yourself. You're not involved in this, remember.”
Reece makes some unintelligible protesting noises.
“Stop, Reece. Or I'll stop.”
“No! Yes! No. I'll be good, I'll be good. I'm just watching.”
Steve smiles.
“Exactly.”

Reece moves his hands to hold onto his knees instead, knuckles instantly white with how tightly he's gripping.
“Continue. Please.” Reece's voice sounds strained.

Steve closes his eyes again and speeds up his hand a little.
“Or maybe I'm imagining you on your back, folded in half. Knees so close to your face, we both know you'll be complaining about how much your back hurts tomorrow. I imagine pushing into you. So tight and hot I have to breathe very deliberately to stop myself from cumming instantly. Fuck, Reece. I can imagine using your body to get myself off. Your legs over my shoulders, your arms above your head as you let me pound into you. God. Fuck. I'm so close, Reece," he pauses purposefully, before continuing, "Reece, can I cum?”

He can tell he's surprised Reece by asking him for permission; Reece has to clear his throat several times before he can answer.
“Yeah. Yes. Cum for me, Steve,” he breathes, “Open your eyes and cum for me.”

What a wretched thing to do. Steve forces his eyes open, and when he does, he's glad for it.
Reece's hair is tousled, his lips are red from where he's been biting them, his trousers are so obviously tented that Steve is impressed with Reece's self restraint.
They make eye contact and Steve lets go. He keeps his eyes open, but only just. Reece is looking at him like he's committing all of this to memory as best he can.

 

He grabs some tissue and cleans himself up. Reece is still staring at him with barely contained lust.
“Alright, I'm off to film then. See you in five?”
Reece blinks as if he's waking from a spell Steve put him under.
“I… but… I need…”
“You weren't involved, remember?”
“Steve. That's not fair!”
Reece sounds so whiny, Steve’s glad he’s just cum, or he’d have got hard instantly.
“It's more than fair. See you in five!”

He has to stop himself from skipping as he walks to the door of the trailer. He unlocks it and lets himself out. He can just hear Reece gasp before he closes the door behind him. What a nice day.

Notes:

This chapter was vaguely inspired by a very specific scene in Masters of Sex yee

Chapter 5: The Understudy

Summary:

Reece gets treated like a king

It’s nice taking inspiration from Shakespeare. It saves a lot of time on exposition. It does, however, also come with a certain anxiety. A story people are familiar with, they are more critical of. And it becomes even harder to use subterfuge. They think they’ve done it, though. And that comes with a sense of pride, and we all know pride is a gateway to excitement, and excitement is a gateway to arousal.
It's an episode that makes use of their usual dynamic - or what people seem to think is their usual dynamic, anyway -, Steve looks quite rough for a lot of the episode, whereas Reece looks smooth and a little uncanny. It works well for both of them.

Reece is sitting in a chair, putting on the crown, frowning at his own reflection, when Steve walks in and closes the door behind him. They briefly make eye contact in the mirror, but Reece doesn’t acknowledge him again after that. He looks in the mirror and moves his head about as he considers his face. He can see Steve coming up behind him from his peripherals.
“Your majesty.”
It’s slightly mocking. Of course it is. Reece straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin anyway. He looks down his nose at Steve in the mirror. He looks at the stubble on his chin, the slightly grimy vest; he cannot wait to see where this is going. He nods once to show he’s listening.
“I believe your royal duty to christen this set is yet to be fulfilled.”
Steve’s hand comes up as he says it, hovering just above Reece’s shoulder, waiting for permission.
“Why yes, I do believe you are right. You may proceed," Reece replies in the poshest voice he can do.
Steve's hand is warm and heavy where it lands on his shoulder, thumb stroking along the vertebrae of his neck. Reece closes his eyes and leans into the touch. This episode is all about betrayal, and ambition, and how far people are willing to go for what they think is love, so these touches have no right being so tender.
“You look beautiful in a crown. So regal. So serene.”
Steve's voice is soft, and sincere.
Reece opens his eyes and stares at his own bleary reflection, before making a noncommittal sound.
Steve sighs.
“Come on then, to the sofa. I'll prove it to you.”

Reece lets himself be guided down onto the sofa, lets Steve undo the buttons of his shirt, lets Steve kiss him and lavish him with attention. His eyes never leave Steve's face. He stares at his bright blue eyes, so focussed on their task, his flushed pink skin, so oddly delicate and kissable, his belly looking so grabbable and biteable through his vest.
Reece lets it all wash over him.

Steve looks at him in return, and Reece sees the same hunger that he feels reflected in his eyes. The crown now sits on Reece's head slightly askew and Reece looks all the more delectable for it. Overcome with feelings for a second, Steve simply goes in for a hug.
Reece hesitates for a moment, then wraps his arms around Steve in return. Steve can hear the steady beat of Reece's heart under his ear. What a wonderful reminder of Reece’s continued existence.

He hears it speed up ever so slightly when he slides one of his hands out from under Reece's back and down his side, where it lands on his hip. He pushes himself back up and pulls Reece's trousers down until they're all the way off. He's not sure when Reece's shoes came off, he must have done it himself. He tuts softly, kings should never have to take their own shoes off.

He takes a bottle of lube out of his pocket and coats his fingers. The bottle just lives inside of his trouser pocket now (a relatively recent development).
He very carefully starts preparing Reece, whose mouth falls open into a pretty o, right as his eyes flutter shut.

“Are you alright, your majesty?”
Reece nods.
“Yeah, yeah. More than alright. Although, could you hurry up a little. I have duties to perform, uhh… portraits to pose for.”
“Of course, your majesty.”

He does as he's told, driving his fingers in more insistently, eliciting beautiful sounds. This might be his favourite part, when Reece is mostly gone and he himself is still with it. When he can still take in all the wonderful sounds coming from the other man, can still concentrate on watching him scrunch up his face in pleasure. Though he decides that now it's time for him to lose himself in it too.

He takes his own cock in hand, tugs a few times while coating it in lube. He lines himself up with one hand, the other coming to rest on Reece's chest. He can feel Reece's heart hammering under the palm of his hand. He slowly starts pushing his hips forward, and feels Reece arch his back as he groans.

“Fuck me, you're so tight,” Steve groans, before belatedly adding, “your majesty.”
Reece preens, his crown now only just staying on. He tries to right it, but Steve starts to thrust and Reece's hands change direction mid-air to grab at his upper arms instead.
“God, you're so good to me.” They say it simultaneously and then laugh, Steve's pace faltering almost as soon as it's started. Their eyes lock, and Steve pistons his hips, wiping all thoughts off of both their minds.

It's sweet, and soft, and caring. Steve takes Reece's cock in hand and thumbs at the head. He barely has to move his hand at all before Reece is moaning and writhing underneath him. He rolls Reece's balls around in his hand, feeling them tighten, hearing how Reece's breath catches with every thrust of his hips. Before long, Reece's jaw and eyes clench shut and ropes of cum paint his own belly. Steve follows not long after.

As much as he wants to collapse on top of Reece, catch his breath, and ride the high, he knows he should get a cloth. Kings aren't left covered in their own cum after all.

Notes:

not one of my best, soz. thanks for reading anyway. Come back tomorrow for another ;)

Chapter 6: The Harrowing

Summary:

Reece's solo turn :)

And then it's Reece's solo turn.
He'd told Steve not to ask for it, but to simply wait, and it had been driving Steve mad. Every single time it was just the two of them in a room, he could hardly breathe for anticipation. They're visiting the location, and it's fun. They know this place; they've filmed here before.

As they walk through the hallways, and look into different rooms, they discuss other stories they could tell here.
At this rate Steve is sure they'll die before they've used up all ideas inside their heads. He said this to Reece once, who told him it was bold of him to assume death was going to get him out of this partnership.

It's almost time to go home, when they find themselves all the way upstairs in a room that has just one big chair in the middle of it. The wooden beams at the exact right height to really hit your head against, make it look like a proper old attic (and it is).
They don't plan on using this room, they’re just here because it’s fun to explore creepy places.
Steve is about to walk out again, when Reece pushes him softly towards the chair.

“Have a seat.”
Steve can feel his heart speed up instantly. Even so, he takes a deep breath and sits down. A little cloud of dust moves up around him from the chair.
It is possibly the least sexy room he has ever been in - he decides to rank them later -, but somehow that makes it even better when Reece starts undoing his belt.
Steve spreads his legs, ready to watch the show.

Reece takes his trousers off tantalisingly slowly. Right as Steve is sure he'll find himself face to face with his lovely cock, Reece turns around, and he is met with a sight even more spectacular.
Reece bends over ever so slightly, and a small bat emerges from between his asscheeks; the base of a butt plug.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, “you… did you… I mean, you've been wearing that the whole day?” His voice is full of awe.
Reece turns his face towards him and nods, his facial expression somewhere between bashful and sly.
“Can I…”
Reece rarely sees him this lost for words. He feels almost proud.
“No. This is my turn, remember. No touching, only watching.”
Steve's hands tighten on the fabric of his trousers as he nods.

Reece considers for a moment, before sitting down on his discarded trousers. He leans back and puts knees up so Steve has a full view of both his ass and his cock. He languidly starts touching himself.
His voice wobbles slightly when he starts to talk.
“I bought it as soon as I knew when we'd be filming this episode. I knew you'd like it and it seemed appropriate,” he takes a shaky breath, “I prepared myself in the shower this morning. I thought of you. That lovely flushed face of yours. The surprise when you'd find out. I came right there and then.”
Steve makes a sound low in his throat.
“I put the plug in. Fuck, you don't understand, it's not even that big, but I could feel it the entire day. Every time I sat down, every time I moved, it reminded me of you. It feels so good.”

He speeds up the hand on his dick, dropping the other one under his leg to trace his fingers over the bat. He makes himself gasp when he pulls it to one side slightly, angling it so it hits his prostate.
“Fuck, Steve, this is the best idea we've ever had.”
Steve's eyes aren't sure where to focus, they flit between Reece's ass and the plug, his hand on his cock, and his flushed face, hair sticking to his forehead.

His cock is screaming for attention, but when he lifts a hand to give himself a squeeze, Reece shakes his head.
“No! If you're going to cum, it'll be because of me, not because of yourself.”
Steve sits down on his hands, just to make sure he won't get tempted.

Sure in the knowledge that Steve is watching him and won't be touching himself, Reece closes his eyes and focuses on his own pleasure. Soon enough, he's moving and moaning like a man possessed. As he starts feeling the heat in the pit of his stomach, he stops playing with the plug and cradles his balls. He opens his eyes just in time to see Steve jerk forward slightly, mouth agape, and recognises it for what it is. Steve's cum untouched, just from watching him. It sends him flying over the edge as well, he milks himself through his orgasm, his cum landing in splashes on his stomach.

He's still catching his breath when Steve pulls him up into a sitting position and kisses him ferociously. The movement pushes the plug further in and he whines into Steve's mouth.
“Need some help with that?”
Steve's hand is already on its way down.
“No! Leave it.” Steve freezes for a second, until Reece smirks at him, eyes twinkling.
“Leave it in. Perhaps later on you can help me with it.”

Reece hasn't seen Steve get up so fast in years, ready to go.

Chapter 7: La Couchette

Summary:

Liberal use of mediocre German.

Notes:

Series 2!
How time flies lol

“This is such a bad idea.”
“It was your idea.”
“Oh, never mind then. This is a brilliant idea.”
They're both trying to crawl into one of the top bunks of the set.

By now they've settled into a routine. Series 2. Everyone knows the drill. They come up with an idea, people help them realise the idea. They get to have a look at everything that's been built and organised before they start filming. Usually without anyone else there. It's nice.

The set wobbles a bit as they move around; something Steve can only approve of considering the fact they want to give the illusion of a moving train.

He's slightly less approving when he hits his head on the ceiling while trying to get his trousers off, though he guesses it does add to the realism.
“Should've done this before climbing up.”
“I know.”
Reece has lain down on his back, hands under his head. His trousers are still on, his shirt is still tucked in.
“Are you not getting undressed?”
“Ah, I thought you might like to do the honours.”
Steve sighs, somewhere between exasperation and adoration.
“How do you manage to be a passenger princess even on a fucking train?”
Reece grins.
“I’ve been spoiled.”
“Yeah, like milk.”

Steve manages to get rid of most of his clothes without hitting any more of his limbs, before starting on Reece's. He takes his time unbuttoning his shirt, kissing as he goes.
Reece arches softly off the mattress to make it easier for Steve to take off his shirt for him. He crawls down Reece’s body, hitting his elbows in the process. He undoes Reece’s trousers, tries to pull them down, and hits his elbows again.
“Scheiße,” he mumbles under his breath and quirks an eyebrow at Reece when it makes the other man’s breath hitch.

There’s not really enough space for Steve to hang above Reece, and so he crawls back up and lies down next to Reece. He pulls the other man towards him until they’re face to face, legs entangled, skin against skin.
Steve pushes his arm underneath Reece’s torso, so he can hold him close, his hand landing on Reece’s lower back. His other hand reaches between them at the same time Reece’s does.

Reece starts to retract his hand when he realises Steve’s reaching to, but Steve grabs his hand and folds it around their cocks, hissing softly at the contact. He folds his own hand over Reece’s, and squeezes. The velvety softness of Reece’s cock against his own instantly turns him into goo. His thoughts are slipping away from him, the only thing in the universe is Reece, and that’s enough.

“Talk to me in German.” Reece’s voice is filled with want.
“What?”
“No, it would be ‘was’; even I know that.”
“Why?”
“No. 'wieso'. Because it’s hot. Come onnnn.” Reece is blinking at him, pupils wide, looking hopeful.
Steve breathes carefully and tries to think.

“Okay, mein Liebling.”
Reece lets out a breath.
“Du bist so schön.”
Reece’s hips jerk a little.
“Wo auch immer wir sind, und egal wie alt wir sind. Ich will dich. I will dich. Ich will dich jede tag. Bitte. Lass mich dich haben. Bitte. Reece. Bitte.”
Suddenly Reece’s mouth is on him. Kissing him, sucking at his lips, his tongue. Trying to get closer, always closer. Reece’s hand speeds up, and therefore so does his own. He moans into Reece’s mouth.
“Keep talking,” Reece mumbles against his lips.
“Ich weiß nicht wie. Ich kann nicht denken, wann du so nah bist. Alle meine Gedanken sind du. Du. Du. Du hast. Du has mir gefragt. Du has mir gefragt, und ich hab nichts ges…”
“Is that… Rammstein?” Reece laughs, breaking the tension that had been building.
“I ran out of things to say,” Steve gasps, “entschuldigung… Es tut mir leid. Vergib mir, bitte.”

Reece hums happily, then pulls him impossibly closer as his cum covers both their cocks and their hands. He lets go off his own, softening cock, but tightens his grip around Steve’s. He keeps pumping.
“You’re so fucking hot, Steve,” he coos, “so smart, and beautiful, and perfect. I love it when you talk to me, no matter the language. I love how I can ask you to do anything and you’ll just indulge me. I love the way your cock feels in my hand, and the way your balls draw up when you’re close. Are you close?”
Steve nods.
“Thank you for talking to me in German. Danke. Danke sehr. Du bist... the best.”
“Der beste,” Steve gasps, one hand still on Reece’s back, the other now gripping Reece’s arm tightly.
“Close enough.”
“Ja… aahhh.” Steve’s reply turns into a moan as he, too, cums, their semen mixing in Reece’s fist.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, while he still holds Reece so wonderfully close in the cramped space. Eventually, he breaks the silence with the first thing that comes to mind.
“That was wonderful. I can’t wait to film this one and shit in a box.”
“Oh, you really know how to keep the spark alive, don’t you.”

Chapter 8: The 12 Days of Christine

Summary:

This is, like, such a coincidence, guys, but it actually took them 12 days to write this one omg.

rating: M (I know! not Explicit! Who have I become??)

Notes:

slightly different vibe to this one.

The more of these I wrote, the more it became something of a writing exercise.
It's fun!

It takes 12 days to write the episode. Not 12 consecutive days, mind. Instead, the days are spread out over several months. There's coming up with the story, filming it, editing it. It's all part of the process. Sometimes they aren't sure when to christen the set, and whether they actually have to be on set to christen it, or if it's more of a metaphoric ritual. Fortunately, they've come up with the ritual, so they can decide. And they've decided it just depends on when they have time, and energy, and absolutely raging boners.
Anyway, this specific episode takes them 12 days, although they themselves are blissfully unaware of this.

On the first day, they come up with a vague concept. Just an outline really, with no real idea of who’s going to do what and where. After writing down several disjunctive thoughts, they call it a day and go to the cinema. Steve offers to buy Reece some popcorn, but he refuses. He proceeds to eat more than half of Steve’s bucket.

On the second day, they come up with some of the characters and a bit of dialogue. They get distracted trying to make each other laugh. None of their jokes are useful, but all of them are hilarious… to them at the very least. They spent the rest of the day writing down ideas for other episodes. Even as Steve writes it down in a notebook, he’s sure over half of it won’t ever become anything even resembling an episode, but looking into Reece’s excited eyes, knowing this is what they’ll be doing for the rest of their lives, he’s okay with that.

On the third day, they come up with more dialogue, and put their separate ideas into a logical order. It is almost becoming an actual story now. Reece gets bored and drops to his knees in front of Steve. Very little writing is done after this.

On the fourth day, they just write. They add to the story, work in some jokes, decide on some details. Time flies, and before they know it, it’s tea time. It’s taking shape now.

On the fifth day, they stare at the document in silence for several minutes. Nothing happens. They stare some more, but the document still doesn’t start writing itself. Steve gives Reece a hand job in the hope it’ll elicit… something. It elicits loads of things, but none of it has anything to do with the script. They focus on other episodes for the rest of the day.

On the sixth day, they start thinking about pacing. They decide how much of the twist they want to show throughout the episode. They decide at what points it should be day and night.

On the seventh day, they discuss who they want to play and who ideally would play the other characters. They consider whether either of them will play the leading woman and decide against it. Instead, they briefly fight over who gets to play her camp best friend. Steve wins and gives Reece a celebratory blowjob to show he’s the best man for the job. Reece agrees. They forget to discuss Reece’s role.

On the eighth day, they go over the whole script and work out any missing details and weirdly phrased paragraphs. Steve keeps trying to add something about the main character pissing herself (“You’re disgusting.” “It’s what people do in situations like this!” “You’re still disgusting.” “Fine!”), but gets vetoed by Reece.

On the ninth day, they are told which actors will be playing the other roles. They revise some of the script based on the new information.

On the tenth day, they do a read through and rehearsal. They realise they’re about five minutes short and add an extra scene. It holds well with the rest, and the actors seem impressed. As soon as they’re alone, Reece pounces. Steve lets him do whatever he wants to him. He wants it just as badly.

On the eleventh day, they’re actively filming and find out that something can’t physically happen due to… they can’t actually remember as they try to figure out what to fill the gap with. There’s no time for distractions today, so when Reece looks at the grin on Steve’s face when he makes another stupid joke, he has to really think about rotten eggs and dog shit to keep himself in check.

On the twelfth day, the reviews are in. It’s received as one of their best episodes to date and Reece is infuriated. He vows to revise the script posthumously (“Reece, that means you’ll change it after you die.” “Well, I’m pretty sure these reviews have just about done me in, so my ghost will be more than happy to do it. Don’t you worry.”). He rants about the unfairness of it, the illogical nature of the people, until Steve shuts him up by covering his mouth with his own. All arguments are forgotten for the next 20 minutes or so.

Chapter 9: The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge

Summary:

What is a witch trial if not mild BDSM taken slightly too far?

“You have to be the one lying down. The straw will irritate my skin.”
“What, and it won't irritate mine?”
“Yeah, no, it probably will, but you won't complain about it.”
“Hm.”
“Do you really want to listen to me complain about how itchy my skin is for the next week and a half?”
“I can think of more pleasant pastimes.”
“Thought so.”

Reece pushes him down into the haystack. He puts a foot to Steve's chest, testing the waters. He enjoys this character. He enjoys the power of this character. No matter how the story ends, for now he's in control.

“Do you confess to being a witch?”
Steve stills underneath his boot. They haven't talked this bit through, and Steve knows how much Reece knows about methods of testing for magic. Steve knows how painful most of them are, and moreover he knows how much Reece gets into character at the best of times.

He looks into Reece's face, trying to find something there that'll tell him what's expected of him. Although, to an outsider, Reece's face might seem completely neutral, Steve understands now. He knows Reece too well.
He clears his throat.
“I'm not a witch.”
Reece hums and smiles. It's the answer he anticipated. A little spark of pride flares inside of Steve. Correct again.

“Satan has possessed you, I shall have to use more severe methods of making you confess.”
He drops to his knees, letting his own crotch press against Steve's. Steve can just about feel the outline of his erection through the layers of cloth. He automatically lifts his hands to Reece's hips, surreptitiously bucking his hips up to find more friction.
“I don't think it's Satan who has possessed me,” he breathes, “unless you've renamed yourself.”

Reece ignores him.
“You shall now undergo the prick test - stop laughing -, you know how it goes; witches have a witch’s mark. A place on the body where they can feel no pain. I will aim to find said place. Undress.”

He helps Steve out of the period clothing, his wig already sticking to a slightly damp forehead.
Steve expected Reece to get his cock out, prick test and all that, but he doesn't. Instead Reece presses his nails into Steve's shoulder, hard. He hisses and Reece hums.

He rakes his fingernails over Steve's torso, scratching and pinching as he goes and Steve tries to buck up against Reece again, but Reece stops him.
“It is truly demonic to be enjoying your trial. Stop that immediately!”
Steve squeezes his eyes shut and stops moving, right up until Reece's fingers tighten on a nipple and his eyes fly open, gasping.
Sometimes Steve sees something truly evil in Reece's eyes, as he does now, and it drives him absolutely mad, like he's teetering at the edge of something big, something dangerous. Like Reece is considering not letting go of his nipple, until his nipple itself comes off. Like he’d like nothing better than to stab Steve over and over again and drench himself in his blood. Like perhaps one day he’ll bite and won’t let go until he’s torn Steve’s flesh off of his bones. Oh, but what a way to go.

“Remember the pear?”
Steve swallows. He does. To the point of… agony.
Reece waits for him to reply, then roughly moves Steve until he’s on his front, the hay scratchy on the bare skin of his chest.

“Even as you continue to refuse, I, myself, do feel the need to confess something,” he hears Reece say from somewhere behind him, “I’m afraid I’m something of a witch myself. A devil worshipper even. So this probably won’t come as a surprise.”
But Reece’s lips on his ass do come as a surprise. Teeth scraping his cheek, biting into his flesh. Perhaps his musings weren’t too far off the truth. He’s not sure if this is still part of the trial.

Reece’s hands spread him open and he dives in. It sure feels wicked.
He can hear himself moan Reece’s name as if he’s floating above himself. He feels, or perhaps watches, Reece pull him closer by the hips, the vibrations of Reece’s moans on his rim are sending sparks up his spine, heat coiling in his stomach.
“My God,” he gasps before he can stop himself. As soon as it’s out, he knows what Reece will do next.

As he expected, Reece immediately sits back with a dramatic gasp.
“Blasphemy! You take the Lord’s name in vain! You truly are a witch. A demon!”
He pretends to think of what he’ll do about this, but Steve is sure Reece has had a plan in mind from the start.

Rope, a prop - Steve isn’t sure where Reece has magicked it from, perhaps he conjured it out of thin air… the witch -, is tied around his wrists, before Reece rolls him back onto his back. He is definitely going to complain about the hay rash tomorrow, Reece’s argument be damned.

“I have found you guilty of witchcraft! And I shall take it upon myself to rid you of such evil. As is done with snakebites, I shall suck the poison out of you. But be careful; do not utter the Lord’s name again.”

Steve desperately tries not to laugh. He cannot be anything but fond of Reece. He does not worry about mentioning God. As soon as Reece’s mouth is on him, the only name on his lips is Reece’s. His own small God. Perhaps not omnipotent, but certainly skilful in this particular area.
And as he worships Reece’s name, he feels worshipped in return.
Reece’s hands on his hips, his belly, his thighs. Reece’s eyes on his face, hungrily. Reece’s mouth feels brilliantly warm and tight around his cock. He somehow looks holier than any saint. His small noises of delight are more divine than any prayer could ever be.

He cums hard. And if the angelic, floaty feeling is anything to go by, the exorcism has worked. No evil could ever reside in his bones, for as long as Reece keeps doing things like this. His holy of holies.
Reece unties his arms, and if he’s being honest, Steve forgot he had arms in the first place. In a haze, he pulls Reece closer to him. He kisses his nose, his brow, his eyelids. A small baptism to reciprocate. Reece seems content enough.

“Oh, how many witches we could have saved with this method of execution,” Steve muses.
“I’m not sure this counts as an execution.”
“Hm, I wouldn’t be so sure. I think one day you’ll be the death of me.”

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed the sprinkling of witch puns.

Chapter 10: Cold Comfort

Summary:

Phone sex... what else

Notes:

very dialogue heavy for obvious reasons (sorry)

Steve’s washing up a pan when his phone rings. He wipes a hand on a tea towel before getting his phone from his trouser pocket. He smiles at the name that’s popped up on his screen.
He puts his phone down next to the sink and answers.

“Hello, Reece.”
“I've taken some tablets.”
Steve snorts.
“Piss off.”
“Am I on speakerphone?”
“Yes.”
“Take me off.”
“I'm doing the washing up.”
“I don't care. Your voice sounds weird when I'm on speakerphone.”

Steve sighs, but picks up his phone and holds it between his ear and shoulder. This was easier back when phones were thicker.

“What do you want, Reece.”
He can basically hear the smug look on Reece's face through the receiver.
“I've taken some tablets.” He repeats.
“I'm sure you have. What do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you to ask what kind of tablets.”
“Fine. What kind of tablets?”
“Little blue ones…”
Ah.
And now that he's been told, he can hear a familiar rustling in the background.

Steve gives up on the dishes, dries his hands, and makes his way over to his sofa.
“We don't start filming until tomorrow, you know. Are you going to keep it up until then?”
“Well, no. At least... I hope not. But this seemed the most fitting.”
Steve hums.
“Where are you?”
“In bed.”
“Great scene setting, buddy. Tell me more.”
“Then ask me more.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Tssk, cliché.”
“Answer, please.” He puts as much authority in his voice as he can muster.
“Nothing at all,” comes the very quick and breathless answer.

Steve hums happily. He loves it when Reece has a plan. Now he just has to figure out what the plan is. It’s a nice little puzzle to solve.

“Have you been touching yourself?”
He can imagine how Reece bats his eyelashes at him when he answers.
“Only a little bit.”

Steve squeezes himself through his trousers. He's not hard yet, but he knows it won't take much longer.
“Touch yourself for me now then, please, darling. Tell me what it feels like.”

He strains his ears to hear the sound of Reece tugging at his own cock. It sounds fast and impatient.
“Slowly, Reece. Slowly.”
A swallowed-down whine.
“I want you to imagine it's my hand on your cock. Thumbing at the slit, sliding softly down your shaft, tracing the veins, lavishing you with attention.”

Reece lets out a breathy moan.
“Are you…,” he's struggling to form sentences already, “are you touching yourself too?”
“Not yet.”
“Please, take yourself out of your trousers, Steve. You know I have no patience. If I were there, I'd have had you in my mouth already.”

Steve can't say no to that.
He lowers his phone so Reece will be able to hear him unzip his slacks. He doesn't bother undressing any further, opting instead to merely take his dick out like that.

“I believe I gave you a task, Reece. Talk to me. Tell me how it feels.”
He slides his hand down over his dick, fingers on his own balls as his cock hardens.
“Ah, yes,” he breathes, “It’s… odd. I both feel more horny than I ever have in my life, but bizarrely also more clear minded than I’ve ever been with my cock this hard.”
“What are you doing now, exactly? Be precise.”
“I'm under the covers, my phone's on the pillow next to me. My left hand is on my chest. I can feel my heart beating. My right hand is slowly sliding up and down my cock. Like you told me to.”
Steve closes his eyes and sees it all playing out in front of his eyes perfectly. His closed eyes, his glistening lips, one perfectly toned arm resting on a pec that makes Steve’s mouth water, his arm alongside his body, holding his deliciously curved cock.

“Pinch your nipple.”
Reece doesn't acknowledge that he's heard Steve, but Steve hears his breath hitch over the phone and knows he's listening.
“I'm thinking about you, you know. How gorgeous you must look with your cock in hand. How hard for me you are. Hmmpf.” Reece's noises become unintelligible as he gives himself a particularly well angled tug.

Steve fists his own cock with slightly more vigour. He wishes Reece were here. So he could watch him, and touch him, and claim him. Yet, there's something about doing this over the phone; Reece's voice the only indicator of his actions. Everything else is up to his imagination. And luckily, he's got a very active one of those.

Reece's voice sounds crystal clear when he starts talking into the receiver again, and once again Steve wishes for an older model. One with ambient levels of crackle. There should always be some crackle.

“Steve, I'm so hard thinking about you. No matter how often you fuck me, I'm always looking forward to the next time. I need you to do this to me for the rest of my life.”
He is once more reduced to little moans and groans.
“Fuck, Steve, I'm… I'm using my fingers to work myself open, but it never feels quite as good as when you do it.”

Steve swallows, his own hand speeding up at the words.
“Keep going, Reece. You're doing so well. I wish I could replace your fingers with mine. Prepare you so well to take my cock. God, I want to bury myself deep inside you.”

He hears Reece whine softly while he's talking. He knows him so well by now, he can tell even without seeing him that he's getting close.
“Imagine I'm there, not touching you, just… watching. Wanking myself off while I watch you pleasure yourself. Fuck, Reece, we should do that. I want to see you ride a dildo like your life depends on it. I want to be there, tell you what to do, God, Reece. I'm gonna.. I'm… I'm gonna.”

The sound of Steve's grunts and curses as he cums prove too much for Reece. They usually do. He makes sure to be as loud as possible when he shoots his load over his own hand and stomach. For a few seconds there’s only heavy breathing on the line, before Reece breaks it by croakily singing;
“You are… My fire. My one desire.”
“Wrong song, Reece.”
“Not for me it isn't.”
Steve laughs softly.
“See you tomorrow, then.”
“See you tomorrow. Try not to think of me every time you're on the phone while filming, yeah.”

Unfortunately, that's a sure-fire way of making sure he absolutely will.
Fortunately, there are worse things to think about.

Notes:

for reasons unfathomably, I have no experience with taking viagra, so uhhh fuck knows how accurate the description is.

Chapter 11: Nana's Party

Summary:

Omorashi

Notes:

Written initially for Varneysfang's birthday :)

The nice thing about their, for lack of a better word, arrangement, is that it gives them room to experiment. To be a little bit more adventurous than they’ve been before. And what they very quickly realised, is that they could be into most things as long as the other person was into it.

“God, you look like such a wuss.”
Reece looks up at him, eyebrows raised and amusement in his eyes. They're doing a costume fitting, wigs and all.
“You don’t sound wholly unhappy about that.”
“It makes me want to shake you about until I can hear your bones rattle.”
“Go for it.”

It's Steve's turn to look up amused.
Reece reiterates; “Go on then.”
Steve doesn't need to be told twice, well he does, but metaphorically, he does not need to be told twice. He looks Reece up and down once, twice, takes in the unstylish curly wig, the ill-fitting jumper, the stance of someone who has given up on life. He grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him. He starts off carefully, and Reece lets his head lol on his shoulders. It's not enough. He just looks so pathetic. He shakes him harder and Reece is like a ragdoll under his hands.
He stops shaking him about and pushes him to the floor. Reece goes down without complaint. He kneels in front of Steve, hands passively on his thighs. And if his pupils look a little bigger than they did before, then who is Steve to judge him.

“Fuck me, you're so pathetic. Such a wet, little man. You would let me do anything to you, wouldn't you. Barely a person on your own. You just have to be told what to do.”
He doesn't know where it's come from, but it's out of his mouth before he can stop it.
He's about to apologise, when he sees Reece do the smallest nod.
Steve snorts.
“God, I can't believe you'd agree with that. What a weak excuse of a man. Come on then, open up.”
He can tell Reece is expecting his cock, so he decides in the moment that that's absolutely not what he should get.
He looks around and spots a full bottle of water on the table behind him.

He twists the lid off and puts it to Reece's lips.
Just for a second he tenderly strokes Reece's cheek.
“You know what to say if you want to stop.”
Reece nods.
That's the only encouragement Steve needs to tip the bottle and start pouring.
Reece does his best to swallow all of it, but still some of it trickles down the sides of his mouth, wetting his collar.

Steve muses to himself that it seems surprisingly easy to make Reece drink an entire litre of water. He vaguely looks around to see if there's any more bottles and perhaps some salt, just to make sure he doesn't accidentally poison him. If he were to ever poison him, it would at the very least be on purpose.

His gaze is pulled back down by some spluttering noises. He stops pouring and lets Reece catch his breath before continuing. Bottle to his lips, fingers under his chin to keep his head up. Reece has started making little noises that Steve doesn't think he's aware of. It sends all his blood south immediately.

Before he knows it, the bottle is empty.
“Don't move.”
Reece nods, but as Steve moves away, he can see Reece squirm slightly from the corner of his eye.
One of Reece's hands comes to rest on his lower belly, the other hovers over his clothed dick for a second, before moving again and lying back down on his own thigh.
Steve smirks to himself. Good boy.

After some digging, he finds a bottle of Lucozade at the bottom of his bag. Perfect.
He's fiddling with the cap, when Reece starts talking in a small voice.
“Steve. I… I need the loo.”
Steve doesn't even look around before answering.
“Good.”
He listens carefully for Reece's response, and is met with a shuddering intake of breath.

He finally manages to tear off the little strip of plastic, and throws it back into his bag. He pops off the top of the bottle and walks back over to Reece, whose hand is still resting on his bladder. He ignores it.
“Open up again, love.”
Reece swallows.
“Steve… I don't think I can.”
Steve raises an eyebrow, and makes his voice just a little bit more authoritative.
“Open up, Reece.”
And he does.

It's slower now. Reece is making small noises of discomfort and has started squirming where he's sat on the floor. First opening his legs a little wider, then squeezing his thighs together. He's whimpering around the bottle, and Steve has half a mind to replace it with his cock after all. He looks so pretty.

At last, the bottle is empty and Steve takes in the tableau in front of him. Reece has squeezed his eyes shut and is panting a bit. His left hand is still resting on his lower belly. Rather than desperately moving around, he now seems to have opted for staying as still as humanly possible. Steve can't have that.
“Up.”
Reece opens his eyes and looks at him with pleading eyes. The stupid curly wig and pink jumper add to the pitiable look. He shakes his head.
“Reece. Get up.” It's not a request, it's a demand.
When Reece still doesn't move, Steve puts his hands under Reece's armpits and hoists him up. Reece hisses at the jostling sensation.

When Steve steps back, he can see that Reece is bending slightly forward, trying his best to put as little pressure on his overfull bladder as possible.
Steve's cock gives a small twitch.
“Alright, you snivelling, little man. Let's see, then.”
Without warning, he steps back into Reece's personal space and puts his hand on Reece's bladder too. Reece's breathing has become slightly erratic. His entire demeanour reminds him of a startled deer; bracing for whatever Steve's going to do to him.
Steve looks him directly in the eye and softly pushes against his bladder.

He can tell from Reece's fluttering eyelids that the sensation is both exquisite and agonising.
“S… Steve. You're gonna make me…”
“Piss yourself?” Steve finishes the sentence for him.
Reece just nods embarrassedly.
“Then… piss yourself.”
Reece's eyes fly open again.
“But.. I… these trousers… they would…”
“Piss yourself, Reece. Show me how pathetic you are. You chose this wig. You chose these clothes. You wrote this character. This is all you. Piss yourself. Wet those trousers, like the pathetic little boy you are.”
He emphasises his words with a forceful push to his bladder that makes Reece shout through clenched teeth.

Reece grits his teeth and shakes his head. There are tears in his eyes when he looks up at Steve.
Reece tries to cross his legs, but as Steve leans in to kiss his face, he puts a thigh between Reece's legs, stopping him.
He kisses his cheekbones, his jaw, his temples. He hears Reece's whimpering breaths and moves his mouth to his ear and whispers.
“Just let it go, Reece, you'll feel better.”
The whimpers increase in pitch and volume.

Reece stutters, but no real words come out. Steve's cock has been half hard for ages. He starts rutting against Reece only semi on purpose. Reece yelps at the pressure.
“Go on then, piss yourself. Complete the sorry little picture you're creating here.”

Reece squeezes his eyes tight shut and seems genuinely close to tears. Steve's about to ask him if he's sure he wants to continue when he can feel a wetness against his thigh.
He quickly steps back. Reece moans as the dark patch spreads across his trousers.
Steve can't do anything but stare, mouth agape.

He looks up at Reece's face, expecting to see embarrassment, and finding bliss instead. Reece sighs with relief before Steve can see reality kick in, his face turning red.
“Steve, I…”
“Fuck that was really hot.”
He crowds Reece again and undoes his belt and trousers. He's pleasantly surprised to find Reece fully hard.

Reece's head falls onto Steve's shoulder.
“God, Steve, are you… are you sure you…”
Reece seems almost high with it.
“‘course I'm sure. You did so well, you deserve a reward.”
Reece presses his face into the crook of his neck as he lets out a soft moan.
Steve takes his own cock out of his trousers with his other hand before wrapping his hand around both of them.

“Pathetic little man who pissed himself purely so he could get off.”
Reece makes a sound somewhere between annoyance and pride.
“So good for me, though. Listening to what I say, doing what I ask you. Maybe next time we'll see how long you can hold it in while I fuck you.”

Reece pivots his hips at that. Steve is sure he's uncomfortable in his wet trousers, but he's still so eager. He speeds up his motions.
“There we go, there we are. My lovely, whiny boy. Are you going to cum for me?”
Reece nods against his neck, arms coming up to hang onto Steve, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

Steve feels himself tumble over the edge right before Reece tightens his grip on him and shouts his release. The post-nut clarity hits him like a freight train.
“Fuuuuuck, wardrobe is going to kill us.”

Chapter 12: Seance Time

Summary:

Maybe every love story is really just a ghost story.

Notes:

Oh damn! End of Series 2 already! It's a silly one, I hope you enjoy!

“Come play with me, Reece...”
“Piss off, I’m busy.”
Reece is looking through the script, making sure he knows what’s going on and rewriting bits he doesn’t like anymore.
“Come on, it’s perfect… We wrote it. Now let’s go christen the set. Everyone else has gone home for the day anyway.”
Steve starts half heartedly pulling on Reece’s sleeve, trying to pull him away from the pile of paper on the table.

“I’ll let you play with the Ouija board…”
Reece sighs and looks up at him, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
“Will you take it seriously this time?”
“Of course… We can ask them about ghost sex.”
Reece rolls his eyes at him, but stands up anyway, putting down his glasses and rubbing briefly at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

 

“S… U… C… K…”
“Stop it, Steve.”
“I’m not doing anything!” Steve says through fits of giggles.
“M…E…O…F…F…”
“What, I’m meant to suck off the ghost, am I?”
“Seems like it.” Steve’s still laughing. He looks at where Reece is sitting on the set floor opposite him, legs crossed, face mildly murderous.
“What do you think it would look like, sucking off a ghost? Mouth stretched around thin air, choking on nothing."
Steve makes his voice more sultry the further into the sentence he gets.

Reece still looks grumpy.
“It would look weird, and probably a bit disgusting.”
Steve puts on his most sultry voice yet.
“Would it be better to get fucked by a ghost? Stretched open by invisible fingers, a non existent tongue helping to get you prepared. Then the slide of a ghostly cock right up into you. You can only imagine how your ass looks, widening and narrowing with the phantom’s thrusts.”
Reece’s mouth is hanging slightly open, his eyes unfocused, listening to Steve. Steve thinks he looks positively edible like that.

“Do you think you could use ectoplasm for lube?”
Reece’s mouth snaps shut and he tries to look annoyed, but he can’t help the snort that escapes him.
“You’re so stupid.”
“You like that about me.”
Reece sighs exasperatedly.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“So… wanna honour the spirits?” Steve tries his best to wiggle his eyebrows, but it mostly looks like he's trying to blink something out of his eyes.
Reece answers by leaning over to place a kiss on Steve’s mouth.
“Yeah, alright.”

He gets up, steps over the Ouija board and sits down in Steve’s lap in one smooth motion.
“You might not be a ghost, but I wouldn’t mind you splitting me in half with that massive cock of yours either.”
“Actually, I think you’ll find I’ve got a medium cock…”
He says it so expectantly, Reece knows he’s going to regret asking about it. He sighs and asks anyway.
“... What?”
“Yeah, medium cock. It can talk to ghosts.”

Reece’s groan becomes a moan when Steve thumbs at his nipples through his shirt.
“I’m not sure there’s any spirits living up my ass, but your cock can communicate with them all it wants, as long as you shut the fuck up now.”
“Message received.”

They detangle themselves for a second so they can rid themselves of their clothes, before Reece sits back into Steve’s lap. There is no draught, and yet the curtains flutter almost… excitedly.
“Wait, I need a pillow," Steve says as Reece mouths at his jaw.
“Is your poor bum too old to cope with sitting on a wooden floor?” Comes the slightly muffled response.
“Yes. And you know it. I want to be comfortable.”
Reece rolls his eyes, but gets up and grabs a pillow for Steve, who has conjured up some lube in the meantime. He’s staring at the glob he’s poured into his hand.

“Maybe ectoplasm isn’t lube. Maybe it’s ghost jizz.”
“Everything you say is so deeply unsexy, and yet… and yet…”
He sits down in Steve’s lap for the third time, still facing him, his own ass lifted slightly off the floor by Steve’s thighs, their cocks rubbing together deliciously.

Steve starts circling Reece’s rim with his lubed fingers almost immediately and Reece drops his forehead onto Steve’s shoulders with a happy sigh. Despite the weird setting, it feels intimate. Reece muses that it does feel a little like they’re having sex in the middle of a horror movie plot, and everyone knows that’s the fastest way to get yourself killed.
He decides it’s worth it when Steve crooks a finger and finds his prostate.

Neither of them notices the planchette has started to vibrate.

By the time Reece sinks down onto Steve’s cock, - his eyes closed, his brow furrowed - the planchette is sliding from left to right on the Ouija board. It’s not forming any words, just hitting random letters. Reece is doing mostly the same. He moves himself up and down, uttering random vowels, biting his lip, letting his mouth fall open as his eyes roll back.
“Yes. Fuck. O. Thank you, Steve. God. I.”
His mind feels too foggy with arousal to form full sentences.

When Steve’s hand lands on his dick, he loses all further ability to form even the simplest words, instead being reduced to whimpers and moans. When he cums, Steve lifts his hand to his own mouth and tastes it. He keeps thrusting into Reece’s tight hole, not quite having let go of the image of Reece getting fucked by a ghost.
Behind Reece’s back the planchette is going berserk.

F…U….C…K…
It flits to “YES”.
A… G…R…E…A…T… O…F…F…E…R…I…N…G…
It flits to “YES” again.
I… F…E…E…L… S…T…R…O…N…G…E…R… A…L…R…E…A…D…Y…

Steve speeds up his thrusts, encouraged by Reece clenching around him. A lightbulb explodes somewhere in the corner. It feels like a wind has picked up, or maybe his blood’s just rushing in his ears. He speeds up again, a man possessed. Reece lets himself be bounced on Steve’s dick. His eyelids are fluttering, but he wants to keep looking at Steve. Steve, whose pupils seem to have taken over his entire eyes in the low lighting. Steve whose grunts have started sounding almost unhuman. Steve who pushes himself into Reece one last time and cums deep inside of him with a shout.
Something other than semen seems to escape him while he ejaculates.

The planchette moves again.

T…H…A…N…K… Y…O…U…
Next to the Ouija board a small puddle of unidentifiable goo has appeared.

Notes:

ectoplasm, am I right

Chapter 13: The Devil of Christmas

Summary:

knife play slets go

(TW)

Initially, Reece was planning on finding a way to fuck Steve while wearing the Crampus legs. Perhaps by asking wardrobe to put a zipper in, and tell them… he wasn’t sure what. Perhaps that it would be easier to piss if he had a zipper. He never got round to it. He knew he simply wasn’t going to be wearing it for long enough for that to make sense and so he didn’t ask.

Instead, he asks Steve to tie him to a bed the way the woman would be in the episode. He’s gone as far as to buy chains rather than the usual rope or tape. Steve is more than happy to oblige.
And so he finds himself chained to a bed, not actually on set, but it counts anyway - it counts when they say it counts -, with Steve looming over him.

“You do realise she’s going to die a horrific death, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve taken her place in this scenario.”
“Yeah.”
“So… Do you want me to… actually murder you?”
“Hm, perhaps not today. Though, I never say no to some pain.”
“How much pain?”
“However much you are willing to give me.”
Steve closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. They should have discussed this earlier. They should definitely have discussed this before he’d secured Reece to the bed, before his cock instantly hardened at the sight.

“Steve.”
He hums.
“Look at me.”
“... No.”
“Am I that ugly?”
Steve looks at him purely to give him an exasperated look.
Reece looks right back at him, shirt unbuttoned and untucked, trousers at the foot of the bed, his arms relaxedly above his head. Steve can see his Adam’s apple move when he swallows.
“Do you still have that pocket knife?”

Steve nods, though he’s not sure if he likes where this is going.
“Will you… use it on me, please,” he scrapes his throat, “Nothing too big, just.. Tease me a bit. Mark me. Remind me that I’m letting you do whatever you want to me.”
“Will you stop me as soon as I go too far?”
“Yeah, 'course.”
Steve nods and gropes in his back pocket for his knife. It flicks open in his hand with a satisfying click and he can hear Reece breathe in deeply.

Steve kneels at the edge of the bed, briefly kissing Reece’s feet before making his way up, his pocket knife a safe distance from anyone’s exposed skin. Reece trembles softly underneath him, clearly not having expected this tenderness. Which is exactly why Steve’s doing it.
He reaches Reece’s crotch, purposefully avoiding the bulge in his pants. He kisses his left hip instead.
“You’re so beautiful, Reece. So brilliant,” Reece squirms at the praise, “and you’re all mine. Mine to do with as I want. Mine to praise and mine to break.” He drops his voice on the last three words. It makes Reece pull on the restraints.

Steve lifts up his knife, willing his hand not to tremble, and softly presses the tip of the blade against Reece’s hip.
“I’m going to mark every place I kiss. Make sure that tomorrow, you'll have a reminder of how much I adore you and how much I own you.”

Reece gasps as Steve drags the blade along his skin. It’s not enough to draw blood, but it leaves a red line in its wake. Steve kisses it for good measure, softly licking the now tender skin.

He moves up further, kisses Reece’s stomach and draws the blade across the spot he's kissed. A single drop of blood wells up and Steve licks it away. It’s metallic and thicker than he’d expected, but he’s never tasted anything better than Reece and so he savours it. Reece’s body spasms at the feeling, his arms pulling at the chains. Steve makes sure to do it again.

Over and over again, he kisses, cuts, licks. Reece’s stomach, his thighs, his shoulders, his other hip, and, very carefully, right underneath the left side of his jaw. Eventually he sits up, admiring his masterpiece. Reece’s skin is covered in angry, red lines, a few drops of his blood at the surface. Steve presses his thumb to one of the bleeding cuts. It’s just enough blood for him to place his thumb over Reece’s heart afterwards and leave a perfect print. Reece’s eyelids are fluttering.

“You okay?”
“Yeah,” it’s barely more than a breath.

When Steve leans forward to kiss him, he feels Reece’s cock against his pubic bone through the cotton of his boxershorts. Reece hungrily kisses back, his hips bucking up on their own accord.

Without thinking too much about it, Steve brings his knife up to Reece’s throat and presses the cold metal against his skin. He can feel the vibrations of Reece’s moan travel through his knife and into his hand. He kisses Reece again, and starts pushing his pelvis down against Reece’s.
“Mine,” he growls, “you’re all mine, and you’ll never forget it. I want you. I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life,” his mumbles it all against Reece’s lips. “See the power you’ve given me? It’s better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. I could do with you as I please. I could fuck you. I could kill you. I could let you bleed out right here and now.”

Reece is moaning and thrashing underneath him, his eyes dazed. It does nothing but fuel Steve.
“Look at you, so desperate for me. So wonderfully pliant. You want it just as much as I do. You want me to hurt you. You want me to mark you so much that you’ll get horny whenever you look in a mirror for the rest of the week. Where does it stop, Reece. Do you want me to cut your throat? Do you want me to tear you apart? Do you want me…”

Before he’s finished the sentence, Reece’s face scrunches up in the most delicious way as he cums in his pants. Steve takes the blade off of Reece’s throat, folds it shut and discards it for the time being. He holds Reece’s face in his hands and tips his head back, kissing his throat, there’s barely a mark. Good. He didn’t mean to leave one there.

Reece is still catching his breath when Steve undoes the chains. He lets Reece recover, makes sure he didn’t cut deep enough to cause problems anywhere, before lying down next to him on the bed. Not what he expected to happen today, but he’s certainly not complaining.

Neither is Reece, although it’s vaguely inconvenient he pops a boner every time he looks in the mirror over the next few days.

Chapter 14: The Bill

Summary:

restaurant :)

Notes:

I hope my chapter summaries are as useless to you as they are to me.

a short one (my apologies).

They’ve been going out to restaurants together since forever, and although they don’t really need an excuse to go again, it’s more fun to say it’s for research purposes. They love observing people, they love not having to think about dinner, they love talking with each other, and it’s even better now they don’t have to worry about money.

They’ve gone to one of the more high end restaurants they know about. It’s got several sets of cutlery - that have to be used from the outside in - on an embroidered Damask tablecloth that hangs down to just above the dark wooden floor. They want to watch rich people argue about the bill today.

They’ve got a small, round table in a corner. That way, they’ve got a good view of the restaurant, and don’t feel as observed as they might’ve in the middle of the room. There’s a group of business men on the next table over. They’re slightly too loud, and are clearly all trying to impress each other with sales figures and holiday destinations. There’s an elderly couple talking in some of the poshest voices they’ve ever heard. Steve tries to make Reece laugh by quietly copying their accent and saying the most vulgar things he can think of. He succeeds, but then the couple looks over, slightly miffed.

There’s a group of teenagers who are either spending all of their savings in one evening, or are some of these so called influencers. Reece has a little grumble about them either way. Steve tells him to hold on to that thought and makes a note in his phone (he didn’t take his notebook with him), hoping that he’ll remember it’s there when they’re looking for more new ideas.

They have eaten their entrées and their main course. The business men are reverse haggling about the tip. They keep putting more and more money on the table, trying to outdo each other. There’s a comically large pile of coins and notes in front of them now. Steve’s eyes start to twinkle in a way that gets Reece a little hot and bothered immediately.
“This isn’t even close to our set,” Reece warns him.
“Darling, all the world’s a stage. It’s a restaurant. There’s people fighting over who gets to pay the bill. And I’ve had to look at you with your top buttons undone the whole evening, so….”

Before Reece can respond, Steve ‘drops’ his fork, says “oopsie”, and drops to his knees, disappearing beneath the tablecloth without anyone seeing. Suddenly, his hands are on Reece's thighs, softly rubbing up and down, teasing. Reece focuses on realigning his forks, his glass, his napkin. Anything to distract him from the fingers unzipping his trousers, Steve realising he’s not wearing pants with a fly, before reaching up to undo his belt and trouser button. He really tries to ignore the feeling of Steve’s warm, dry hands taking his cock out of his pants and into his mouth. How he rolls his tongue around him while his dick hardens. He studies the flowers embroidered into the tablecloth when a waiter appears to bring them their desserts.

The waiter gestures at Steve’s empty chair.
“Would you like me to come back when your… company has returned? The food might not be as good if you have to wait.”
“I… No, don’t worry, he’ll,” he has to bite his tongue to make sure he doesn’t moan when Steve takes him all the way into his mouth, “he’ll be back in a second. I’m sure he won’t take long.”
He tries to smile politely at the waiter, but is sure it looks more like a grimace. He’s glad for the atmospheric lighting, hoping it hides the redness of his face. The waiter narrows his eyes for a split second before putting their plates down and taking his leave.

“I hate you,” Reece mumbles to the inside of his hand. Steve responds by hollowing his cheeks and sucking harder. Reece’s knee hits the underside of the table with enough force to make their dishes rattle. He wasn’t lying, Steve will be done very, very soon.
He reaches under the table to hold Steve’s head. He’s not sure if he wants to push or pulls, but he needs some semblance of control.
When his leg hit the table again, the teenagers briefly glance in his direction, and he's sure he's glaring at them with so much hatred in his eyes, he's going to set their table on fire.

God, he hates Steve. Hates him with a burning passion. A burning passion so strong, it has set his insides ablaze. A fire that rolls through him, becoming bigger, and bigger, and hotter and hotter. His hand tightens against Steve's scalp.

Steve swallows around him as he cums, not wasting a drop. He stuffs Reece back into his pants and even does his trousers back up for him.
“Coast clear?”
Reece nods before remembering Steve can’t see him. He clears his throat.
“Yeah, no one around.”

To Reece’s annoyance, Steve barely looks affected by it all. Reece stares daggers at him as he sits back down and picks up his fork.
“Mhmm, I could do with something sweet after my savoury palate cleanser.”

Notes:

Proofreading has made me aware of the fact that I do not remember writing most of this chapter. Perchance the ghost of porn writing briefly possessed me.

Chapter 15: The Riddle of the Sphinx

Summary:

Reece is feeling insecure

Notes:

relatively short and not explicit, imagine that.

Steve shows off the cryptic crossword for the episode to anyone involved in the project and Reece tries to be proud and enthusiastic, he really does, but underneath he feels annoyance boiling. He feels stupid and he hates feeling stupid. It shouldn't come as a surprise at this point, but somehow it still does, every time. He hates it.
Once everyone has complimented Steve and has told him they wouldn’t even know where to start with something like that, he asks Reece if he’s okay.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Reece waves his concern away, but can’t help himself from adding, “I just don’t understand any of those fucking clues, and I hate not understanding it.”
“I can explain them to y…”
Reece interrupts him; “No! I don’t want you to. It’s fine. I just,” he sighs, “I feel so fucking thick. And everyone else can always tell as well. ‘Oh look it’s Reece, who doesn’t know these references’, ‘Oh look it’s Reece, who doesn’t know what a bloody keyfob is.’ ‘Oh look it’s Reece, well thank god people like his stupid fucking head, because there sure isn’t a brain in there.’”
He’s riled himself up, now. He’s annoyed and angry, and maybe a little sad, and as soon as he realises this, he finds there are tears in his eyes.

Steve blinks at him, seemingly genuinely a bit shocked by his outburst. He does what he always does when someone (usually Reece) is suddenly upset; he tries to make light of it. Not out of apathy, but because it might make it easier to cope.

“Is that why you were so adamant that my character should die? Especially by blowing his brain out? Get rid of the stupid thing that comes up with these clues?”
“Yes! No!... I don’t know. Maybe.”
Reece is pinching the bridge of his nose now. He looks even smaller than usual, so Steve envelops him in a hug.
“For the record, I don’t think we’d be friends if I didn’t think you were smart. I can’t stand thick people.”
Reece snorts into Steve’s shoulder.
“You’re just saying that to humour me, you get on with anyone and everyone.”
“I really don’t. I’m just good at acting, you see. I can show you my BAFTAs if you don’t believe me?”

Reece laughs into his shoulder, and Steve takes this as his cue to step back, but to hold on to Reece by the shoulders.
“I mean it, Reece.”
“What? I’ve seen your BAFTAs, don’t worry, you don’t have to show me them again.”
“No, silly. I mean that I think you’re really clever.”
Reece averts his eyes.
“Reece, look at me.”
When he doesn’t, Steve places his hands on either side of Reece’s face and makes him. His thumbs stroke Reece’s cheekbones. He looks at the other man, really looks at him. It’s wild to him sometimes how this man is the same boy he met all those years ago, so different yet so alike.
“Yes, you’re very pretty. I’m sure I’ve told you that enough times, but that really, really isn’t why I’m here. You see, this might come as a surprise, but I really like your brain. I adore your mind.”
Reece tries to look away again, but Steve won’t let him. He wants, no, he needs Reece to know he’s never been so sincere in his life.

“I love all the bizarre and macabre ideas your brain comes up with. I love the things that make you laugh. And I love all of the random facts you’ve got stored up there. I love the references you make, the connections that no one else would be able to draw. Intelligence isn’t just about solving puzzles with specific rules, anyone can learn a rule. It’s about knowing what situations need when there are no rules. It’s about finding those connections. Maybe even, occasionally making your own rules. And to me, more than anything, it’s being able to make people laugh.”
Reece huffs.
“I mean it, Reece. You’re so clever. I love it. I love you.”

Reece can’t deal with the intensity of Steve’s face any longer and goes in for another hug. He doesn’t have the words to tell Steve how much it means to him that Steve thinks of him so highly. Maybe he doesn’t have the words because he really is as thick as he thinks he is. Maybe he just doesn’t have the words, because that's what happens sometimes. He hopes the hug conveys some of these thoughts. If Steve’s reciprocation is anything to go by, it probably does.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in each other's arms, vertically, and then horizontally. And if Reece blows Steve’s brains out, then that would only be fitting.

Chapter 16: Empty Orchestra

Summary:

Karaoke Room Shenanigans

Notes:

possibly one of my personal favourites.

I recommend you listen to the songs they're singing.
King of Clowns just brings me joy and You Mean Everything to Me is very sweet

They decide to try out the Karaoke room before they start filming, to make sure it's up to scratch, of course. It’s just the two of them, and it should be awkward, but it never is. They’re just having a nice night - or rather, early evening -, out. It's the perfect level of slightly grimy, but it feels festive, and private, and a little bit dirty. It's perfect.

They sing a couple of musical songs, Steve does a horrific version of the Hills are Alive that sounds like perhaps the hills need to be killed, and Reece tries his hand at a Hamilton song that reminds him once again how bad he is at rapping.
They move on, sing some of their favourite songs, including Neil Sedaka's Kings of Clowns, making sure to do the harmonies and move their knees in time with the music. It feels like a work out, and when the song is over, they’re both smiling and out of breath.

Steve moves to the screen to choose another song, and glances back at Reece with a glint in his eyes. Reece recognises the song immediately, of course. How horribly romantic. Steve has him in his arms before the lyrics start, then tries to combine slow dancing with singing into the microphone, and it barely matters to Reece that he fails miserably, it sounds wonderful to him anyway.

“I don't know how I ever lived before
You are my life, my destiny
Oh my darling, I love you so
You mean everything to me.”

Reece feels like he’s melting, like he’s floating above himself. He remembers singing with Steve years ago, the same songs, the same silly movements, such different times.

The song is only short, and before too long, the closing notes are played and Steve is gently pushing him towards the screen to pick the next song. He can’t think of anything. He picks the same song again; he wants to sing it too.

Steve rolls his eyes at him, but lets Reece put himself back into his arms, microphone close to his face.

“So hold me close and never let me go
And say our love will always be
Oh, my darling, I love you so
You mean everything to me.”

Once again, the song is over too soon. Reece wants to stay in this bubble for as long as possible, but Steve detangles himself from Reece and picks a new song. Neither of them can later remember what it was, apart from the fact that it was sad, it was sweet, and they knew it complete, and neither of them sang any of the words. Before the first verse is sung, Steve has laid Reece down on one of the soft benches that have been put against the walls of the room. He kisses him, and kisses him some more. Reece’s trousers and Steve’s shirt meet each other on the floor, and Reece tries not to think too much about how many people have been here before them. Steve fishes the bottle of lube out of his bag - he knew exactly what was going to happen from the moment Reece suggested coming here the day before filming - and generously coats his fingers. Reece’s shout at the sensation of Steve’s finger breaching him is drowned out by the sound of a harmonica.

Reece grabs onto Steve’s biceps and bites his lip. The music without the vocals feels both familiar and completely foreign and it’s putting him on edge. He realises the door isn’t - can’t be - locked. Steve makes him forget all this when he crooks his finger inside of him. He feels like he’s being played like the piano he can hear in the background, and he can’t think of anything better to ever happen to him.

Steve takes his cock out of his trousers and lubes himself up while he la, la-la, di-dee-das under his breath. It makes Reece laugh and then choke when Steve pushes in. He tries to push in in time with the music, but it goes too fast, or perhaps too slow and he falters slightly. He keeps humming under his breath and Reece can’t be sure if it’s because of how he’s clenching around Steve’s cock or because of the Karaoke still going in the background.

Steve grabs Reece’s cock and jerks him off in time with his thrusts. It’s both gentle and harsh. Both meant to be silly and deeply serious. Steve the dichotomy. Reece feels himself hurtling towards the edge at an alarming speed. He’s gasping and tries to keep his eyes on Steve, tries to stay in the here and now, but it’s so hard when Steve’s hitting his prostrate on every thrust and is caressing his slit with his thumb on every stroke. He cums with a shout that somehow perfectly harmonises with the last notes of the song. Steve laughs, moans, then laughs again before spasming slightly and cumming deep inside of Reece.

“Why are you laughing?” Reece asks into the deafening silence that’s left after the music’s died down.
“5 minutes 36 seconds exactly.”
Reece’s brain feels too hazy, too thoroughly fucked.
“What?”
“That’s how long it took. You. And the song. 5 minutes 36 seconds.”
“Jesus Christ, Steve. I… is that too short? Should I have lasted longer? Sorry. I just…”
“Don’t be silly. It was hot,” Steve’s hand comes up to his Reece’s face to gently move his hair off of his forehead, “And also it’s more or less average.”
“Why do you know that?”
“Too much time on my hands, clearly.”
“I’ll make sure to distract you more regularly.”
Steve grins at him. He’d like that.
“Now, get off of me, so I can put my pants back on before the next group comes in.”
Steve obliges and puts his shirt back on, before sitting down and cocking his head to the side.

“I wonder how many other people have had sex in here.”
Reece scrunches his face up in disgust.
“God, I don’t want to think about it.”

Chapter 17: Diddle Diddle Dumpling

Summary:

tickling n feet

Notes:

another exercise in writing for mr Chickens lol

Reece can't stop laughing about Steve's hair. It's not even that obvious, but the whole idea of ginger Steve just tickles him. And refuses to stop tickling him.

Steve sighs and sits down. Occasionally, when Reece’s giggling subsides, he looks up, but as soon as Reece's eyes meet his own, Reece cracks up again.

They're both ready to start filming, outfits and hair in place. Reece himself looks more than a bit like a wet rat, and his endless cackling seems even more deranged because of it. Steve adores it. As their characters go, this one is relatively close to what Reece looks like anyway, but it's always nice to know that no matter how much make up, how many wigs, or how odd the costume, it's still just Reece underneath. Just as annoying and brilliant as usual.
He's suddenly overcome with an urge.

He pulls Reece up by the biceps, his laugh turning into a hitch at Steve's manhandling.
Without another word, he pulls Reece into an empty room. Reece lets him, the expression on his face flitting between continued amusement and slight apprehension. He watches as Steve locks the door behind them.

“You want to laugh, I'll make you laugh.”
And never has such a cheerful sentence sounded so menacing. Steve's prowling, circling Reece, who's slowly turning in a circle, keeping his eyes on the man opposite him. He half-heartedly puts his hands up as if he's readying himself for a boxing match.
“Punching has never made anyone laugh, Reece.”
“Feels statistically unlikely, but alrig… whoah.”

While Reece is distracted talking, Steve grabs his wrists and holds them up in one hand, walking Reece backwards until he hits a wall.
His free hand reaches towards Reece's armpit.
“Oh god. I.. haha… no… I'm not… hahaha… ticklish.”
“Now say that without laughing.”
Reece closes his mouth, pursing his lips in concentration, before bursting out laughing as Steve moves his fingertips again.

He rakes his nails as softly as possible down Reece's ribs, who gasps for air in response.
“Fuck! You're… hahaaa… so mean!!”
He tries to manoeuvre his upper body out of Steve's reach, but with his wrists still pinned, he can't move very far.

Steve is relentless in his tickling. It makes it difficult for Reece to keep himself upright. Very slowly, he slides down, his wrists still trapped between Steve's hand and the wall. Steve comes down with him, until Reece is sitting against the wall, with Steve's legs pinning his own to the ground.

“Are you going to be a good boy and keep your hands there if I let go?”
Through tears of laughter, Reece nods.
Steve lets go and watches Reece for a second to see if he does indeed listen. It's a lovely image. Reece with his hands above his head, slouched against the wall. His ribcage expanding and contracting while he calms his breathing down in the short interlude.

Steve carefully takes off Reece's shoes, shoes that remind him of the filming that will be taking place. Not yet, not yet. They've got... some time at the very least.
He takes Reece's socks off too, tucking them away inside the abandoned shoes.
Reece tries to pull his leg up when Steve first tickles the sole of his foot, but Steve's got a firm grip on his ankle, holding him in place.

Reece's entire body tenses while he tries not to respond to Steve's hands on his toes, his heels, the bridge of his feet. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are closed and Steve adores him like this. Fully focussed.
He wants Reece to break. His fingers creep up Reece's calves to the backs of his knees. Reece's arms above his head jerk slightly with the effort of holding in his laughter. Steve's hands gently caress his thighs before ghosting over his crotch.

Reece shakes his head.
“No?”
“Too easy,” he manages, eyes still closed in concentration, “don't… I want…. Just use your hands on other parts…”
Steve hums. The tickling has turned into something akin to a torturous massage. Feather light touches, followed by harshly pressing fingers. When Steve pressed a specific point on the underside of Reece's foot, Reece furrows his brow and scrunches up his nose. Steve does it again, two, three times, before drawing circles into his skin, barely touching.

Reece isn't sure if he wants to laugh or cry. The tickling, the attention, the hands on his bare skin. He's rarely been so overstimulated without his dick in Steve's mouth or hands.
To his surprise, and perhaps horror, he realises he's rock hard and Steve touching his feet seems enough to keep him like that.

 

His eyes fly open when he feels something warm and wet around one of his big toes.
“Jesus Christ! Steve. That's disguuuhhhhaaa.”
Steve hollows his cheeks and suddenly it doesn't matter how gross it is.
At last, Reece's arms come down. They flail around, unsure of what to do with them as Steve sucks on his toes.
“Fuck! I didn't know this… Jesus, Steve," he gasps as his hands land on the ground, pushing himself up a little, before dropping back down and gripping his own thighs, "When did you figure out that this felt… fucking hell.”

It's unlike anything else he's felt. He's still not sure if he likes it, but he desperately wants Steve to keep going. The tongue against the underside of his toes, the tight wetness around his digits. It's almost as good as getting his dick sucked and he always thought there was nothing quite like that. To his own amazement, he can feel himself getting close.
“God, Steve. Come up here and kiss me.”
“With my toe-breath?”
“Stop talking before I change my mind.”
“Gladly.”

Reece is thankful Steve's mouth doesn't taste like feet. He's glad Steve's hand worms its way into his trousers and helps him over the edge. Right as he cums, Steve's other hand skirts over the tender skin between his ribs and his armpit. Reece's shout is muffled by Steve's mouth.

“I'm not sure I can repay you, Steve.”
“Perhaps after I've had a good shower.”
Reece narrows his eyes.
“Hm, I’ll consider it.”

Chapter 18: Private View

Summary:

unsurprisingly, Reece gets tied up

They rehearse the scene where Reece is tied to a chair. Although calling it a rehearsal was a lame excuse 15 years ago, and Steve’s not sure anyone would believe them if that’s the explanation he’d give for the position they’re in.

He looks at Reece, with his wrists tied to the armrests, his ankles to the front legs. His shirt is unbuttoned almost all the way down, revealing a perfect chest. No scar in the rehearsal. Just pristine skin and perfect chest hair. He looks up to his face. Reece’s mouth is slightly agape, but his eyes are boring into him, his pupils blown wide, his expression somewhere between panic and arousal. It is always a fine line for Reece.

The expression reminds Steve of something he watched eons ago. The desperate look in Reece’s eyes is still the same after 20 odd years. He remembers watching Reece, tied up, sweaty, and beautiful. He is as aroused by it now as he was back then. God bless Mark. He remembers helping Reece out by rehearsing it with him, and having to take a small break to sort himself out. What a long way they've come.

And from his position on the chair, Reece looks up at him. Steve; with his sleeves rolled up and his cheeks flushed. Steve, restrained and correct, yet insane and chaotic. He remembers telling Mark, ages and ages ago while they were both very drunk, that he could see Steve's desire any time he got tied up. That he kept trying to write it into things so he would get to see Steve like that again, hoping that Mark would be too drunk to remember it in the morning. Of course Mark remembered anyway. Of course Mark brought it up any chance he got. God bless Mark.

He pulls softly on the restraints, to check how tight they really are. There's some wiggle room, if he tried he could probably get out, but he doesn't intend to actually try. He hums.

As if this is the cue, Steve falls to his knees in front of him. Well, he's sure that's the idea behind it. It's less hurried and more protective of his kneecaps than he would have been in the past.
Steve noses at his chest, breath ghosting over a nipple and all thoughts of anything acting related leaves their minds.

“I know I’ve said it before,” Steve says, seemingly to Reece’s left nipple, “but you’re so beautiful like this; willingly at my mercy.”
To prove his point, or maybe just because the urge strikes him, Steve ruts against Reece’s leg, like a horny dog. He mouths at Reece’s nipple, making Reece’s head fall back with a groan.
He considers himself the luckiest man on earth that this is what Steve chooses to do whenever he’s tied up.

Eventually, Steve leans back, giving both of them a break.
“I’ve figured it out.”
“Hmpf?” Reece’s mouth is yet to reconnect to his brain.
“It’s a metaphor.”
“Wha?”
Reece blinks at him, and frowns, trying to get even a semblance of higher thought back.
“The episode… It’s a metaphor for you stealing my heart.”
Reece snorts, this is something he can respond to at least.
“I think every fucking episode is a metaphor for that, dear.”
Steve hums in agreement. He lets his hands glide over Reece’s chest, groping his flesh, a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

Suddenly, Reece is filled with doubt.
“Do you not mind that I can’t touch you back?”
“No.” Steve doesn’t stop his ministrations.
“I think I would mind.”
“Of course you would.”
“Then why don’t you?”

Steve sits back on his haunches to concentrate on the conversation.
“Because…,” he pauses, “I know you want me anyway. I know you desire me just as much as I desire you. It’s like… playing an instrument. I get so much pleasure out of just… playing you. Does a violinist doubt whether his instrument loves him back?”
Reece snorts.
“I think I probably would.”
“Yeah, but that's because you're such a tender soul.” Steve's voice is half sincere, half mocking. And full of love.

He decides the conversation is over and slides his hands back up Reece's thighs. It's softer now. He's focussing on making Reece turn into liquid. Maybe if he's good enough, Reece will be able to slide right out of the restraints.

And with the wonderful noises Reece makes, every musician in the world would be jealous of his skills.
Steve is painfully hard in his trousers, and going by the tent in Reece's, he's sure he isn't faring any better.

He places one hand over Reece' heart. If he concentrates, he can feel the steady drum of it.
His other hand ghosts over Reece's crotch and all Reece's muscles seem to pull taut. Like strings on a freshly tuned harp.

And when he starts rutting against Reece's leg again, his hand now massaging Reece's cock through the denim of his trousers, the noises Reece produces are the most beautiful symphony.
He keeps going. Listening to an orchestra of his own making. He can feel his orgasm creeping up on him and can tell Reece is nearing his crescendo too.
And somehow it's all fine when they both cum in their trousers. As if they're still young and carefree.

Suddenly Steve's overcome with nostalgia. He blinks rapidly at the tears in his eyes. Instead opting to focus on Reece. Still there. Still beautiful. Still his.
What a wonderful song. His own private view.

Chapter 19: Zanzibar

Summary:

It rhymes

Notes:

fewer words, but more effort

or as I like to call it, "how many Shakespeare quotes can I put in this one before it becomes plagiarism"

And there again, they came together
To bless this episode thusly
When one asked the other what to do
He said he wasn’t too fussy

And so, in line with the ones that they played
Steve ended up on his back on the bed
He stroked the stubble on Reece’s cheek
And very tenderly said:

“To be or not to be, my dear
The question is easy enough
For with you I always want to be
And therefore you I shall never rebuff

I’m glad to christen these sets with you
Over and over again
For my love for you still floweth over
It’s something I could never contain”

“My dear,” the other man said in return
“I feel exactly the same
Now please let me ravish you as you’ve ravished me
I need you shouting my name.”

Steve didn’t need Reece to say that again
And quickly got rid of his clothes
Reece did the same, before diving on top
Both now fully exposed

It wasn’t the way they usually did
But it still felt perfectly right
Steve watched Reece and saw him for all that he was
In all his glory and his light

His own small God, who somehow as well
worshipped him in return
with fingers and tongue and lips so superb
they never failed to make him yearn

This wonder above him, now opened him up
and readied him for what's to come
so gentle, and careful, while looking so rough
he knew that he would soon succumb

Ergo, he closed his eyes, like Cupid painted blind
And focussed on the sensations
Reece moved inside him, one hand on his chest
And then there was only elation

They panted in tandem, sharing their breaths
And both knew the end was nigh
Steve clutched at Reece tightly, before spending his seed
And going slightly cross-eyed

Reece followed and grunted through his release
“What is love? ‘Tis not hereafter:
For I love thee today, more than ever before
And present mirth hath present laughter.”

Notes:

this chapter reminds me of that time in high school I wrote an entire book report in rhyme cause I got bored ('t was about Agatha Christie's A Pocket Full of Rye, for those interested)

Chapter 20: Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room

Summary:

it's soft and passionate, because what else could it be

Notes:

oh boy, the insane pressure to make this one good. i hope it's up to scratch

Steve thinks of this one as themselves in a different universe. He philosophises that all episodes are technically them in different universes, in the sense that these characters look and sound like them in one way or another. But this one feels closer. This might be from the next universe over. He’s glad it’s not his main universe, though. His own universe is happier.

When it comes to christening the set, they take it slow for this one. Aware of the implications of their own writing. And with Tommy - No, Reece - hanging over him, his eyes full of tears that only partly belong to him, he can feel the gravity of it. The fear of losing each other and growing apart. The fear of becoming irrelevant. The fear of leaving the other behind.

He lets Reece lie him down on the sofa in a dressing room (not the dressing room) and take his time with him. Oh, how the lines blur. It’s Reece, or maybe Tommy, whose hands are shaking so badly from the onslaught of emotions that he has to help undo his own buttons. Steve can see the expression on his face, of pure disbelief at getting to touch him - No, Len - one more time. The feeling of mournful regret is almost palpable in the air.

After years, or perhaps just moments, Steve’s sweater and shirt and trousers and all the rest of it has finally come off. He’s still got the hair. He can imagine himself with this hair. It’s not a pretty image, but he knows it would definitely have been a possibility had things gone differently.

Reece is touching him as if he’s the most precious being on earth; soft and full of reverence. He worships Steve’s shoulders, traces his index fingers over where he can just about feel Steve’s collarbones. He takes his time touching his biceps and forearms. He purposefully presses his own fingerstips against Steve’s as if making sure his fingerprints are definitely his, making sure he’s definitely there. Not a ghost. Not this time.

He tentatively grabs at Steve’s chest, thumbs tracing around nipples, before placing a hand squarely in the middle, checking if his heart is still beating in his ribcage. Steve makes sure to breathe in extra deeply, making his chest rise underneath Reece’s hand, reminding him he’s truly there. Truly alive. The tears in Reece’s eyes threaten to spill over and Steve has to swallow away the lump that’s forming in his throat.

Reece’s hands continue their journey. They glide over his sides and stomach, mapping every detail, holding on to him tightly. Steve considers whether this is what it’s like to be a god. To have someone be this devoted, this admiring. To have someone whose only goal is to follow you, please you, worship you. It tugs at his heart, and, if he’s honest with himself, at his cock.

It’s not until Reece is pushing at his legs, willing Steve to bend his knees, that Steve realises Reece is sobbing. His chest is heaving, his breath catching in his throat, and tears are rolling down his cheeks. It makes his eyes even more astonishingly blue than they usually are.

He tries to reach out to him, but Reece pulls out of reach and shakes his head.
“Do you want to stop?”
Reece shakes his head again, bits his lip and takes a deep breath.
“Sure?”
He nods.

Before Steve can ask anything else, Reece’s right middle finger circles his rim and enters him. He must have got the lube out at some point, but Steve has been too preoccupied. When Reece puts his head between his legs and licks his hole, it feels like he’s been turned into liquid. Reece’s tongue and fingers work him open, slowly, deliberately. There’s too many things going on. Reece’s movements feel incredible, but there’s something deeper, something sadder going on, and he can’t quite make out how he feels about that.

He’s closed his eyes, not quite drifting off, but not quite awake either. He wonders briefly if Reece considered Tommy and Len to be like this when they wrote it. He can’t remember if he did, but it seems only logical now. There is no other possibility. It’s them. Of course it’s them.

Reece pushes his legs as wide as they will go, and lines himself up. One hand on Steve’s knee, the other on his cock. Steve can feel the tip nudging him for a few seconds, before Reece is pushing in. And fuck him, he keeps forgetting how good this feels. Reece inside of him, Reece all around him. Reece. If he concentrates he can still hear quiet sobs coming from Reece’s mouth, but Steve cannot be sure if he’s sad or simply overwhelmed by his own emotions. He’s been there before himself. He understands.

When Reece is fully sheathed inside of him, he leans in, trying to get as close as possible without it being uncomfortable for either of them. Steve opens his eyes to look at him. He’s beautiful, even with his eyes red rimmed from crying. He always is. So beautiful. It is yet to start boring him.
Reece opens his mouth, then closes it again. Swallows. Opens his mouth, shakes his head.

“Can you turn around?” Reece’s voice is hoarse. Steve knows this is not what he wanted to say.
He nods anyway.

Reece pulls out to give him the space he needs to lie down on his front, before entering him again. They both groan at the sensation; slightly tighter, slightly deeper. Reece builds up a rhythm, slow and steady. Neither of them speaks. Steve mourns the loss of eye contact, wishing he was still facing Reece, but the sensation makes up for it. Reece hits his prostate over, and over, and over again. His hands are on his hips, holding him close, making sure his ass is flush with Reece’s pubic bone on every thrust.

Reece places a kiss between his shoulder blades. His tempo is becoming a little more erratic, he’s panting slightly, moans, sobs, and whines tumbling out of his mouth. One hand reaches underneath him. Reece's hand is soft and warm on his cock. Steve shuts his eyes tightly as the well-known feeling builds inside of him. Before long he’s cumming, and then Reece is cumming too. Steve feels his semen fill him up, an odd, warm sensation that he’s never been sure about. It’s okay, though, because it’s Reece. Everything’s okay when it’s Reece.

Reece collapses on top of him, head resting at the base of his neck. When he speaks, it’s barely more than a whisper, and Steve realises this is what he truly wanted to say.
“Please don’t leave me.”
It’s so small, so genuine. It breaks Steve’s heart. He tries to turn around, but Reece won’t let him. His softening cock is still inside of Steve, his arms snaking underneath his armpits to hold on to his shoulders from the front, keeping him close.

“Promise me. Please, promise me. Please don’t leave me.”
“Of course, love. I would never.”
“Promise me. Say it. Tell me you promise.” There a real hint of panic in Reece's voice.
“I promise, Reece. I’ll be here for as long as you’ll have me.”

He can feel wetness where Reece’s face is resting against his back, but neither of them acknowledges the tears. They stay like that for much longer than strictly necessary. Connected. Entangled. Intertwined. In every universe.

Chapter 21: Once Removed

Summary:

wibbly wobbly timey wimey

Notes:

I like this one. It's silly.

And with his hand still stuck in a jar, and blood trickling down his leg, Reece cums with a shout. He looks up at Steve’s face and snorts at the streak of white paint across his forehead. He rests his head against Steve’s shoulder and laughs about the mess they both are and have made.
“We should do that again, some time.”
“Yes. Perhaps we can do it yesterday.”

-----

Steve’s hammering away at him, the jar on his hand making it hard to brace himself against the kitchen worktop.
“Fuck, you’re so tight today, Reece. How do you do it?”
“I,” he gasps at a well aimed thrust, “do a lot of exercise. It also helps that I’m currently a bit stressed about this jar.”
He holds it up to emphasise his point to Steve, but loses his balance because of it. Steve can’t stop his thrust in time, pushing Reece into the cooker, left hip first. One of his feet slips, and his shin hits the corner of something sharp.
“Ow! Fuck.”
“Shit, Reece, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yep. Fine.”
He’s not lying. There’s blood welling up from the cut on his shin, but it could be worse. He feels a bit dazed, suddenly sitting on the floor. He looks down at his own body. The glass jar didn’t even have the decency to smash and free his hand.

“Do you want to stop?”
“Absolutely not. Maybe just slightly gentler… I’m not sure either of us would survive another mishap.”
Steve helps him back up, pinning him to the counter, a mildly worried look in his eyes.
“Still good?"
“Yeah, yeah.” Reece waves the worries away, then yelps when Steve lifts him up slightly and deposits him on top of the workstation.
As soon as Steve’s hand is back on his dick, and Steve’s all but riding his uninjured leg, he feels something hot coiling in his lower belly.
“Jesus, Steve,” he gasps, “so good. So hot.”
He closes his eyes, grabbing Steve’s biceps and squeezing as hard as he can. Steve grunts in response.
“I’m gonna… I’m…”
His hips buck of their own accord.

-----

He starts slowly, thrusting in shallowly, then pulling back out. It’s infuriatingly superficial. Reece craves more.
They’re on the floor, Steve’s body pinning him to the wooden floorboards. It can’t be comfortable for Reece.
He looks over at the rug. Maybe they could use it to make the floor softer, but it would be too scratchy and they were always slightly afraid of fucking things up enough for someone on the team to get annoyed. Health and safety (and perhaps human decency) and all that.

There’s loads of props and set decoration. There’s pots of fake paint and bubble wrap. Steve considers briefly if they shouldn’t have put down some of that to make the ground more comfortable, but the idea of popping noises every time he bottoms out is just slightly too bizarre. The wood is hurting his knees and he wonders again how Reece is feeling.
“Steve…” and Steve does love how whiny he sounds.
He hums.
“Hurry uuuup. I want more. Give me more. Please.”
There’s a dull thunk when Reece lifts his left hand and drops it on the floor, the jar still fully covering it.

“I can’t. The floor. My knees are too painful.”
“Alright then. Let’s move… again.” He doesn’t sound annoyed, just mildly petulant.
Steve pulls out, then puts his hand on a paint jar to push himself up. The lid twists and his whole hand disappears into the paint.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Who the fuck decided to use real jars of paint?!”

He lifts his hand back out and Reece rolls onto his back to look at him.
“It’s not going well, is it…” He’s trying not to laugh at the exasperated look on Steve’s face, and failing miserably.
“Piss off.”
It makes Reece laugh more.

Steve gets up and wipes his hand on a decorative cloth. It’s fine; it will look like a design choice. He walks back over to Reece and helps him up. He’s feeling rather warm and on edge; it’s hard to stop once he’s got going.
He can feel sweat bead his temples and, without thinking, uses the cloth to wipe it away.
He doesn’t notice the streak of white in leaves in its wake and Reece doesn’t have the heart, nor the patience, to tell him. He wants to get this show back on the road.

He walks over to the kitchen counter, checks if it’ll hold his weight. The jar on his hand is a little slippery on the sleek surface, but he’s sure it’ll be fine. He wiggles his ass at Steve, willing him to come over, which, praise the lord, he does.
He slides in without too much difficulty; they've been at it for a while now. He quickly builds up a rhythm.

-----

Once they’re on the living room floor and their clothes are off, it’s less eventful. Steve preps Reece quickly, with just enough force to make the other man hiss. It’s how he wants it, he knows. Reece looks positively edible, lying on his front on the living room floor, ass slightly in the air. He moves with Steve's fingers, pushing back, urging him to go deeper. So reactive, so eager. He swallows down a moan. Even with a jar on his hand he’s gorgeous. He’d been waiting for this for… at least a week. It feels like years. Time feels weirdly muddled and a little out of order. He blames it on the horniness.
Instead of thinking about it too much, he lubes up his dick and lines himself up. Time to make time behave even more strangely.

-----

As soon as they’re inside the house they start making out. It’s an empty house they’re using and it’s perfect. Although right now, it’s not empty. The set dressers have clearly had their fun here already. There’s moving boxes, and old towels, and tarp, and all the other shit that people keep in their houses that only resurfaces during a move. Steve pushes Reece against the wall next to the front door and they almost lose their footing because of an unexpected step up. They both curse the weirdly positioned fireplace.

Reece interrupts Steve’s kisses to look at a jar. It’s just sitting there. Empty on the mantel. Steve follows his gaze.
“What?”
“Why is it there? What were the set dressers thinking?”
Steve snorts.
“I… don’t know. And, to be honest, I don’t really care. Come on.”
He tries to kiss Reece again, who gently moves his face out of the way.

“No, No. I need to rant now. What is the fucking point of it?”
He gently pushes Steve away from him, who, again, stumbles over the weird step. Reece briefly glances at him to check he's not hurt himself, but otherwise ignores him. He picks up the jar with his right hand.
“Who even would have this on their mantel? What is its purpose? Are you meant to put your keys in it? It’s so inconvenient! You’d get your hand stuck. Look!”

He puts his hand in… and gets stuck. Steve laughs at him, but even with his help they can’t get it off.
“It’s fine. We’ll get it sorted. We can always just break it, then it won’t have to be in the episode anymore either. Now, please, Reece,” he steps in closer. They’re halfway down the hallway now, “I want you. I need you. Let me take you apart, please.”

He knows exactly what effect his voice has on Reece, who sways slightly before taking Steve’s hand and all but pulling him into the living room. Steve's right; the jar on his hand can wait.

-----

Steve drives them up to the house, and Reece has to use all his self control not to suck Steve off on their way up. It’s quite secluded and completely empty. Reece knows this will be one of the smoothest christenings so far. Nothing could possibly go wrong today.

Chapter 22: To Have and to Hold

Summary:

Steve tells Reece what to do

a lot of tit grabbing for some reason (we all know the reason)

Notes:

not as spectacular as the last couple, but hopefully still good :)

Steve's just about to get changed into his costume when two warm hands slide around his middle. He's just in his pants, and the sudden appearance of hands around his waist should be alarming, but he would recognise those hands anywhere.
“This character really does it for me, you know,” Reece sounds a bit hoarse as Reece's head perches itself on his shoulder.
“How? He just looks like me on any given day.”
“Yeah, exactly.”

The hands start roaming, softly grabbing at his belly and his chest. Reece presses his nose into his neck and breathes in deeply.
“Are you wearing perfume?” He mumbles into the skin of his shoulder.
“No? Who d’you think I am? Mark Gatiss?”
Reece snorts and breathes in again.
“Well, you smell nice anyway.”
He nibbles softly on the skin behind Steve's ear, hands firmly planted on his tits. Steve automatically moves his head a bit to the side as Reece’s teeth graze at his neck. He hums his approval.

“Can I fuck you?” Reece murmurs against his skin.
“I mean... yeah. I kind of thought… that was where this was heading anyway, to be honest.”
“Well, yes, but normally you fuck me, but right now I just…” words seem to fail him, so Reece grunts and presses his pelvis against Steve's ass. Steve hums happily in return.
“Yes, of course you can, love. Yeah. I'd like that. I'd like that very much.”
“Good. Tell me what to do.”

“There's a packet of lube in my trouser pocket.”
Reece reaches over, and then stops.
“I'm sorry. A packet? Why the fuck do you have a packet of lube?”
“Because I've known you for nearly 30 years. Now come on, I haven't got all day.”
“Yeah… but a packet instead of a bottle?”
“Reece!”
“Yes, yes. Hurrying up.”
He picks the right pocket on the first try and congratulates himself mentally, before turning back to Steve, who gives his next instruction;
“I'm going to bend myself over this sofa. I want you to prepare me. Quickly. Then I want you to get undressed, and lie down on the sofa.”

Reece nods eagerly and opens the packet. His first finger slides in easily, and when he crooks it, Steve moans wantonly.
“Add a finger.”
Reece does as he's told. He keeps going, listening to Steve's commands, using his other hand to squeeze his own cock through his trousers.

“Alright. That'll do.”
Steve pushes himself upright and Reece looks for a second at his lovely flushed face, before making quick work of his clothes.
He lies down on the sofa, giving his own cock a couple of strokes.
“Stop touching yourself.”
He pouts at Steve and whines, but drops his hand immediately.

Steve steps over to him and puts his knees on either side of Reece's hips, before picking up the packet of lube and squirting the remainder into his hand. Reece arches his back off of the sofa when Steve lubes up his dick. He lowers himself down, leaning over Reece, one hand still on Reece's cock, the other on the armrest behind his head.
He squeezes his eyes shut when Reece's tip breaches him. The stretch is just the right side of painful.
“Touch me.” It's barely more than a sigh as he concentrates on slowly sinking down.
Reece raises his hands gladly. Sliding them over Steve's shoulders, gripping his upper arms tightly when Steve sits down fully. He grabs and squeezes at Steve's chest, moaning when Steve starts moving up and down excruciatingly slowly. He grabs at the softest part of Steve's tummy, presses his fingers into Steve's ass, then moves back to his tits.
They're moaning and sighing in tandem.

Steve hauls Reece up to a sitting position, his face against Steve's chest. Steve keeps his hands on Reece's shoulders, thumbs underneath his collarbones, using him to push himself up, before coming back down.

“Use your mouth,” he grunts and Reece can feel the sounds reverberate through Steve's chest.
He mouths at the side of Steve's tit before sucking on his nipple. Steve's hands tighten on his shoulders. He's gripping hard enough to hurt, and it makes Reece’s moan go up an octave.
He bites at the soft flesh of Steve's chest, sucking on the skin, leaving small marks. He brings one hand back up to Steve's front and continues biting and licking and sucking, while squeezing and trying to engrain all of it into his brain forever. Just in case of a lonely night further down the line.
Steve's muttering sweet nothings into his ear as he moves in his lap. Entangled, entwined, just like they always are. Like they always will be.
All too soon, Reece can feel himself getting closer. He pushes one of his hands between them and wraps it around Steve's cock.
He’s still mouthing at Steve's tits. He doesn't think he'd be able to stop himself from doing so even if Steve told him to.

They cum simultaneously, their voices almost harmonising as they shout out.
They stay how they are, Reece's cock softening inside of Steve as Reece keeps playing with Steve's chest. Kneading, squeezing, massaging it. It's almost hypnotic.

“God you're so hot. This character is so hot," Reece breathes without looking up.
“You prefer him over me, then?”
“Hm, nah, I think I do prefer people without women locked in their basement. Though I wouldn't mind some noodles for lunch today.”

Chapter 23: And the Winner Is...

Summary:

They watch a film, have a chat, and try to get it on. the usual

Notes:

ngl, at this point in the writing process, I slowly started to run out of things to write about

Neither of them really knows what to do for this one. It’s definitely not their worst work, but it certainly isn’t their best either. Moreover, they’ve reached a bit of a sexual slump. It’s hard - pun intended - to come up with ways of fucking relevant to the episode. They write and plan a whole episode and then have to plan a fuck around it as well. It’s been a long couple of weeks and they’re both exhausted.

Steve suggests they sit in the conference room and watch a movie on a big screen while they tear down all actors on screen. They considered using the screen in the episode, but decided against it. It comes in handy now, though. None of the actors on screen will be winning a prize today. They will all be critiqued into the deepest circle of hell. No niceness. Just saltiness and venting. No mandatory sex today either, but neither of them rules it out completely; the evening is still young.

It’s nice. They take notes while watching; some of them possibly useful for the episode (“we should critique the way one of the actors speaks. This one annoys the living shit out of me.”), others less useful (“I wouldn’t say no if she asked me.”) They’re both incredibly sarcastic about what’s happening on screen, trying their best to make each other laugh. It’s nice.

“Do you think there’s anyone who watches our work like this?” Reece asks once the credits roll.
“Probably,” Steve shrugs.
“Doesn’t it bother you? To think of people criticising our work in this way? Completely unfairly, just for the sake of it?”
“Not really, no. You know this.”
Reece sighs and looks at Steve, who is slouching in his chair, completely at ease. He always seems to be. He knows better, but it still impresses him.
“How do you do it?”

They’ve had this conversation before. They’ve had this conversation before tens, if not hundreds, of times. Reece still doesn’t understand.

“Everyone I care about likes my work… on the whole,” he shrugs again, “there’ll be bits they prefer over others, but they like it. That’s all that matters.”
Reece shakes his head.
“What about everyone else?”
“I don’t know them. Why should I care what they think?”
“Because they’re tearing down something you put effort into! You put time and effort into it and they just see it as silliness, or weirdness, or - worse - something boring.”
Reece can feel himself getting fired up just thinking about it.

Steve laughs, and Reece feels himself deflate a little.
“What?”
It comes out slightly angrier than he intended it to.
“Of course I hate it. Of course I think they’re all dickheads and cunts and idiots. But what’s the point of getting angry about it?”
“Revenge! Justice!”
Steve sits up and looks at him. “Does it feel like you’ve got your revenge? Even once? On any of them?”
Reece deflates further. A three day old balloon in a chair.
“No," he says petulantly.

Steve gets out of his chair, just to sit down at Reece's feet. Reece instantly feels his blood heading south. Even before Steve’s hands start to caress his knees and thighs.
“All this energy… I’d much rather put it into the people I care about. People I love. People like you.”

Reece nods. He’s not sure what else to do. Steve’s hands undo his trouser button as his own go white at the knuckles from how hard he’s gripping the chair. It’s unfair how easy it is for Steve to get him so needy, so desperate. Steve has just put his lips around his tip when he speaks.
“Steve, I need… I want you to…” He swallows, “I need you inside me. Please. Fuck the criticism away. Please. Make me feel like everything I’ve ever created is deserving of an award. Please.” He sounds so perfectly whiny, Steve has to obey. He stands up and pulls Reece to his feet, his trousers falling to his knees.

Steve kisses him, one hand on his face, the other on his lower back.
“Everything you’ve ever created is deserving of an award, Reece. And I’m not just saying that because most of what you’ve created was also created by me.”
Reece half laughs, half sobs. His dick is way too hard for this kind of sincerity. Luckily, he doesn’t have to suffer long.

Steve pushes him chest first into the big wooden table, knocking the air out of him. He’s back on his knees before Reece knows it, diving tongue first into his ass. He’s eating and licking like a man possessed and Reece can’t help the string of profanities and whines that escapes him. He tries to find purchase on the table, and fails, hands flailing and knocking, trying to brace himself. One of Steve’s fingers enters him, and Reece is sure he’s just used spit instead of lube, but I can’t be arsed to be annoyed about it. He just needs Steve to get as far up in there as he can go, and stay there.

Reece’s dick is uncomfortably pressed against the table, and Steve is not giving him enough space to hump against the edge or even to readjust himself. It’s bordering on painful and it’s all the better for it. The onslaught of sensations threatens to spill over, when someone knocks on the door.

They both still and Reece feels all blood drain from his face. His brain is too sluggish to think of any response at all.
The knock comes again.
“Guys? Are you still in here?”
It's Steve who finds his voice first.
“Yeah, what's up?”

While he speaks, he slowly retracts his fingers, wipes them on his trousers, straightens up. Reece can't make himself move at all.

“Porter's saying they're going to lock up, we've got to vacate the building.”
“Ah! Thanks for letting us know. We'll pack up our stuff and be out in five.”
Under his breath he adds, “or just lock us in, we'll be fine.”

Reece lets out a breath somewhere between a laugh and groan.
Steve helps him up as his legs threaten to give out from underneath him. They check each other for signs that are perhaps too much even for them.

Before they leave, Steve holds Reece's face in his hands and kisses him; a promise.
“We've not finished this, by the way. Don't think you'll get out of it that easily.”
Reece grins.
“I wouldn't dream of it.”

Notes:

HA! consider yourselves... edged.

Chapter 24: Tempting Fate

Summary:

a lot of rutting and finger sucking, don't worry about it.

Notes:

If you want to read an actual (good) Tempting Fate fic, I recommend Danger's Rentboy!Nick series

“Fucking hell, you look…,” Steve swallows as he looks Reece up and down with hunger in his eyes, “alright.”
Reece laughs.
“Just alright, yeah?”
Steve hums, eyes still wandering.
“I don't remember us writing him as such a pretty boy.”
“Stop it, you'll make me blush.”
“As if that would discourage me.”

They’ve left it late this time. They’re all dressed up, ready to film. Steve’s hands itch to undo the carefully put together costume. He glances at his watch. They’ve got just over half an hour. Before Reece can think of a comeback, Steve has pushed him against the wall. Steve kisses him, his tongue pushing at Reece lips until he opens his mouth to him. He delights in making Reece’s breath hitch. Their outfits rustle, the plastic suits incredibly uncooperative. Reluctantly, Steve steps back to pull it down over his shoulders. Reece mirrors his actions. Neither of them bother to step out of the suits, instead letting them pool around their ankles.
"What a lovely rent boy you'd make. I would pay loads to have my way with you."
Reece instantly gets in his space again, impatient.
“Yes. Good, good. Lucky for you, you don't have to pay, so... How? Where?”
“Lie down on your stomach.”
“On the floor?”
“Is there a better place?”

Reece desperately looks around, but can’t find anywhere, so he lets Steve push him to the ground, gently. He drops onto his hands and knees and then slowly moves down, as if he's doing half a push-up. Steve pulls him closer by the hips, manhandling him into position. When Steve starts opening him up, he tries to get into it, but his noises sound strained.
“Steve, I'm really uncomfortable.”
Steve tries to pull him closer, but that makes it worse. They wriggle around, regretting the suits at their ankles, until Reece is lying on his back.
The floor is still hard, but Reece's back stops twinging. He sighs. He can accept the unforgiving floor underneath him if it means he gets to look at Steve.

Steve, who looks vaguely puzzled. With the suit and his trousers around his ankles, it's difficult to spread Reece's legs.
“I… don't know how to reach now.”
“I don't care, just come here.”

He pulls Steve on top of him, knocking the breath out of himself. Out of instinct more than anything, Steve starts moving his hips. Reece’s eyes squeeze shut and his arm tightens around Steve's shoulders. It’s never quite enough like this. The friction feels good, but it’s never quite right. Steve knows exactly how to add to the experience, though. He leans forward on his left arm and pushes his right index and middle finger against Reece’s lips.

Reece opens his mouth obediently, before closing his lips around Steve’s digits. The pressure against his tongue feels good. Steve’s fingers don’t really taste of anything. It’s just the intrusion itself that makes his head spin a little. He hollows his cheeks and Steve moans. It’s almost as good as the real thing, and Reece tries to bob his head in time with Steve’s thrusts.
Putting more of his weight on Reece, Steve leans forward so he can nuzzle Reece’s neck. He breathes him in, never disappointed with the soft smell of him. He bites softly at the tender skin, and feels Reece’s moan reverberate through his fingers.

Reece tilts his head back, Steve’s fingers almost slipping out of his mouth. Steve readjusts himself and grunts at how prettily Reece is baring his throat. He pushes his fingers in slightly further, making Reece gag briefly before he's sucking on them with renewed vigour. Reece’s throat looks so perfect. So free of blemishes. He feels an almost primal urge to bite, and so he does. He bites, sucks, grazes at the tender skin, his hips rutting rhythmlessly against Reece as the other man moans so beautifully around his fingers.

Steve loses himself in it and sucks for slightly longer than he normally would. When he moves back to look at Reece’s face, he can see the soft purple marks of burst blood vessels.
“Ah shit,” he breathes, but doesn’t stop thrusting.
“What?” Reece manages despite the fingers in his mouth. His eyes are unfocussed and unworried.
“Nothing.”
Normally Reece wouldn’t let it slide, but Steve increases the speed and power of his thrusts against him, and Reece would let it slide even if Steve had just announced he’d like to fuck the Queen, peace be upon her, if the opportunity arose.

He cannot take his eyes off of the very visible claim he's put on Reece. He cannot stop thinking about Reece as a rent boy, the trouble he'd be in, the exquisite feel of Reece's mouth around his fingers. His orgasm hits him out of nowhere.
He keeps rutting, despite the overstimulation, wanting to get Reece over the edge as well. He hides his face in Reece’s neck again. Whispers an endless mantra of “mine, mine mine,” until Reece’s muscles tighten, and he’s spasming slightly as he cums. He takes his fingers out of Reece’s mouth, and is almost sure Reece cuts off a small whine while he does.

 

They catch their breath before they redress. Reece steps towards a mirror to fix his hair and gasps.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Steve.”
Steve at least has the decency to look a little bit ashamed of himself as Reece looks at him via the mirror, though there is an undeniable undercurrent of pride.
“It’s fine!”
“Is it? Did we write him as a sex addicted maniac? Did we?”
“Not unless you want him to be.”
“I do not... He left that all behind him.”
Reece is still frowning at the mirror, inspecting the hickey, softly pressing on it and making himself wince. Steve has half a mind to grab Reece and go for another round. He knows he shouldn’t. And deep down, knows he probably can't anyway. It's a nice thought, though.
Instead he thinks of a solution.

At the very bottom of his bag, there’s a sheet of fake tattoos. The ones that you press onto your skin with a bit of water. Bought for a party ages ago and forgotten. He picks out a bird.
“We can say it’s a good luck charm... or a reference to Lisgoe.”
Reece grins.
“Mhm, same problem, same solution," his eyes glaze over as he remembers, "That was a lovely night.”

Chapter 25: Dead Line

Summary:

lights, cameras, action

Notes:

trying my best not to say that this one isn't one of my favourites (I failed).

And then they have to figure out how their ritual is going to work if the episode is live. They still want to christen the set, they can’t have one of their most ambitious projects yet go wrong, or rather… wrong in the wrong way, just because they can’t think of a way to have sex about it.

While coming up with the story, Steve briefly toys with the idea of having sex while they’re live, and although it certainly adds a thrill, he thinks it might be slightly too far even for them.
When all the props have been made, he thinks that perhaps he should let Reece walk in on him while he’s ‘making love’ to Reece’s decapitated head, but yet again, perhaps just slightly too far. It’s difficult to get consent from a lifeless head. Perhaps it can join them at some point afterwards, and Reece can consent on its behalf. That seems more reasonable.

Eventually Steve settles on filming and livestreaming (only to themselves... he hopes) their coupling (he makes himself laugh thinking the word coupling, rather than, well... any other word). Forcing Reece to look at himself. It always works. By the time he tells Reece about his idea, he's worked out all the details. The camera, the screen, the software. He explains it carefully to Reece.

“Couldn't we have got the same effect by just doing it in front of a mirror?”
Reece asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Well… yes. But that wouldn't be in keeping with the episode.”
Reece rolls his eyes.
That's settled then.

It's the evening before the episode airs and they're both filled with an excited and anxious energy. They've been ambitious. It's almost time to see if it pays off. It's the perfect moment to christen the set.
Steve set it all up. He's even managed to hook the camera up to a TV at the foot of the bed.

It's a little awkward, a little stunted. Cameras are part of their job, not their personal lives (that are private to them).
“Just ignore it for now,” Steve says into Reece's mouth. It's easier said than done.
Every time he looks up from where his mouth is attached to Steve's shoulder, his chest, his tummy, he sees himself from the most unflattering angle.

“God, you look so beautiful,” Steve sighs. And Reece knows that he means it. He's almost between Steve's thighs now, trying his best not to look at the tv.
“Come here.” He doesn't need to be told twice. Reece moves up and lets Steve turn him around so he's facing the camera.
Steve takes his time prepping him, and Reece tries not to look at his own face. It is impossible. Every time he looks up, he sees his own reflection staring back at him, clearly enjoying what is being done to him.

The eyes staring back at him seem a little dazed. It's odd, because he doesn't feel the way his reflection looks. It is almost like he truly is just watching a character. He isn't sure whether this makes it hotter or not. What he does know is that Steve looks absolutely delectable.
The concentration on his face as he stretches Reece's ass is wonderful. Reece could look at him like this for hours. So that's what he focuses on.

Reece is still watching Steve when he gets up from the bed and gets closer to the camera until he's filling the whole screen. He picks it up and points it at Reece.
When he starts talking, his voice sounds like the men in one of the classic pornos they used to watch together when they were younger.
“Smile to the camera, Reecie.”
“Piss off.”
Steve tuts as he walks back to the bed, his cock bobbing with each step. Reece tries not to salivate. His own face grows larger on the tv until Steve passes him and suddenly he’s met with the image of his own back and ass. He's not sure how to feel about it. That's a lie, he does know. He thinks he's revolting. He wants to shut his eyes and scream. He can't make himself look away.

Steve holds onto the camera with one hand, as his other hand guides his cock towards Reece’s hole. Reece still cannot stop staring at the screen. It’s a kind of morbid fascination. He’s not sure he’s turned on by it, but he doesn't think he's turned off by it either, as Steve’s tip nudges at his rim.
He’s almost surprised to find he can actually feel it, about half a second before it happens on the tv. When Steve starts sliding in, with shallow thrusts, he fights to keep his eyes open, watching Steve’s dick disappear inside of him. He moans loudly.

“Fucking hell, Steve, this is bizarre.”
Steve flips the camera on himself and Reece can’t help but laugh at the deeply unflattering angle. He can still see how big Steve’s pupils are, though. How hungry the look in his eyes. How dark the desire in his expression.
Reece swallows as Steve turns the camera back again.

He tries to keep the camera focussed on where they’re joined together as he thrusts, but it’s difficult to balance and he’s filming the duvet more than he’s filming them. Eventually, he puts the camera down on the bed, far away enough to see both their bodies. Reece muses at the amount of wrinkles and spots and scars they’ve collected over the years. He doesn’t get the time to be sad or nostalgic about it as Steve starts thrusting in earnest, however. He can see Steve’s muscles work as he moves, the way his hands roam and grip and tighten right after he feels it.

He can’t stop watching.
He’s glad they’re not recording audio, because he doesn’t think he could handle hearing echoes of his moans and mewls and curses. He doesn’t think he could bear it to hear how whiny and pathetic he sounds every single time they do this. Steve reminds him often enough. Luckily, Steve only ever reminds him when Reece can see the carnal intent in his eyes.

He sees Steve’s hand make a beeline for his cock and has a split second to prepare himself for the delicious roughness of his fingers. It isn’t enough. He’s panting, and he can’t help but chase the feeling. Moving himself forward into Steve’s hand and backwards onto Steve’s cock. He’s fascinated by the little twitches Steve’s body does when he’s tipping over the edge, filling Reece up with his seed.

He lets go of Reece’s cock before he can cum, and picks up the camera instead. He puts it down in front of Reece, his face filling the screen.

“I need you to watch yourself as you cum.”
And not a fibre in Reece’s body even considers disobeying. He’s still on all fours when Steve gets back behind him and starts tugging his cock, murmuring sweet nothings into the air above Reece’s back.
It isn’t until Steve calls him a good boy for looking at himself that the waves come crashing down and the ringing in his ears becomes so loud he can’t hear anything else.

He keeps his eyes open for as long as possible, watching his own face scrunch up as he cums. It’s exquisite torture. He can see his jaw clench, his eyelids flutter, the soft blush that spread across his face.

As he comes down from his high, Steve stops the recording, turns off the tv and gets them a cloth. He makes sure to save the video. Just in case Reece is away from him for more than a few nights at some point.

Chapter 26: The Referee's A W***er

Summary:

it's not just the referee tbf

Steve knows this one is his party. He's written most of it. He's in charge of most of it. And so he drags Reece to a football match again, many years after the first time they went. He has to promise Reece several times that he’s going to make it worth his while before he agrees to go.

It’s a big match. With a big crowd. In a big stadium. It does nothing to stop Reece from being grumpy and bored. It’s chilly, and he doesn’t care about the match. The food and drinks are overpriced, and he doesn’t care about the match. Steve’s managed to befriend several people sitting around them, and he doesn’t bloody care about the bloody match.

He gets his phone out, but there’s no reception and besides, Steve softly tuts at him.
With the amount of noise in the stadium, you have to really lean in to be able to make yourself heard to the people next to you. So nobody bets an eye when Steve turns his whole body towards Reece so he can talk directly into his ear.

“Patience, Reeson.”
Reece has to pull his coat down a little to hide the effect this simple phrase has on him. Steve cocks an eyebrow at him while he moves away from his ear again. Reece holds his eye contact for as long as he can, but then someone almost scores and Steve looks away.

Reece isn’t sure whether Steve’s reminder of what is to come makes it easier, or harder to make himself sit through the match. Every time he tries to pick up his phone or distract himself in any other way, Steve gently touches his thigh, or grabs his elbow and then Reece has to clench his jaw and concentrate really hard on something else, something tedious; the football match.

The match goes into extra time. Reece is annoyed with himself for remembering that’s what it's called, and even more annoyed that he knows that if nobody scores, it’ll go to penalties. He feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin like in Alien. He manages to amuse himself for a few minutes thinking about that.

There’s a short break before the penalties start when Steve leans in again. Reece feels his whole body tense even before Steve has opened his mouth to speak.
“Good boy. Let’s go.”
Reece almost falls over in his haste to get out.

Once in the bowels of the stadium, Steve instantly makes a beeline for the toilets.
“Can we at least find a disabled toilet?”
“And there I was thinking you were desperate for it. Gagging for it even.”
Reece doesn’t reward him with a response, but Steve changes direction anyway.

 

Steve pushes him against the door before Reece has even had the opportunity to lock it.
“So patient. Such a good boy. Sitting through a whole match just because you’re so desperate for me to touch you.”
He says it all between kisses and Reece feels his knees buckle.
Steve holds him upright. With one hand, he locks the door - better safe than sorry -, with the other he starts undoing Reece’s belt.
Reece’s head jerks against the door with a bang when Steve reaches his dick. His hand is cold against the feverish skin of his cock. He’s been aching. Steve knows he’s been aching.

“I’m not a referee, but I can wank with the best of them.”
Reece groans, half because of the almost painful feeling of Steve’s hand on his dick, half because of the lameness of Steve's joke.
“Not your strongest,” he manages.
Steve hums.
“So sorry, I’ll try to make up for it.”
He squeezes Reece’s dick and Reece is immediately ready to forgive him.

The closed door does very little to muffle the noises coming from inside the stadium.
Every minute or so, there’s a wave of noise and anticipation coming from the field. Reece can’t help but move along with the current. Steve knows exactly what he’s doing, tightening his fist whenever the noise gets louder and then letting go again. Reece has never cared as much about a match as he does now. He needs the cheers to get louder. He needs the celebrations to start. He needs...

He burrows his head in Steve’s neck, breathing heavily. Steve holds onto him in return. He holds him close as he gives Reece one of the best hand jobs he’s ever given, if he may say so himself, in one of the grimiest places he’s ever given one, which he definitely may say so himself.

Reece knows he should probably reach into Steve’s pants and return the favour while they’re still going, but he can’t make himself. Instead, his hands tighten like vices around Steve’s biceps. Although it isn’t what he had in mind, it definitely seems to do something to Steve, who hisses at the feeling. Steve’s hand becomes impossibly faster.

Reece’s orgasm hits him like a truck, but his shouts are drowned out by the yells and whistling reaching them through the walls.
Steve comments on it despite himself.
“Oh, someone’s won!”
“Yeah, I think it’s me,” Reece grins breathily.

 

It isn’t until they’re on their way home and Steve switches channels on the car radio that they find out the shouts weren’t in victory, but in anger. The referee had made a decision even the winning team didn’t agree with.

Steve hums.
“Fitting.”
Reece doesn’t really know what this means for the match or the championship, but decides he should suck Steve off about it just in case anyway.

Notes:

partner and I are currently watching a tv show with David Morrissey and honestly, every time I see him I go "it's the wanker" (affectionate)

Chapter 27: Death Be Not Proud

Summary:

Are you my mummy?

Notes:

One of the more cursed ones in the list :)
I like it

Reece thinks this might be the worst thing they've ever done. His hand is already down Steve's trousers; something Reece started doing because he thought it would be funny to recreate the - mostly improvised - scene from years ago, but now here they are and neither of them is laughing. His mind is bouncing around trying to decide if it is actually funny, or hot, or absolutely disgusting.

Steve's eyes are rolled back in his skull, his mouth hanging open. And they both look so grotesque, it's absolutely perfect. Full makeup, full wigs, full voices.
Reece can’t help himself when he says; “There’s a good boy. Cum for mummy.”
And to his absolute surprise, Steve does. Instantly. With his eyes squeezed shut, and his face getting so red, Reece isn’t sure if it’s healthy.
Interesting.

Steve’s on his knees in front of him before he can say anything about it, hoicking his skirt up and his tights down. Steve’s mouth enveloping him is as heavenly as always, even with the fake teeth. Reece can’t help but continue his joke, especially now he knows the effect it has on Steve.

“Mummy’s so proud of you. You’ve got so good at this, taking, ahh, taking such good care of mummy.”
Steve’s hands tighten on his butt as he takes Reece as far into his mouth as he can. Perhaps to cover up the spluttering cough that started right beforehand.
Reece tries to card a hand through Steve’s hair, but all he manages to do is pull his wig slightly to the side. Damnit.

He’s enjoying himself, but he craves more. He wants a proper fuck. He wants to ride Steve. And more than anything else, he wants to use his newfound knowledge of Steve to his advantage. He pulls Steve off of his cock, and helps him up until Steve’s standing again before communicating his wishes.
“Do you think you can go again?”
Steve swallows.
“Probably. Just give us a sec.”
Reece can work with that.

And so, for a little while, they just make out. Reece can feel his jowls unsticking, and his legs feel horribly warm inside the padding, but Steve’s hands worming their way under his cardigan to paw at him more than makes up for it.
He has to stop himself from babbling like Maureen would while taking off Steve’s trousers fully, before standing up to rid himself of the tights, happy to rid himself of Maureen’s legs in the progress.

He sits down astride Steve’s legs. Sighs when their cocks rub against each other.
Steve preps him from where he’s lying underneath him and Reece lets out a stream of happy noises, half in his own voice, half in Maureen’s. Eventually he deems himself ready.
“Thank you, love. Now, are you ready for mummy to ride you.”
Steve squeezes his eyes closed and nods.
Even while slowly sinking down on Steve’s cock, Reece can’t help but comment;
“God, I never thought this would be a thing you’re into.”
“Neither did I.”
Steve's still bright red.

Reece slowly starts riding, lifting himself up before slamming back down onto Steve.
“God, Steve. So good. Always so good.”
He can't think well enough to still do the voice.
“So good. Fucking hell, Reece. You feel so good," Steve's voice mirrors.
Steve's hands are on his hips, helping him move, pushing him flush against himself.
“So good, who?” Reece teases.
“What?”
Reece clears his throat, then tries again in Maureen's voice.
“Who are you saying is so good, hm?”

And Reece has to stop himself from cheering when he hears Steve whine. Steve looks caught between shame and horniness.
“So, so good, m... mummy.”
“There we go.”
Reece lets his head drop back, bares his throat as he keeps moving, his mouth falling slightly open.

Steve is meeting him on every thrust, bucking into him, hitting his prostate. He can feel Steve's hands tighten on his hips, hears his breathing become more erratic. He tuts.
“Now, dear, I don’t think I’ve told you you’re allowed to cum yet, have I?”
It’s taking all of Reece’s brain, but the whole sentence has come out in Maureen’s voice.
“No, mummy,” Steve murmurs, “sorry, Mummy.”
“That’s okay, love. Just make sure you listen to me. Mummy knows best.”
Steve all but sobs. Reece understands now why Steve enjoys doing this to him so much. He feels like the most powerful person alive.

“Please,” Steve’s voice sounds strained. When Reece looks down at him, his brow is furrowed and there’s sweat at his temples. Although he always likes Steve, he’s silently glad he doesn’t usually look like this; with David's teeth and David's hair and all the rest of it.
“Please, what?” He replies eventually.
“Please, mummy. Please can I cum.”
Reece pretends to consider this for a moment, as relentless as ever in his movements. Steve’s jaw clenches, his hands on Reece's hips tight enough to leave bruises.
“Please, mummy….” His voice quavers.

Reece takes it all in for just a few more seconds, before answering, clenching around Steve’s cock as he speaks.
“Yeah, alright then, love. Cum for mummy, my lovely boy.”
Steve pivots his hips, once, twice more before he suddenly sits up to hold on to Reece as he cums.

Reece takes his own cock in hand underneath his skirt and pumps until he, too, is cumming, thinking about the desperate look on Steve’s face just a few moments ago. He takes a voice deep breaths with Steve's arms around his waist, before he ejaculates. They stay close, catching their breath and getting their brains back.
Eventually, Reece clears his throat.

“Well… that was unexpected.”
“Shut up.”
“Not one of your stronger comebacks.”
Steve groans.
“You’re never going to let me forget about this, are you?”
“Oh, no. No. I’m going to use this to my advantage any time I can. And don’t think I’ll stop when I die. You know Maureen; she’s never truly gone.”

Notes:

Half-way point babyyyyy!

It's all downhill from here (possibly. maybe not. Perhaps it's several different hills of varying ups and downs)

Chapter 28: Love's Great Adventure

Summary:

aggressively positive

Notes:

I'm not actually in the mood for this one today, but hopefully y'all are. cheerio

“I want you to be positive about yourself. It's a positive episode. No death and horror. Be nice to yourself.”
“I hate being nice to myself.”
“I know, dear. That's why I'm making you do it," Steve says with a grin.

Steve wanted to christen this set simply by having soft, positive sex. Reece told him that sounds boring. So Steve countered he’d find a way to be aggressively positive then. Reece laughed and forgot about it. Until now.
Steve’s standing behind him, making him face the mirror, watching with mounting horror as Steve undresses him, lavishing him with attention and kisses.
“You know I hate this, Steve.”
Steve hums.
“God, I look awful.”
Steve stops. He waits. Reece knows the drill. Steve had just explained it to him.
“Oh no, please don’t do this to me.”
“You know what you need to do, dear. Positivity, or nothing.”
Reece scrunches his face at Steve in the mirror, who simply quirks an eyebrow in response.

“Fine. Fine! ... My ears are alright.”
Steve’s “that’ll do,” is muffled as he dives back in to kiss Reece. Every couple of seconds, Steve pauses, makes Reece say something positive about himself, and checking whether he’s still looking into the mirror, before continuing.

Even the great Steve Pemberton will occasionally forget himself, however.
Suddenly, he’s balls deep inside of Reece, and he realises he’s not asked him to say anything positive about himself for several minutes. It takes all of his self control to stop moving. Reece seems a bit dazed, rather confused, and mildly distressed.

"Please, Steve. Move. Please. Please! "
Reece knows he's being incredibly pathetic, with how he’s whining and writhing underneath Steve, but he doesn't mind as long as it will get Steve to hammer into him again.
"Then tell me. Tell me one thing you like about your body. Tell me you think you're beautiful. Tell me."
Reece just whimpers softly.
"Go on, tell me, and I'll make you cum. Promise."
"I…,” his voice breaks, “you know I can't. Please, Steve. Pleeeasse."

Steve's softly pressing his lips to the nape of Reece's neck. He mumbles against the soft skin, his voice as soft and loving as he can make it.
"There's no begging your way out of this one. All you have to do is give yourself a compliment."
"I don't want toooo."

Steve pulls out ever so slightly.
"Well, unfortunately, that means I can't finish this. I'll have to go. I can always just have a wank in the shower later."
"No!” It comes out much louder than he intended, “I mean, no, please. Fine. I...," he squeezes his eyes shut, "I like my eyes."
Steve kisses his neck again.
"Good boy, what else?"
"I... Please move. It'll make it easier for me."

Steve relents and slowly pushes back in, all the way, hands roaming over Reece's shoulders, his chest, his tummy.

Reece moans softly.
"I... I think I look hot when you fuck me," Steve pulls out and slams back in, "it makes me hard seeing you pound into me,” He even manages a glance at the mirror after this sentence.
“Seeing how my body shakes with your thrusts. How fucking good you look."

"Keep talking about yourself, sweetheart."
Reece moans, takes a deep breath, and continues, “I like my lips. I like… I like….,” he falters, “Fuck it. I like seeing how you squeeze my chest. How you call them tits instead of pecs. How they fit so perfectly in your hand."

Steve builds up a rhythm. The urge to squeeze at him just how Reece describes it mounts and mounts, but he wants Reece to keep talking. He need Reece to tell him all the things he likes about himself, all the things Steve tells him every single day.
And Reece keeps talking through gasps.
"I love how glassy my eyes become when you hit my prostate. I love how much my arms shake when I have to keep myself up while you pound into me. I love how my hair sticks to my forehead when you make me sweat. Fuck.”

Steve has taken his cock in his hand. He's big so good, so obedient; doing exactly what Steve asked him to. He deserves a reward.
"I love how my dick looks in your hands. I love how good you make me feel about myself. I.. I..."

And Steve can tell from his lovely, wonderful face that he's tipping over the edge.
"I love the look on my face when I cum."
Reece spits the words out like they hurt, cumming all over Steve's hand and the ground underneath him.

Reece is shaking, and feels like he might cry, but having Steve around him, inside him, it never fails to make him feel good. About the world, about their projects, about himself. It’s all okay as long as he can experience this.

Steve makes sure to look Reece in the eye in the mirror as he keeps pistoning his hips forwards. His face is red, and sweaty and gleaming under the white ceiling light, but Reece thinks they both look phenomenal as Steve spills inside of him.

Chapter 29: Misdirection

Summary:

handcuffs and guillotines

“Alright then, Mr Magician Man, Let’s see if you can escape from these.”
Steve tightens the handcuffs as he says it.
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Oh, it is.”
Reece has a smug look on his face as he nods; “alright then... I think it'll take me... 5 minutes.”
"No chance."

Steve cuffed his hands behind Reece's back while standing in the big space that is to be the set, but now he's pushing him to sit on the horrible sofa. Before Reece has fully settled, Steve's on his knees between his legs.

His hands roam over the tight denim of Reece's trousers and Reece can't help but close his eyes as he enjoys the sensation. He hums happily as Steve squeezes his cock through his jeans, and even more happily when Steve starts undoing the button and zipper.

Steve, to his own horror and amusement, realises he's salivating at the thought of Reece's cock. Conditioned himself like a dog. Jesus.
Still, when he frees Reece's cock from the confines of his pants, he can't help but lick his lips.
He gently mouths at the tip, and the heavens rejoice when he can hear Reece moan above him. He's sure that even if Reece could get out of the handcuffs, he'd be enjoying himself too much to escape.

He licks along the entire length of the shaft, a drop of precum salty on his tongue. When he looks up, Reece's brow is furrowed, his mouth slightly open. It's one of his favourite looks. He dives back in with even more enthusiasm than before.

Before long he's bobbing up and down Reece's cock, his hands on his thighs, his mind on this task, and this task alone.
It takes him almost a full minute before he realises Reece's hand… is on his head.

“Wait!” He says it with Reece's cock still half in his mouth, “You! You got yourself out.”
Reece grins.
“Yeah, but you were doing such a good job. I couldn't make myself stop you.”

Steve squints at him, and changes topic.
“So, what now?”
Reece cocks his head.
“What do you mean?”
“Do I stop now? Is it done? Have you won?”
“Hm, no, I don't think so.”
He taps his knee for a bit, then stands up, making Steve move back to avoid getting hit in the face by Reece's cock. That's an activity for another day, perhaps.

With mounting dread, he watches Reece walk over to the prop guillotine.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Why?”
Reece grins.
“As you said, I won. My turn to choose.”
Steve squints at him some more, no replies coming to his brain, then climbs to his feet when Reece beckons him.

He lets himself be pushed to his knees with a sigh.
“Blade up or blade down, do you think?”
“I feel like you've made up your mind about that already.”
“Correct. Blade down it is.”
And there's that wicked gleam in Reece's eye again, the one that sends blood rushing to his cock and adrenaline rushing through his body.
“Please don't decapitate me.”
“I'll try not to.”

It's mildly uncomfortable, the full blade at his neck, but Reece's hand on his head, lightly digging his fingers into his skull, more than makes up for it.
He feels trapped. In danger. And deliciously used by Reece, who softly starts thrusting his cock into Steve's mouth, quickly building up a rhythm.

His cock is painfully hard in his trousers, but Reece tells him to keep his hands on the block next to his head. He's finding it harder and harder to breathe and realises Reece has put one of his hands on top of the blade.

Steve tries to tell him, but the relentless push and pull of Reece's cock makes it impossible for him to do anything but groan.
Reece has gone completely silent, his lips pursed, all his focus on the task at hand. His speed increases at Steve's groan, perhaps misinterpreting, perhaps interpreting exactly right.
His mouth has formed a thin line in concentration.

Small lights have started exploding behind Steve's eyes, when he feels Reece's hips start to stutter. He readies himself to swallow Reece's spunk, but Reece pulls out of his mouth at the last second, spilling his seed all over Steve's face instead.

Steve takes in several lungfuls of air before he can reprimand Reece.
“Fucking hell, Reece. Where did that come from?”
“... From my cock. It usually does that when I cum, actually.”
“Not the… I… never mind.”

Reece helps him up, his knees complaining. He leans in close to nibble at the skin of Steve's throat at talk right into his ear.
“Let's go home, yeah. You can see if you can restrain me in a way I can't get out of and then I'll help you out in return.”
He squeezes Steve's cock through his trousers to emphasise his point and Steve almost doubles over.

Steve thinks this promise is probably worth getting on the tube with the remnants of spunk in his eyelashes for.

Chapter 30: Thinking Out Loud

Summary:

some good ol' roleplaying

(cw mild noncon)

Notes:

I just watched England beat China 8-0 in a football match, time to upload some porn

“What are you thinking about?”
Reece drops his head back against the wall and turns his head to look at Steve.
“A bit on the nose for this one, isn't it?”
Steve tries his hardest to look innocent. He's mildly successful at best.
“I don't know what you're on about.”
“Mhm, I’m sure you don't.”

Very deliberately, Reece turns his whole body to face Steve, his hands bouncing on his knees once before settling. One hundred percent attention.
“Let's hear it then.”
“What?”
“What are you thinking about? Go on, share with the class.”
Steve narrows his eyes at Reece as he thinks, his tongue poking out from between his lips. Reece likes Steve like this; thinking. Even if he never knows whether Steve's thoughts will be brilliant or horrific, or ideally; a bit of both.

“Do you think the different personalities can have sex with each other?”
“Come again?”
“If someone has DID, do you think the different personalities can form relationships with each other?”
“Fucked if I know. I don't massively understand it, anyway. I think it's one of those things I'd only get once I experience it. But then I'd rather not experience it, so I guess, hopefully, I will never know.”

Steve nods along with his answer, clearly just waiting for him to finish so he can continue talking.
“Well, you could definitely experience the part I had in mind.”
He wiggles his eyebrows as he starts moving closer to Reece.

Within a matter of seconds, Reece can hear his blood rushing in his ears. Steve's look is close to predatory as he slowly climbs on top of Reece. The perfect imitation of a dangerous criminal. He can feel his own demeanour change to something sadder, smaller, weaker. He doesn't go all the way in, it doesn't fit, but he wants - perhaps needs - to be moulded into something else, used to Steve's heart’s content.

He looks up at Steve, eyes big, grief visible in his face, he hopes. Steve grimaces.
“Slightly too much.”
“Sorry.”
“You should be.” And he’s back in character. Reece lets his facial expression slide from grievous to terrified.
“That's better,” Steve leans in to breathe in Reece's scent, “I've been locked up for so long…”
The rest of the sentiment is unsaid, but understood by both of them.

“You smell so good.”
The raspy sound of Steve's voice goes straight to Reece's dick. He’s very glad Steve's not put on an American accent.
He lets himself be hoisted up and flipped around. Lets Steve yank down his trousers, and doesn't even respond when he hears an ominous ripping sound when Steve pulls at his pants.

Steve's not been this rough with him for ages and he only realises now that he's missed it, or perhaps he's been dreading it. He's not sure. His heart is beating awfully fast.
Steve probes at his ass with a finger, and Reece realises he's attempting to go in dry.
“Please.”
It comes out so choked, even Reece himself is thrilled with how weak he sounds.

Steve grunts. His finger still circling his rim.
“Plead all you want. I'm not here for you. I’m just here because I need this.”
He spits, actually spits, onto Reece's ass and Reece can't help but recoil slightly. He just about doesn't gag. Steve tightens his grip on his hip.

The spit only just about takes the edge off when Steve presses his finger in. It burns and Reece gasps.
“Shut up.”
Reece whimpers and nods. His eyes are tightly shut and he's folded his arms underneath his body, as if he's trying to soothe himself.

He knows Steve's purposefully curling his finger just the right way to hit his prostate almost constantly. He has to bite his tongue to make sure he doesn't make more noise. He was told to shut up. Apparently, unsuccessfully.

“I normally prefer soft, pretty, girly girls, but you'll do just fine I think. Those little noises escaping you, if I close my eyes you could be just how I like them.”
One of Steve's hands makes its way to Reece head, softly scratching at his scalp once, before tugging his head back by the hair.
“Yes, exactly. Those noises.”

A second finger joins the first, and as the burn intensifies, so do Reece's noises. Over the noise of his own voice, he can just about hear Steve grunt as if he's already balls deep inside of him.

The hand in his hair retracts and his head flops forward. When the head of Steve's cock nudges at his rim, he finds that Steve's silently added at least a little bit of lube. He decides against mentioning this, although he's silently grateful. It still feels like he's being split in half when Steve starts pushing in.
Steve groans.
“So warm. So tight. Just for me.”

Reece nods and realises there's tears on his cheeks. Both Steve's hands are now on his hips, both tight enough to bruise. He sobs when Steve pulls out slightly and slams home.
“So perfect for me. Always so good.”
Reece can feel Steve losing himself in the feeling, chasing a well-known high.

He's surprised when Steve's hand lets go off his hip to hold his cock instead.
“Of course you're getting off on this. Pathetic man that you are.”
It feels good. Really, really good.
And then suddenly, it doesn't.
Reece sobs some more and suddenly wishes he was being held. Lovingly held.

“Stop.”
It's too quiet, too soft. It sounds like it's part of the game. Steve tuts.
“I don't think so.”
He keeps going.
“Please,” he gasps, “Please, stop.”
Steve does not stop. He grunts. He squeezes at Reece. He rakes fingernails over Reece's skin, and a genuine sense of panic settles in.

“Steve! Stop!”
It takes a few seconds for the message to perforate Steve's thoughts. Suddenly, his hips falter.
Reece can feel his heart in his throat. He tries to catch his breath, tries to form the words. They don't come.

Steve is pulling at him, trying to get him to face him. He feels like a ragdoll. He doesn't work against Steve's attempts to turn him, but doesn't help him either.
He feels two warm hands taking hold of his face, and warm, dry lips on his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks. Slowly, he becomes aware of Steve's voice again. Telling him it's all okay. They don't have to do this. He's sorry he didn't listen immediately. That he thought it was part of it. Asking what happened. What Steve can do to help.
It feels too much.

He slumps against Steve's chest, always solid, always welcoming. He thinks he can faintly hear his heart beating in his chest. After a while, his own heart slows down, his breathing evening out again. He takes one deep breath and sits up. He looks Steve in the eye, who looks back with a concerned expression on his face.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Sorry about that.”
“No. No! I'm sorry.”
“Don't be silly,” Reece breathes, “it was nice, it felt good, and then it didn't.” He shrugs.

Now his limbs feel his again, he climbs into Steve's lap, tries to rub their cocks together, feeling Steve's slowly fill out again, although the concerned look hasn't left Steve's face.
He slowly guides Steve towards his hole, tries to sit down on his dick, but Steve holds him up by the thighs.

“We don't have to.”
“I know that.”
Steve swallows before guiding Reece down.

Now it's slow, and soft, and Steve keeps asking him if it's good and if he needs anything. It's the complete opposite of before and Reece thinks to himself that both are good. Both are nice.

Steve kisses his throat, his hands underneath the shirt he's still wearing, and Reece reciprocates. His hands glide over Steve's shoulders, fingers in his chest hair, thumbing at Steve's nipples. Until both of them breathe in deeply and still, caught up in the crescendo. Through his own fluttering eyelids, Reece can see Steve stare at him with so much emotion, it threatens to overwhelm him. He closes his eyes. Steve is still there. Steve's always there.
Like there's always a tab open in his brain with Steve's name on it. Living in his brain like he's done for the past 35 years. And, not for the first time, he's glad Steve is real. Not a figment of his imagination.

Chapter 31: The Stakeout

Summary:

a bit of roleplaying, a bit of restraint, and some blood play. What else could you ask for.

liberal use of vampire related puns. Deeply unserious chapter.

Notes:

Somehow I've never seen anyone talk about how the title of this episode is a hint toward the real nature of the story. Stake that vampire out. Stake him.

I had so much fun writing this

"Hands where I can see them, you're under arrest."
Reece holds his hands up half-heartedly.
"On what charge, officer?"
"Uhh, being a nuisance to the public. Being too funny. Oh, and those three killingths you did."
Reece moves his head from left to right while considering this.
"Yeah that's fair enough. What do you want me to do then, officer."
Steve is holding his hands in front of him like an imaginary gun. He gestures with it to the wall behind Reece.
"Face the wall, hands behind your back."
As soon as he does, Steve is on him.
"You have the right to remain silent... But I would prefer it if you didn't.”

Steve steps up to him, his handgun falling apart as he drops his hands to Reece's wrists where he's crossed them behind his back.

He noses at Reece's neck.
"God, why do you always smell so good? It should be illegal."
"Just add it to the charges."
Steve snorts.
"To jail you shall go. For your own safety and the safety of the public."
Reece only notices the handcuffs when they click closed around his wrists.
"Oh! Handcuffs again! Are those real?"
"Of course they are. I'm a policeman.”

"Have you thought about the fact that my hands will be very in the way if you try to fuck me now."
"Who says we're going to fuck? You're under arrest, little man, you're coming with me to the station."
He turns Reece around so they're facing each other. He's effectively pinned Reece to the wall, but when Steve looks at him, the look in his eyes is surprisingly smug.
"Well, officer, I'm afraid I have other things to do today. So, unfortunately, I won't be joining you at the station."
"I will make you,' Steve says with a little tug to Reece's hair, that makes him inhale sharply. His mouth falls open and two sharp fangs appear.

Before Steve can comment on them, Reece's hands are on him, pushing at him until he's the one pressed against the wall.
"Damn, I thought I'd bought more difficult ones this time.”
“Ha! Underestimated me, didn't you.”
Reece grins, fangs on full display.

And now that he's paying attention to it, he can hear the slight lisp caused by the teeth.
“How the tables have turned. I'm arresting you for harassing an officer of the law!”

“... So, are you also a cop then, or just a vampire?”
“Of course I'm also a cop, have you even read the script?”
Steve shrugs, before his eyes become distant. Lost in thought.
“Life must be hard as a vampire cop... Do you think a warrant would be enough of an invitation to enter someone's house or would the residents have to welcome you as well?”
“Ah, the lesser talked about problems of life as a vampire cop. Now, where did I put those handcuffs.”

Steve lets himself be cuffed, hands in front ‘for easier access’. Reece starts nibbling on his neck, grazing his fangs over the soft skin.
“Do you do that with everyone you arrest?”
Reece hums.
“Only the really hot ones… the ones with the tastiest blood.”
They both fall silent as they enjoy the feeling, the only sound being the slight raspiness of Steve's breathing.
“If we're both cops, why are we arresting each other?”
“As if cops never break the law…”
“Good point.”
“Thank you, now if you could follow me to the sofa… I mean your cell.”
“Gladly.”

Reece makes quick work of Steve's trousers before he bends him forwards over the arm of the sofa. His hands caress Steve's ass for a bit, before fishing some lube out of one of their bags and turning back toward the man laid out so perfectly in front of him.
He starts giggling as he coats his fingers.
“What's so funny?”
“Vhat do you call de land vhere it meets de sea?” He says in his best Dracula accent, before quickly following it up with a whispered, “can I come in?”
“What?”
“Vhat do you call de land vhere it meets de sea?” It’s more insistent now, then a whispered “can I come in?”
“The… Shore?”
“Haha! You fool!”
Reece presses a finger in before Steve can process the joke.

He takes his time prepping Steve. Gently thrusting in his finger, crooking it in search of his prostate. After a while, he adds a second finger. Steve’s biting his lip, making small noises at the welcome intrusion. A third finger is added, and he takes a deep breath. After what seems like centuries, which he’s sure would only feel like a couple minutes to a vampire, he can feel the tip of Reece’s cock at his rim.

“I always thought I could destroy a vampire with a wooden stake, but how the tables have turned; a vampire is about to destroy me with his wooden stake instead.”
Reece’s laugh turns into a groan as he pushes into Steve.
Steve tries to brace himself on his bound forearms, but Reece pushes his face down into the sofa cushions. He rakes his fingernails over Steve’s spine, and even without seeing, Steve is sure he’s holding his hand like Nosferatu.

Deciding on a change of position, Reece pulls Steve’s upper body up against him, one arm around his chest and holding on to his shoulder, the other on Steve’s hip. His mouth attaches itself to Steve’s neck, grazing teeth and lapping tongue.
“Fuck, I can actually feel your pulse.” And Steve thinks he’s never actually sounded this much like a vampire.
“Are you going to bite me? It’s meant to be a very erotic experience.”

Reece bites down softly, testing the waters. He’s holding back, both in his biting and his thrusts.
“Come on, Reece. Give me more. Show me that vampiric superhuman strength.”
The arm around his chest tightens. His hips speed up. Steve can feel his hot breath coming out in short bursts against his neck. The sharp tips of the fangs against his skin, just the right side of painful.
“Is that all you’ve got?”

He’s taunting. He knows he is. Reece speeds up anyway. His hands are gripping tight enough to hurt. The next time he bites down on Steve's neck, one of the fangs snaps off from the force, the other actually pierces Steve's skin. Steve yelps, and cums. Cock completely untouched. His ears ring, and his neck is throbbing.

“Fuck! Are you okay?”
Reece pulls out and turns Steve around.
“Are you kidding? That was.... fucking hell, that was hot.” Steve’s eyes are still full of lust. Some of his blood is shining on Reece’s lip.

They move simultaneously. Steve bends forward to lick his own blood off of Reece’s mouth as Reece lifts his hand to press at the bitemark. It makes Steve hiss softly.
His blood tastes metallic. He goes in for another taste. Reece groans into Steve's mouth, until Steve pulls away just slightly.
“I'm going to turn around again," he says softly, "and then I need you to finish the job.”
“You want me to murder you?”
“Sure, if that's what gets you off.”
Reece shakes his head, but pushes at Steve to get him back in his original position.

He can tell when Reece is back in character.
“Stop resisting arrest or I'll have to use force.”
“Is that meant to encourage or discourage me?”

Instead of an answer, Reece forcefully pushes back into him. Steve's eyes close of their own accord as Reece starts moving properly again.
“Bite me again.”
“You’re insane.”
“Yes, and I'm inviting you in. Bite me again, you bloodsucking monster.”

Reece all but growls as he bends forward and attaches his mouth to Steve's neck.
One of his fangs is still missing and rather than biting, he sucks. Steve's blood has congealed slightly already. The texture is weird, but he doesn't dislike the taste. The idea of consuming Steve like this, knowing what his insides taste like, makes him feel slightly feral.

He's sucking bruises into Steve's skin, grazing his teeth over the marks he's making, feeling delirious with the noises coming out of Steve's mouth.
He's slamming into Steve with so much force he's sure something is going to break. He's not sure if it'll be him, or Steve, or the sofa. He hopes it's the sofa.

His orgasm hits him without warning. His fingers dig into Steve's flesh with what he's sure is too much force, but he can't help himself. He groans and to his surprise, Steve groans along with him. When he reaches around to hold Steve's cock, Steve yelps.
“Too much, Reece,” he pants as his cock twitches in Reece's hand.

Reece can't resist the urge to squeeze, just a little bit, and Steve jerks against him.
“Reece!”
Instead of responding, Reece just kisses Steve’s neck, lifting his hand up off Steve's cock to caress the back of Steve's head and back.

“Sorry, I got a bit too into it.” His voice sounds hoarse.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Steve's still panting slightly, “I wasn't aware you could do that as a vampire, by the way.”
“Do what?”
“Cum inside without explicit invitation.”

Chapter 32: Wuthering Heist

Summary:

honestly i dont even know where to start with this one

Notes:

closest i'll ever come to writing self-insert fanfic

there's like 7 different things going on here and none of them is very well-developed. Bon appetit.

As the writer, I don't mind telling you that it is getting increasingly difficult to write these chapters. Even while varying writing styles and being free with what it means to 'christen a set', there are only so many ways in which people can fornicate.

Fortunately, Reece and Steve are blissfully unaware of this. Their narratives continue despite it all.

Unfortunately, given the nature of these chapters up to this point, it's about to get real awkward for me as the attending narrator.

We initially find them looking at masks. They've got a bit drenched on their way in, the rain coming down in sheets, but they couldn't be happier.
The room itself is uninteresting, but the masks make it like heaven to Reece and Steve. They've been given a whole variety, and although they've got an idea in their heads of what kind of mask they both want, they'd never let an opportunity to play around slide.

It goes something like this:

“Do you think we could use this one?”
Reece holds up a postman Pat mask.
“You've used one of those before.”
“Oh yeah.”
He puts it down again.

Next, they hold up two masks at the same time and make them have a conversation. It's funny, but not the right vibe.

After that, Reece puts on. It's a lacy domino mask. It's definitely a look, and Steve can't help but imagine Reece in matching panties. He wasn't planning to, but suddenly he wonders if now would be a good time to christen the set.
He stares at Reece for slightly too long.

Reece raises an eyebrow - an action made completely futile by the mask on his face - and smiles.
To save face, mask pun intended, Steve picks up a mask with a long nose and holds it in front of his crotch as if it were a penis.

Reece closes the gap between them and leans in close. Steve feels his heart beat worryingly loudly and briefly wonders if it's a(nother) heart attack. He leans towards Reece in return.
“I know you're joking, but that mask is actually perfect.”
Before Steve can finish the movement and kiss him, Reece plucks the mask out of Steve's hands, making sure to brush against his dick in the process.

And I briefly have to close my eyes and breathe through my nose so I don't start giggling.
Steve has to do something similar, for slightly different reasons.
While Steve's eyes are still closed, Reece puts on the mask and grins.

“Hortensia, hortensia,” Reece starts, and Steve opens one eye, “my feelings don't make sense-ia…”
Steve's other eye stays closed as he looks at Reece.
“Are you… French?”
“I am clearly Italian, piss off.”
“Sure...," and then, "Fine, fine.”

Rather than finishing the quote, Reece walks around the room like a little soldier. Nose first. Steve grabs a mask and joins in. It turns out it was an easy choice, after all.

 

We leave them to have some privacy for just a moment, purely so the narrator can say that now that it has been written that Steve first used the mask’s sniffer as a mock-phallus before it became Scaramouche’s schnoz, the scene where Mario kisses Scaramouche and then licks his nose, hits slightly different.

 

Panning back to Reece and Steve, it comes as a complete surprise to writer and reader alike, that we find them in a huddle in a corner. Masks pushed back into their hair, lips attached, legs entangled; they make for a magnificent four-faced monster.

The noises coming from the monster in the corner are both mesmerising and slightly terrifying. Accents and characters forgotten, it's just Reece and Steve and a room full of empty eyes staring up at the ceiling (and me, oh lord).

Reece slowly works his way down Steve's chest, kissing his chest, mouthing at his nipples, rubbing his face against Steve's soft belly. His hands slide down Steve's waist to the button of his jeans.
When Reece's lips close around the tip of Steve's cock, the narrator looks away, vaguely flustered.

Reece focuses on the noises Steve is making, and is surprised to hear mostly giggles.
“What?”
“The mask! It's just… staring at me from atop your head.”
A crash indicates the mask has been discarded.
Softer noises follow.
Moans and half-finished sentences.
“Easy come, easy go...”
“Little high, little low...”
Reece hums around Steve's cock and it sends shivers down his spine (body's aching all the time).

Before long, the noises become more insistent, more desperate. Steve's voice suddenly pitches up and it is obvious to everyone involved, he is a sex machine ready to reload, like an atom bomb about to... No wait, wrong song.

“Magnificoo..oh..oh..oh..…oooh.”

The narrator glances back at the monster in the corner, just in time to see one hand flailing in the air, another tightly clenched in the greying hair of one of the heads.

As the monster somehow entangles itself even more tightly, limbs and heads and torsos everywhere, the rain outside intensifies.

 

Thunderbolt and lightning.
Very, very frightening.
Me.

Notes:

broke: writing sad dead dad fics to cope with my personal dead dad (that's private to me)
bespoke: using my dead dad card to make jokes about another man's heart attack

Chapter 33: Simon Says

Summary:

to nobody's surprise we're doing some mild choking today

Notes:

the bad news is I stayed home ill today, the good news is I have now finished writing these fics up to the bones of st nicholas

How nice to have an actual bed at their disposal. And a sofa. And a kitchen. How convenient to have a stupid game right there at their fingertips.
“Simon says… choose a first location.”
Reece doesn’t even have to explain. Steve nods, turns around on the spot, and walks into the bedroom where he waits for Reece to follow. He waits passively, awaiting his next order.
“Simon says… kiss me.”
Reece looks so smug when Steve walks up to him, Steve can’t help but follow his orders how a Genie grants wishes; he lifts Reece’s hand and softly presses his lips to the knuckle of his index finger.

“Oh, so that’s how we’re playing, is it?”
Steve says nothing.
“Fine, I’ll be more precise. Kiss me on the mouth.”
Steve does nothing.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake," Reece's moves his arms about impatiently, "Simon says… kiss me on the mouth.”
Steve leans forward, and Reece breathes out. At last.

Steve watches him close his eyes, before closing the gap between them and giving him one of the briefest pecks on the lips ever seen in human history. Reece’s eyes fly open.
“You’re fucking impossible! Simon fucking says… fucken’ kiss me on the mouth, until I’m thrashing and moaning, and gasping for air.”
He’s barely finished his sentence, before Steve grabs him by the shoulders and all but throws him on to the bed.

Steve pins his wrists to the mattress on either side of his head and sits down on top of his hips, pressing Reece down into the bed. He's got a wicked grin on his face when Reece looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. This isn't what he expected at all, but he's not complaining. He wouldn't dare.
Steve grinds down, kissing Reece again, and again, until he's genuinely a little out of breath. Suddenly one of Steve's hands wraps itself around his throat. When the hand starts to squeeze, Reece bucks his hips up into Steve.

He's not sure what he said for this to happen, but it's absolutely magnificent. He tries his best to grin at Steve as he speaks.
“Simon says… keep going.”
Steve smiles back at him and kisses him again. It's a wonderfully light feeling, Steve stealing his breath from his mouth, his hand stopping any new air from going in.

When Steve lets go of him briefly, he sucks in as much fresh air as possible. It burns his lungs slightly, but he gets over this as soon as Steve's hand and mouth return. He's vaguely aware Steve is still rutting against him, and that he himself is as hard as he's ever been.

Little spots of light start dancing in front of his eyes. Through the haze he can see Steve's face swim above him. That must mean he's not being kissed right now. He tries to Simon says Steve back, but he can't speak. He settles for a squeaky whine.

Steve kisses him, and kisses him, and bites at his lips, and his cheek and his throat. He realises that means there's no hand on his throat, and only then does he become aware that he's been holding his breath unnecessarily. He breathes in and the air tastes sweet. But not as sweet as Steve. He pulls at Steve, needing him closer, ever closer, pressing his whole body into the mattress.

He feels like he's being weighed down with endless rocks. He feels like he's about to float off, light as a feather.
He moans into Steve's mouth and urges him to start moving his hips again.

Steve stills, making Reece whine.
“Please.”
His voice is croaky.
Steve raises an eyebrow.
“Steve, please.”
His mind is too foggy to think of any reasons Steve might not be continuing. He tries to make his body move, but it just sort of flops.
Very, very slowly he feels a thought trickle into his head.
“I… Steve… come on…”
Nearly there.
“Simon, Simon says… please. Please finish what you started.”

Steve's being softer now. One hand gently on his throat as he kisses every bit of Reece he can reach. His other hand reaches down to take Reece’s cock out of his trousers. His breathing's not restricted, but his moans reverberate oddly against Steve's hand nevertheless.

It's agonisingly slow, and Reece craves more, always more, but his brain has switched off again. He arches his back, thrashes his arms and legs, anything to get more. Steve stoically continues. Soft, and sweet and slow.

When Steve feels Reece getting close, he presses down on Reece's jugular again. Reece feels deliciously out of control. There's only Steve and arousal, and arousal and Steve. His lungs start burning, and there's pins and needles in his fingers, and all he can focus on is the blinding light rushing towards him.

His eyelids are fluttering as he cums, brain exploding with ecstasy and a lack of oxygen.

Steve gets up to wipe his hand on something, before lying back down next to him. By then, Reece feels more or less human again.
“Fucking hell, Steve. Where did that come from?”
“You… told me to do it?”
Reece looks at him and sees his own confusion mirrored.
“I said ‘fucking kiss me till I’m moaning and gasping’, or summat like that. I was being annoyed!”
“Oh!” Steve starts to laugh, “So sorry, my mistake. I thought you said ‘fuck AND kiss me.'"
He turns to face Reece properly, putting his hand on top of Reece's chest.
"And who am I to deny Simon.”

Chapter 34: Lip Service

Summary:

good ol' 69

They have more or less finished filming, the set is mostly still standing in case they look at the footage and something’s gone wrong. Reece and Steve have decided this is the perfect time to sneak back onto the set. They argued together (to a non-existent third person) that some people get baptised when they're adults, so christening the set after filming is more than valid.

They’ve made it back into the faux-hotel room, everything exactly where they left it. The lamps above the bedside tables, the twin beds shoved against each other. Steve looks at all the details before he speaks. He starts crowding Reece, moving his hands gently down Reece’s arms. And when he speaks, it’s in his most seductive voice;
“Your lips could do me a service…”
He wiggles his eyebrows.
“What a shit line.”
Steve's voice instantly goes up an octave.
“Oh, come on! I thought about that one and all!”
“No, you didn’t. Jesus Christ. Multiple-award winning writer Steve fucking Pemberton, and that’s the best you could come up with?”
Steve pouts at him.
“You try, then.”
Reece looks him up and down.
“Is that Chekov’s hairdryer in your trousers, or are you just happy to see me.”
“Good god, that was horrendous.”
“Why thank you.”
Reece does a little curtsy to accompany his words.

“We’re so kind to the world by having made a decision not to do improv.”
“Oh absolutely, it's our gift to the people.”
“We suck at it.”
“Horrifically so.”
“You know what else we suck…”

Reece mock-gasps and snaps his limbs back together, back to being a stuck-up hotel manager with too many thoughts and not enough to do.
“Sir! Are you propositioning me?”
The stiffer Reece gets - pun semi-intended -, the harder Steve wants to try.
He's back to caressing Reece's arms, all soft touches and hard promises. His eyes glide over Reece's body.

“Why, yes, I do believe I am. Are you accepting?”
He looks Reece in the eye now, one eyebrow cocked, before he continues talking;
“Well, I did promise to suck, but I'll suc-ceed at sucking, I do promise.”
Reece groans, and Steve changes tactics.

“If you let me suck you off, you won't have to listen to my puns anymore.”
“Good point.” And with that, Reece all but pushes Steve to his knees.

And Reece agrees, Steve's warm mouth on his cock, his warm hands on the base of his shaft, he absolutely is good at this.
But he feels antsy. He feels restless. He feels fidgety.
And what better to fulfil his fidget needs than Steve's body. His own personal fidget toy.

Steve nearly chokes around his cock and Reece realises he's been mumbling these musings under his breath. So Reece pulls him up to his feet, clicking knees and all, and they move to the bed.
There's more maths involved than either of them is comfortable with, but eventually they get into a comfortable position with not too many awkward angles.
Reece's legs are a little bent, his feet resting on a bedside table.
Steve's legs are hanging off the edge of the bed. Their bodies meet in the middle.

They've done this before (at this point Steve is sure they've done everything before), but that doesn't make it less enjoyable. Steve has always thought it's the closest he'll ever get to sucking his own cock, and there are few things in life he believes men wish they could do more. The mirrored movements, the hands on his thighs that feel like his own hands on Reece's thighs. A near perfect ying yang.

Steve delights in all the little noises Reece is making, the way Reece forgets himself and he himself can forget himself in return, because they both know the other will remember them for them. He feels almost weepy and tries to hold Reece closer, accidentally making himself choke.

It definitely works for Reece, however, whose hips stutter while he moans around Steve’s cock, making his own hips stutter too. He loves this equilibrium, the perfect harmony, the poetry of it all. He wishes he could wax lyrical about this, just for Reece to roll his eyes at him when he does. He redoubles his efforts, hollowing his cheeks, swirling his tongue around the tips and tasting the slightly salty precum collecting there.

Reece spasms and kicks out his leg and they’re both vaguely aware something falls and breaks, but neither of them pay it any attention. It’s slowly turning into a race again, and Steve never knows if it’s a race he wants to win. They’re both bobbing their heads faster now, taking each other as far as they can.

Steve wins, or loses, depending on how you look at it. Anyway, he cums first, spilling down Reece’s throat a few seconds before Reece cums down his. Almost immediately, Reece sits up and pulls Steve towards him, kissing him. His mouth is full of Steve’s cum, and Steve’s hasn’t had the time to swallow yet. Their seed mixes in their mouths. It’s both disgusting and the hottest thing Reece has ever initiated.

Some of it spills down their chins and Steve hopes it won’t get on their shirts. It's such a persistent stain.
Eventually they part and look at each other. Their hair ruffled, their faces flushed. What a wonderful way to be.

Reece nearly steps into the broken glass and plastic next to the bed. The broken lamp. He grimaces at Steve, who shrugs.
“I guess that’s what happens once the lightbulb moment has passed.”
“What?”
“... Like the little lightbulbs in comics when someone has a good idea?... So once it’s over it drops to the floor and breaks.”
Reece shakes his head.
“Yeah, no. My point still stands. I’m glad we don't do improv.”
“Hm.”

Notes:

I watched see how they run today. twas nice to see Sian Clifford (who plays Iris in this episode) again :)

Chapter 35: Hurry Up and Wait

Summary:

some nice rough intercrural
(cw homophobic slurs i guess)

Notes:

halfway through uploading this I clicked on the wrong tab on my laptop, which turned out to be a training thing I had to hand in by today, so yay for that reminder lmao I had forgotten it existed.

Sometimes they get a little bit too into it. When left alone in a trailer, Steve in a gross tank top and Reece looking like a wimp, what else are they meant to do?
Steve bends Reece over the table, one hand holding Reece's arms behind his back. Reece's chin hits the table with a clonk that makes him whimper in pain when it connects.

Steve mumbles a sorry, before using his free hand to keep Reece's head down, pressing his face into the plastic.

“I'm not gay,” Steve grunts.
“I didn't say you were.”
Reece just about manages to sound defensive.
“You heavily implied it.”
“I didn't mean to!”
“Yes, you did!”
Steve tightens his grip on Reece's arms, making Reece gasp.
“Fine! Yes I did!”
“Are you some kind of poof or sommit?”

And for a flicker of a second, Reece feels a genuine sense of dread at the words. Just for a moment he forgets it's Steve and not a horrendous stranger. He’s shut his eyes tightly, unable to think of a response.
“I asked you something! Are you a faggot, or what?”

His face smarts from where it's being pressed into the table, and his fingers are starting to tingle due to the awkward angle of his arms behind his back.
“I… no! I just thought…”
“Yeah? What. What did you think? That you could just have your way with me? You gays are all the same. Always thinking about sex. Always trying to rope people into your filthy ways. God! It makes me want to puke.”

And now Reece’s eyes are stinging. He almost taps out. And then Steve gently nudges his crotch against Reece's backside, and he can feel the hardness through Steve's worn-out trousers.
The hand pressing his face down, lovingly scratches at his scalp for a moment.

When Steve talks again, his voice is low and almost dangerous.
“But now that I've got you here… a fuck is a fuck, you see.”

Steve lets go of his arms and Reece moves them about a bit, getting his circulation going. He puts them underneath his torso and tries to push himself off of the table slightly, but Steve’s still firmly holding his head down, so he settles for bracing himself against the hard plastic.
Before he can do anything else, Steve has pulled his trousers right down to his knees.
Almost automatically, Reece tries to open his legs, but Steve tuts.
“No, no. I don't think so. I'm not gonna go in there. I'm no fairy… knees together, I think.”

Reece tries to stop the noise threatening to spill from his lips, understanding what Steve wants to do, but only half succeeds. The sound is strangled and whimpery and makes Steve snort.
“Of course, you're into this. Fucking hell. You're all the same, you are,” and then under his breath he adds, “disgusting.”
To emphasise his point, or perhaps to undermine it, Steve gives his cotton-clad ass a sharp slap.

Reece hears him unbuckle his belt behind him, and for a long second he feels suspended in limbo. Then Steve's cock is being pushed between his thighs. All the way forward and all the way back. It's a little too dry and not even close to enough stimulation for Reece, but Steve grunts and groans.
Slowly, he builds up a rhythm, fucking between Reece’s thighs over and over again, while completely ignoring Reece’s cock where it’s still tucked away in his boxershorts. It’s so hot, yet so frustrating, he forgets himself.
“Please…”
Steve snorts.
“What do you want, queer?”
“Please, touch me. Please.”
“Begging for it, huh. So desperate.”
He’s still slamming his cock between Reece’s thighs. Taking, taking, taking, the hand on Reece’s head occasionally tightening. Reece whimpers.

“Alright then, because you’ve been such a good little thing. So easy to take my pleasure from. So easy to control.”
Reece hopes Steve will take his pants off, put his hands on him, caress him and squeeze him just how he likes it, but of course he wouldn’t be so kind. Not today.

Steve’s free hand does come around to squeeze at him, but his pants stay firmly in place.
As if hearing Reece’s thoughts, Steve explains.
“Not gonna actually touch your cock. That’s fucking revolting. And I’m not a fucking faggot.” He spits the last word out, and Reece briefly wonders if Steve ever actually feels like this, or if it’s just acting. He’s fairly certain they’ll never actually discuss it.

Reece tries to last, tries to show he isn’t too desperate, but the universe has other plans... because of course it does. Before long, precum is leaking from his dick, staining his pants. Steve makes an appreciative sound, before catching himself and turning it into a noise of disgust. He keeps squeezing and rubbing him through his pants, his own cock still dragging between Reece’s thighs.

Reece cums first, mewling and whining into the table, the side of his face that's pressed into the table now completely numb. His eyes flutter and Steve’s hips stutter. Right before he cums, he lets go off Reece’s head, instead putting both of his hands on Reece’s ass. He kneads the soft flesh and grunts as he shoots his load, making a mess of Reece’s thighs. Reece feels his seed seep down all the way to his knees.

And then Steve is pulling him up, off the table and into his arms. He feels a bit dazed, as if nothing that’s just happened is truly real and maybe it isn't. Steve’s kissing his neck and shoulders, and the back of his head.

“I love you,” Steve whispers against the back of his ear, “you know that right.”
Reece nods.
“Good. Just wanted to make sure.”
Reece nods again, smiling faintly. The reassurance is appreciated.

It never fails to surprise him how well Steve knows what he needs; whether it’s the rough sex or the soft words afterwards. Whether time flies, or seems to stand still forever. Never a dull moment spent in his presence.

Notes:

it's me. I'm the faggot.

Chapter 36: How Do You Plead?

Summary:

honestly i never know how to summarise these things. A nice blowjob with a side of reciprocal handjob. Bon appetit.

He likes playing camp. It annoys people. It always catches them off guard. Though Steve is an exception to this. Steve is an exception to most things if he’s being honest.
“Do you think Yves purposefully made this outfit resemble Judee’s?” Steve asks during their fittings.
“Yeah, he did it purely to rile you up,” Reece responds.
“Hmm, well, it’s working.”
And that’s a cue if ever there was one.

Reece switches effortlessly. Time to play up the campness.
“Why, I’m so glad to hear it. Tell me more…” he says as he crosses his legs and cocks his head.
Steve rolls his eyes at him, but when he speaks, his voice is low and considerate. He’s leaning forward from where he's perched on a chair, making sure Reece knows he's giving him his fullest attention.

“Always so desperate for compliments, aren’t you. Pride is a sin, you know.”
He's teasing. He's trying to see how far he can push before normal Reece appears again. Reece isn't afraid of pushing back, though. He leans forward too, creating a little bubble where nobody else exists but them.

“Well, yes, but so is lust, and if the state of your trousers is anything to go by, we’re going down together.”
Reece clicks his tongue and flaps a loose hand in the direction of Steve’s trousers.
“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad,” Steve rubs his hands together, “I’d like nothing more than to corrupt you.”
Reece pauses, head still cocked as if he's trying to work something out.

“See, I haven’t really figured out yet whether you really are the Devil, or just another sinner.”
He's still being camp, all loose limbs and pouty lips.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, my dear.”
Steve’s grin is nothing shy of villainous. Reece feels his heart speed up just a little bit.

 

—

Reece likes using his hands while acting. He likes flapping his hands around when he talks. He likes moving them to and fro as he jumps up and down. He likes it even better when Steve holds them together above his head, which is exactly what he is doing right now. It makes him automatically arch into Steve, who uses his other hand to hold him closer. He can feel Steve’s stubble scratching his jaw and throat as he nips at the sensitive skin there. He can feel the solid weight of Steve against him, pinning him to the wall. He likes playing up the campness again to make sure his voice goes up a little bit higher, his breathing becomes a little more theatrical. He likes to imagine Steve is properly bigger than him, holding him there to do with as he pleases. He doesn’t have to play up the whine that comes out at that thought.

He likes it when Steve suddenly lets go of his hands, and pushes him to the ground. He likes sitting up properly on his knees in front of Steve, looking up at him through his eyelashes. His campness briefly dips into femininity and suddenly he’s Judee, finally, finally getting what she wants from Charlie. His breath hitches.

And after all that, he’s just Reece. All of it, always, is just Reece, and in moments like this, he doesn’t mind that too much. When Steve is standing above him, undoing his trousers, squeezing himself through the cotton of his pants, right in front of Reece’s face.

“Oh Devil, you truly are tempting me.” And he finds that he just sounds like himself again. Just as camp as always.
“And here I was, thinking you were tempting me.”
Steve is still kneading his cock through the fabric of his boxers. Reece feels his impatience rising.
“Let’s just say we’ve both put the effort in and get going.”
“But you look so pretty when you’re just anticipating.”
“Oh, but I look so much prettier with a cock in my mouth.”
And Steve doesn't have a counterargument to that.

He pushes his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free. Reece hums appreciatively. And then Steve’s hand is on the back of his head, guiding his cock past Reece's luscious lips.

Steve’s eyes shut involuntarily as he focusses on the soft heat around his tip, the smooth glide as his cock pushes further into Reece’s mouth and throat. He pulls out slightly and pushes back in, a shock of arousal coursing through him when he realises Reece is fully letting him set the pace. He fucks softly into the tight warmth, the hand on the back of Reece’s head tightening on his hair, pulling and pushing as he pleases.

Reece moans around his cock, and his hips jerk forward, making Reece choke and cough for a few seconds. He tries to hold back after that, until Reece wraps his hands around his thighs and starts bobbing. He knows that when they started, he intended to talk to Reece, tell him what good little sinner he is, how his body was created to serve the Devil, but now all the words have left his brain.

He wants Reece to use his hands as well as his mouth. Wants him to hold the base of his cock and cradle his balls in the palm of his hands, but these words have also left his brain. Reece pulls himself forward harshly when he feels Steve get close, and Steve cums right down his throat.

When he pulls Reece up for a kiss, he can taste himself on his tongue. He pulls back, thumbs at Reece’s plump bottom lip, and takes in the debauched look. His hair is sticking up where Steve had been holding his head, while sweaty curls stick to his forehead. His lips are red and a little swollen, spittle still on his chin. It makes him feel almost feral. Almost aggressively, he pulls Reece in for another kiss. He pushes his hands under the blue nurses shirt, scratching and squeezing at the soft skin underneath.

When Steve reaches into his trousers to take his cock in hand, Reece breaks the kiss and lets his head drop against Steve’s shoulder. His noises are softer now. There’s no need to pretend he’s camper than he is, or smaller than he is, or more feminine than he is. He’s just Reece, and Steve is just Steve and it all feels magnificent. One of Steve’s hands rests on his lower back, bracketing him in, holding him close.

Steve keeps jerking him off until he cums and his knees buckle. Steve’s slides his arm further around him to hold him up. Reece gratefully clings to him.

“Fuck, that was great. How are you always so good at this?” He murmurs eventually.
“Practice makes perfect.”
“But all the little twists and squeezes and stuff. I just, fucking hell, Steve.”
“Well, you know what they say…”
“Oh no, please. I’m still feeling so good, don’t ruin it.”

Steve’s chest moves against him as he softly chuckles. He doesn’t say anything; he knows Reece will ask. It takes less than 10 seconds.
“Fine!" He sighs. "Out with it then.”
“Well, the Devil’s in the details.”

It makes Reece groan while he half-heartedly punches Steve in the arm.
“Terrible.”
Steve nods and hums in agreement.

Notes:

For better how do you plead shenanigans, I refer you to Kooka and mine Three Punishments

Chapter 37: Last Night of the Proms

Summary:

we're all still thinking about that pat down scene, right

(CW for covid??????)

Notes:

honestly feels like I wrote this one yesterday, which is almost true anyway. It feels odd, because some of the earliest ones I hadn't looked at since April and now suddenly I have to upload things that didn't exist in my brain until 2 weeks ago. Help.

There’s a strange vibe in every room while they’re preparing to film this episode. And not just because of the very clear political opinions implied by the making of it. Everywhere they go, people are talking about this Covid thing and how long it will take before it either takes or blows over.

They’re on a tight schedule, so they decide to start recording anyway, just to be stopped when they’ve only just begun. The first lockdown is announced, and Reece feels like he’s ran into a wall at full speed. He feels trapped at home. There was a plan and now there’s not, and moreover there’s no timeframe for when there will be a plan again.

To fill the time, Reece and Steve try to do some writing over zoom. They know there’s other people still meeting up, especially when they live as close and are as close as they are, but for now this feels safer. Just in case. It’s stunted and almost awkward to write over zoom. It’s also significantly more difficult to come up with new ideas now they’re not out and about seeing people go about their day. They’ve come up with one new idea in the past 3 weeks. Something about online dating and murder (a classic).

Sometimes they’ll just call and sit in silence, only alleviating the need to be near each other very slightly. They both just get on with house tasks or life admin with the other person in their pocket. Occasionally saying thoughts out loud just in case they’re useful.

Reece is working on an attic project, all his thoughts consumed by the task at hand, his glasses perched on the very tip of his nose. He has almost forgotten they’re calling when Steve breaks the silence.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Reece sits back in his chair.
“What’s that, dear?”
“The last bit we filmed; you and Bamshad…”
“Ah,” Reece says, knowingly.
Steve sounds almost shy when he speaks again.
“I just… miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“No, but.. I miss you.”
“Yes, dear, I miss you too.”
Steve doesn’t reply, but Reece thinks he might be nodding.
“When they release us from our prisons, I’ll come over and recreate it with you, alright? As Covid-unsafely as possible,” Reece continues.
“I can’t fucking wait.”

They don’t hang up, but don’t speak anymore. Reece continues painting, his attic has grown a significant number of paintings and curiosities recently. Nothing else to do.

—

The first thing Steve does when the first lockdown lifts is go over to Reece’s. They manage almost 10 minutes of work with Steve looking significantly more sour than expected, before he brings up Reece’s promise. It is honestly longer than Reece thought he would last. Eventually he decides to bite the bullet and ask what's up.

“You know, I explicitly told you I’d come over here, rather than you coming over to mine, because I thought it would give you a good excuse to search me. You know… a stranger in your house…”
Reece raises his eyebrow.
“You? A stranger?”
He’s never seen Steve so petulant. He’s crossed his arms and refuses to look Reece in the eye.
“Since when does it have to make sense? Besides, you don’t know anything! Maybe Covid changed me. Maybe I brought a knife! Maybe I brought the virus!”

On the one hand, Reece wants to toy with him some more, on the other hand, he also doesn’t want to waste any more time. And so he slaps his knees and stands up.
“Oh! You should’ve said! If you’ve possibly brought the virus, I’ll have to check and make sure!”
Steve’s sigh of relief is almost enough for Reece to swoon. How nice it is to be wanted, still, even now.

He moves Steve’s arms until he’s in a classic T-pose. He nudges Steve’s legs apart slightly, and licks his lips when Steve audibly swallows as a reaction. He has been desperate.
“I’ll just have to check…” Reece starts, as his hands pat down Steve’s arms, thrilled to have his soft skin under his hands again, “you never know what people bring into your house.”
He makes sure to breathe slightly heavier than strictly necessary, longingly, achingly.

He drops to his knees, half falling, trying to recreate the way he did it several weeks ago now. It’s easy when it’s Steve. He always feels a little lost, a little out of control when it’s Steve. He knows what comes next, though, and he doesn’t need to pretend when he half chokes. His hand brushes against Steve’s cock and almost automatically he flexes his fingers around it. Steve sways slightly, trying his best to keep his arms up, no matter how much he wants to pull Reece up by his shoulders and bend him over the table.

Slowly, Reece makes his way up, hands patting as much of Steve as he can. He vaguely notes that there seems to be a bit more of him than there was before lockdown. He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. He intended to say his lines, he remembers them still, but when he opens his mouth, a soft moan comes out instead. Steve, finally, here again, so soft, so willing. He forces the words out anyway.
“I… I’m sorry about this. I just… you know how it is… people get tied up, gagged, forcibly broken into… infected," he adds, "I don’t want that to happen to me.”
He’s standing again now, one hand on Steve’s chest, the other pulling Steve’s head back onto his shoulder. Steve’s laugh turns into a moan when Reece’s hand slides across his left nipple, before squeezing at his tit.
“Fuck, Steve….”

And now Reece really does feel desperate. He needs Steve. He needs to feel Steve’s body under his hands without any clothes between them. He needs to fuck Steve and hear him moan his name. He needs all of it. Forever.

“You’ve not concealed it on your body, but I think, just to be sure, I should check inside.”
Steve doesn’t even comment on how silly this line is. He just nods, still leaning against Reece. So Reece takes him to bed. He’d intended to put the music on. Pompous and loud. Make it even more like the episode, but now they’re here, he can’t be arsed. Instead, he’s kissing and biting Steve as he undresses him. He’s missed this. God, he’s missed this.

His hands itch so badly, he wants to do everything at once. He wants to press his finger into Steve’s tummy, He wants to squeeze at Steve’s thighs, he wants to work him open until his fingers disappear into him almost easily. He ends up doing all of it, his hands all over the place, like a man possessed.

Steve’s body shakes and wobbles and trembles at his touch. It’s absolutely exhilarating. He’d almost forgotten. And then, finally, he’s lifting one of Steve’s legs up and over his shoulder, leaning in to kiss Steve while pressing in, but barely being able to reach.
He slots in so perfectly, they breathe in simultaneously, trying their best to last.

Neither of them does. One of Steve’s hands is holding on to Reece’s arm, the other comes up between their bodies to tug at his own dick. Reece wishes he had enough hands to take over, but he needs one for balance, and one to roam over Steve’s body. Cradling his lovely face, tracing the shell of his ear, briefly holding his chin, down his chest. It’s hard to keep up the thrusts and the absolute need to touch Steve as much as possible, but somehow he manages.

He pulls out right before he tips over the edge, instead cumming all over Steve’s body. Reclaiming him. All his. All his. Then Steve’s semen lands on top of his own on Steve’s belly and Reece clenches his teeth together to stop himself from growling. His hands still itch, so he puts them on Steve’s tummy, mixing their sperm together. It’s sticky, and Reece regrets it a little, but at the same time, he’s mesmerised. Steve watches him with adoration in his eyes.

Steve can’t wait for all of this Covid stuff to be over. He wants to properly write with Reece, and act with Reece, and laugh at people with Reece again. He can’t wait for life to go back to normal. He wants to christen more sets.
He’s sure it won’t take too long now…

Chapter 38: Merrily Merrily

Summary:

Reece gets cold so he has a bath

Due to the time of year, they'd scheduled Reece's dive into the water as early into the filming process as possible, in the hope that the water wouldn't be freezing cold.
This, unfortunately, turned out to still be overenthusiastic. British weather being British weather, they'd had 2 weeks straight of rain and unseasonably low temperatures by the time it was time for Reece to go into the water. It doesn't matter he's wearing a wetsuit under his outfit, by the time they've finished he's shivering out of his skin.

“I want a bath,” Reece said grumpily through clattering teeth.
“You can have a shower at the boat rental?”
“No. I want a bath. An extremely hot bath. I want to feel like a little potato in a pan of soup.”
The cold has crept into his bones, he's getting old.

---

Steve makes sure to run the bath as hot as it will go. Despite his earlier wishes, Reece complains about it as he steps in. His toes are on fire, his skin will surely blister, and somehow his bones are still made of ice. Steve lets it wash over him (pun not intended), knowing the grumbling will fade away soon enough, and before he knows it, it does.

Steve has positioned himself on a chair behind Reece's head, just watching the other man for now. Watching him as he slowly warms up and softens. A little potato in a pot of soup indeed.
He rolls up his sleeves and gently touches Reece's shoulders. It makes him jump before he relaxes into it.
Steve feels content just rubbing Reece's shoulders for a bit. After a while, he gently pushes Reece down into the bath a little further, so he can pour warm water over Reece's hair. When it's fully wet, he shampoos it, massages his scalp, and rinses it.

Reece closed his eyes ages ago, and Steve only knows he's still awake because of the occasional noises of contentment.
When Steve's finished with Reece's hair, Reece turns his head up to look at him. Steve will never not be impressed by the length of his eyelashes.

“Join me in the bath?”
It's soft and inviting and wonderful.
“The bath isn't big enough.”
“Join me anyway.”
And how could he refuse that.

He strips, and Reece wolf whistles half-heartedly, his cheek resting on the side of the bath as he watches Steve.
When he's finished getting undressed, Reece sits forward, making space for Steve to sit down behind him. The bath still feels scorching hot to Steve’s cold feet.

The bath threatens to overflow when Steve sits down, his legs on either side of Reece. Reece leans back against his chest and sighs. He's finally warmed up again. They both doze for a bit. Content to just sit in silence together. But the longer they soak, the more time Steve has to look at Reece and think about all the wonderful things they have done and will do together.

Reece feels Steve grow hard against his lower back and grins. He twists himself until he's on his side. His feet and legs together like a fucked up little mermaid.
He's manoeuvred himself so his right arm is free and able to reach for Steve's cock, now at half mast and rising.
“You've been so lovely to me today. Let me pay you back.”
“Just today?”
“Don't push your luck.”
“No! No. I would love to be paid back.”

When Reece's hand starts moving up and down Steve's shaft, it sends small waves of water over the edge of the bathtub. Neither of them is really bothered by it.
Steve lets his head fall backwards, while his hands tighten on the sides of the tub. He stops himself from moving his hips into the sensation. Settling for whatever Reece will give him. The water surrounding them is the perfect temperature now.

Reece looks at him. Steve's skin is slightly flushed, his chest is rising and falling faster and faster. He looks positively edible.

Reece twists around further so he's on his knees facing Steve, so he can involve his left hand as well. The air is cold on the wet skin of his back, but it’s worth it. Steve’s sighing so beautifully. He cradles Steve's balls, making Steve's breath hitch. Reece speeds up.

Before long, Steve mumbles about being close and Reece tightens his hand. It's verging on painful, but a nice kind of painful and then Steve opens his eyes to look at Reece as he cums. His gaze is so intense, Reece struggles to look back.

They both regret the way they've handled things as they watch Steve's sperm float through the water and onto their skin.

“Oh no…,” Steve says smugly, “I guess we'll have to take a shower together.”

Chapter 39: Mr. King

Summary:

They briefly pretend to be teacher and student

Notes:

remember when I said I'd never write this... yeah

They must have watched it over 50 times, and Steve's sure they'll watch it another 50 times still. The episode is as much an homage to the film as to their own friendship. Of course it is. Half the episodes are. It's deeply serious business.

That doesn't stop them being silly, though. They're looking at the set and the props. More importantly, they're looking through the pictures of flaccid dicks while giggling like teenagers. Steve suggests adding pictures of themselves to the pile, completely anonymously. Nobody would ever know except for themselves.
Reece vetoes him on the grounds that someone somewhere will figure it out, and he does not want to deal with the fall out of that.

Steve relents, but only if - as compensation - he gets to have a look in real life.
Reece is more than happy to oblige.

“Very good, all still attached. As nature intended. You’d make a fine witch.”
Steve nods in such a teacherly manner, Reece suddenly feels a little weak at the knees. His cock twitches where it's hanging right in front of Steve's face, who raises an eyebrow.
Reece clears his throat, before saying: “Thank you, sir.”
He makes his voice sound as young as possible.

He felt too old to play a teenager at 36, and it should be even more ridiculous now. This doesn't matter, however.
Steve's mouth forms a lovely little “oh”, before grinning.

“You know, usually when students come here to ask me to improve their grade, it's them who get on their knees.”
Reece swallows heavily.
“Are you telling me, sir, that you've done this before? With other students?”
“Tut tut, don't ask, don't tell.”
“I don't think that's what that means, sir.”

Steve straightens his back, and somehow manages to look authoritative even from where he's kneeling in front of Reece.
“I think you'll find that I am the teacher, young man. I know exactly what I mean. Do not question me.”

Reece nods and mumbles something.
“What's that?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
“Good boy.”

As soon as Steve put on his strict voice, Reece could feel his blood rushing South.
Suddenly, he feels oddly exposed, standing there in front of Steve, his cock at eye level and slowly rising. Luckily, Steve doesn't seem to mind it too much.
He hums appreciatively and smacks his lips.
“Such a pretty boy you are as well," he says more to himself than to Reece, "Yes. I think I will help you out… We'll do some private tutoring.”
Reece just about manages a breathy “thank you, sir,” as Steve takes him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sliding so far down, Reece wonders what has happened to his gag reflex.

Steve's nose is almost in his pubes, his eyes closed in concentration. Reece's eyelids start fluttering. Such an incredible feeling; he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it.

It's over almost before it's begun. Steve slides off again with a pop, and looks up at him.
“Go on, then.”
“What?”
“Seven times table, please.”
“Huh.. uhm.. What?"
"Seven times table, go on!"
"But I…”
Steve raises his eyebrows again.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Steve nods.

It starts off relatively easy, but his times tables are shoddy at the best of times, and concentrating with Steve’s mouth wrapped around his cock has never been his forte.
“Four times seven is… uhm… yes.. twenty-seven, NO, twenty-eight. Fuck.”

Every time he makes a mistake, Steve uses slightly too much teeth. The more Steve uses his teeth, the harder it becomes to do maths. The tender skin of his cock is throbbing and Reece can't tell the difference between a throb of pleasure and a throb of pain. It all feels good. It's all too distracting.

When he's made several more mistakes, Steve moves back off his cock again and sighs.
“This is clearly not working, young man. We'll have to do something different.”

Reece sulks a little.
“Yeah, whatever. I thought that was going quite well, actually.”
“Hmm, that's probably why your grades are suffering.”
The only thing missing is some glasses perched low on Steve's nose, so he can look at Reece over the top of them as he berates him.
“Come on then, Reeson, over the table.”

He gestures for Reece to bend himself at the waist and Reece feels a thrill go through his body.
He likes it like this. He likes it very much.

But Steve's fingers don't breach him. Neither does his tongue.
Instead, one hand comes to lie flat on his lower back, holding him in place. The other rests against his upper thigh.
“French subject pronouns, if you please.”
“What…,” And then belatedly, “sir?”
“Subject pronouns! I, you, he, she, it! But in French! Go on, boy!”
Reece swallows. His French is possibly even worse than Maths.
“That's not fair! We were doing times tables! I suck at French.”

He thinks Steve might give a sharp slap to his ass at these words, but instead Steve just stills for a second before saying in a low, calm voice: “Mind your tongue, Reeson. You do as I say, or this whole thing is off. Last warning.”
Reece nods quickly.
“Yes. Right. Okay. Uhm," he takes a breath, "Je?”
Steve hums and the hand on his ass gently squeezes, encouraging him to continue.

“Tu… il… elle… uhm… er…. Uhmm.”
The hand on his ass comes down with a smack and Reece's body involuntarily jerks into the desk.
“Uhm is not a French pronoun!”
“Sorry! Sorry, Mr Pemberton. Please, can you remind me.”

 

Steve reminds him and makes him do it again. He gets stuck on vous and Steve give his ass another smack before making him do it again. And again. And again. His ass smarts now. He wants to stop doing French. Unless it's kissing.
Steve is relentless.
He snaps.

“Sir! You're being unfair! I can't concentrate! You're pissing me off!”
He's hoisted up by his lapels and is met by a look of disappointment. His lower lip sticks out of its own accord.
Steve doesn't even have to say anything.
“Sorry, sir. I didn't mean that. Thank you for helping me.”
“That’s alright.” But the stiffness in Steve's voice tells him it is not.

Before he can say sorry again, Steve has pushed him down to his knees and taken his cock out of his own trousers.
“If you don't know how to speak to your elders, don't speak at all.”
He all but stuffs his dick into Reece's mouth.

“There we go,” Steve sighs, “finally something you've got a talent for. Though, granted, it's got limited career options.”
He laughs about his own joke as Reece looks up at him through his eyelashes.
He stays passive, waiting for Steve to set the pace.
“Good boy,” he says with his hand in Reece's hair.
And the pace he sets is brutal. His grunts and moans are almost primal. Taking advantage. Taking whatever he wants.

When he cums, Reece swallows dutifully.
Steve tucks himself away and crouches down in front of Reece, like an adult speaking to a child.
“There we go. I'll increase your grade. Will a B suffice?”

Reece can't help but be a little petulant about the result.
“A B? What the fuck was wrong with my blowjob?”
“Language, Reeson,” Steve tuts, “practice makes progress. We can do more tutoring next week. See if we can't get it up in your A - I mean to an A - by next term.”

Steve gets up and leaves the room, leaving Reece with an aching cock and without a last word. Infuriating. Such is life as a student he supposes.

Notes:

all say "thank you mr Chickens for not using the step system (s1, s2, detention, relocation) in this chapter!"

Chapter 40: Nine Lives Kat

Summary:

some nice soft sex... OR IS IT

Steve’s hands glide down Reece's sides, delighting in the expanse of soft, warm, naked skin.
They're taking it slow and Steve thinks to himself that this is exactly what he needed. It feels like he's had the longest day, although right now he can't quite remember what he did that made it so long.

Reece rides him softly, kissing him, pulling at his lip with his teeth. There's a sheen of sweat at his temples, his hair unruly. Steve wants to eat him whole. He smells so good, Steve could cry.
Despite the slowness, the tenderness, they both hurtle towards the end.

Then, Reece lets out a whine so high pitched, it turns into something inhuman, a siren, an alarm.
Steve startles awake and realises the noise is actually coming from his alarm clock blaring at him. He's achingly hard in his pyjama bottoms. God, he was so close. It wouldn't take long to push him over the edge now. He's about to put his right hand to use when the door opens and Reece appears.

He's just in pyjama bottoms. He looks truly angelic with the light behind him.
“Starting without me?”
Steve swallows.
“I think it was more likely I was about to finish without you if I'm completely honest.”
Reece cocks his head, but doesn't move towards him. Just dawdling in the door opening.
“Come here then,” he hears himself say and Reece responds immediately.

There's only 4 reasonably sized steps from the door opening to the bed before Reece is upon him.
He realises he apparently went to bed naked, because his pyjama bottoms are nowhere to be seen. Neither are Reece's for that matter. Steve frowns, he swears Reece had just been wearing… and himself… but none of that is important when Reece crawls into his lap, pushing at Steve until he's flat on his back.

Reece's hands claw at his shoulders and chest. They move down and grab handfuls of Steve's belly. He'd feel self-conscious about it if it wasn't Reece. And if Reece wasn't salivating at the sight of him, breathing hard through his mouth, his tongue wetting his lips.

Steve thinks Reece's eyes look the most beautiful like this, half-closed, with his eyelashes on full display. Slowly he starts moving his hips against Steve's. Steve reaches between them and takes both their cocks in his hand. The friction is almost as delicious as the sounds spilling from Reece's lips.

It feels so good, Reece has some kind of out-of-body experience. If he focusses, he can see himself underneath where he's floating. Steve's grunts and moans piercing the clouds that seem to have been stuffed into his ears. He can't stop touching Steve, although he's not sure how that works if he's up here and Steve's all the way down there. But Steve’s flesh is solid under his hands. Solid, and warm, and soft. He can't help but dig his fingers into the meat of his torso, the fat of his belly, the muscles of his arms.

Before long, Steve's face contorts and he cums all over his own fist and both their bodies. Reece chases the feelings, fucking into Steve's tight grip, Steve's seed now easing the way.
He's nearly there when he loses his balance, overbalances the other way, and falls off of the bed. He awakens with a splash where he'd nodded off in the bath.

Steve's sitting on the closed toilet lid, reading a book. He looks up when Reece sloshes some of the water around.
“Nice nap?”
Reece hums and smiles.
“Had the loveliest dream.”
“I could tell,” Steve says with a nod to where Reece's hard cock is being slightly distorted by the water.
Reece feels himself blush. He feels oddly embarrassed as he averts his gaze.

“Do you need me to help you out?”
Steve's voice has gone all low and sultry. Reece doesn't look up as he nods.

He hears Steve stand up, leaving his book open on the toilet seat, before sinking to his knees next to the bath. Then his hand appears in Reece's line of sight. Rather than to his cock, the hand moves towards his face. Fingertips cradling his jaw, thumb on his lips.

Reece lets his mouth be pushed open, lets Steve push his thumb between his lips, feels himself go slack as Steve pushes his thumb down on his tongue.
When Steve's other hand dips into the water, Reece automatically hollows his cheeks around Steve's thumb, making him breathe in sharply.
The fingers around Reece's jaw tighten, as he watches Steve's eyes close.
Despite him being the one completely naked, he loves how vulnerable Steve looks.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Steve's book slides off the toilet and falls shut.

With his book closed, Steve suddenly zones in on his surroundings again. Sometimes when he reads these types of books, he can't help but imagine himself and Reece as the characters. At this point he's barely sure they're not characters themselves.

It scares him sometimes; not knowing where he ends and Reece begins. Not knowing where real life stops and fantasy starts. The lines are blurring, crossing over. It terrifies him.
What if he's not in control of his own actions. What if something other than himself is making him do things, like he does with his characters.
Does it make him insignificant? Or does it make him God? Does it give him the right to act? Does it give him the right to kill?

He has a sudden vision of him and Reece killing each other over and over again. So many bodies. So much blood.
Does it make them monsters?

 

You quickly close the tab. Enough reading for today.

Notes:

surprise bitch, you're in it today.

Chapter 41: Kid/Nap

Summary:

uhhh steve gets the electric chair or sommit

To absolutely nobody’s surprise, Reece suggests Steve ties him up as part of the christening of this set. And although Steve also thinks that perhaps it’s a little overdone by now, he agrees. It’s not like he doesn’t like it.

And so they get to the set’s threshold and Steve has half a mind to fireman’s lift Reece over his shoulder, but decides against it in favour of his back and knees.
Instead, he puts his hand possessively on Reece’s neck and roughly pushes him towards the chair and the rope. He made sure it’d be ready for them.

Steve can see it all play out in his head, it’s been playing behind his eyes like a delightful daydream for the last couple days. They would go in, Reece struggling a little, but Steve would be able to see the desire in his eyes as Reece fought back. Eventually, Reece would be backed into the chair and Steve would tie him to said chair with the rope. He would talk to Reece in a low voice and watch him squirm while in the aforementioned, uncomfortable, wooden chair. He would tease and threaten, and harass him a little, until Reece was gasping and whimpering, and then… He’s not sure. There were so many possibilities, he would just have to see where the moment took him.

He never gets the chance.
They’ve barely passed the threshold when suddenly Reece is pulling at him. Really pulling. He’s always surprised, and a little turned on, by how strong Reece really is. He’s so caught off-guard that Reece has nearly pushed him into the chair before his mind catches up.
“Hey! Wait a second! I was going to kidnap you!”
“Not anymore!” Reece does not wait a second.

He tries, genuinely tries, to overpower Reece for a second, but doesn’t manage it. Reece looks a little feral as he hooks his leg underneath Steve’s and pulls it out from under him. The chair creaks when he falls into it, and he feels it almost tip backwards as his momentum carries him on. Reece moves with almost unbelievable speed to pull him back.

“See, that’s what happens when you try to fight me,” Reece says with a dangerous smile plastered on his face, “now, are you going to behave while I tie you up?”
Steve worries his lip for a second and then nods. Reece’s smile broadens.
“Wise choice.”

The knots Reece ties are both beautiful and very tight, and Steve wonders whether Reece has done some preparation of his own. He hums satisfiedly as he checks the last knot and then stands up straight behind Steve. The hands that land on his shoulders are strong and possessive.
“You know what to say if it’s too much.”
Steve nods. Granola, granola. If nothing else, it would kill the mood immediately. The hands tap him twice and then retract.

Reece pulls up a second chair and sits on it backwards, straddling the back.
“So… Where do I start?”
Steve doesn’t answer.
“You think you’re such a clever guy, don’t you.”
Steve still doesn’t answer. This wasn’t what he had in mind, and he feels slightly mournful about what could’ve been. It doesn’t matter that he knows Reece will make it worth his while.
“Silent treatment, is it? Fuckin’ hell. I forget how bloody childish you are sometimes.”
Steve simply shrugs. His raised eyebrows seem to say pot… kettle…

Reece’s lips thin into a disapproving line, and his eyes become icy. Suddenly, he gets up and kicks his chair out of the way. He turns away to get something out of the bag he’s brought. Steve had just assumed it contained lube, some wipes and maybe a bottle of water.
“I didn’t think I’d have to use this on you, but you simply leave me no other choice.”

Steve still can’t see what Reece is grabbing. Somewhere in his stomach he can feel the anticipation being overwhelmed by the feeling of quickly losing control of the situation. Then Reece turns around.

“A taser?!”
The smile is back on Reece’s face as he nods.
Instead of picking up his chair, Reece kneels down in front of Steve. The taser in his right hand, his left hand gently caressing Steve’s thigh.
“I want you to admit that you like being tied up just as much as you like tying me up.”
“Nah.”
It’s a lie. They both know it’s a lie. But where’s the fun in immediately admitting?
“I thought that might be what you’d say.”

Reece tucks Steve’s shirt up to reveal his belly, and the way it’s gently resting on top of his trousers. He puts the front of the taser right up close to it and looks up into Steve’s eyes. Steve is amazed by how much of Reece’s eyes have become pupils, watches in fascination as Reece licks his lips and realises a fraction before it happens that Reece is about to press the button.

The shock makes him want to kick out, but with his legs still firmly tied to the chair, all he does is pull on the ropes.
“Fuck!”
Although Steve isn’t entirely sure how he felt about that, he realises his cock seems fully on board. Reece notices it too.
“Excellent,” another lick of his lips, “I’ll ask you again; do you admit that you enjoy me hurting you a little, being at my mercy?”
Through gritted teeth, Steve lies again; “absolutely not.”

This time he has zero time to prepare as Reece sets the taser off. He can feel all of his muscles contract, the ropes cutting into his limbs. When it stops, he’s left panting and aching.

“Ready to admit?”
He nods. He’s not sure he could withstand another round. Reece nods and stands up. He kicks off his trousers and pants, revealing his cock as it gently bobs against his belly. He turns back to his bag and this time does get the lube out.

Steve has to watch as Reece prepares himself, his hands itching to get involved, but unable to. He makes a noise high in his throat when Reece slides a third finger in and tugs at his cock at the same time. The ropes dig into Steve’s arms painfully.

After a few minutes, Reece walks back over to him. Steve watches as Reece unzips his trousers for him, his cock springing free like world’s most cursed Jack-in-the-box. He watches as Reece pours more lube into his hand and wraps it around his cock. Steve’s head falls back with the relief of finally being touched.

With his head back and his eyes closed, he doesn’t notice Reece straddling him, until his tip nudges Reece’s rim. Reece sinks down, and the chair creaks again. With his hands on Steve’s shoulders he starts riding him, and Steve can’t do anything but let him. He tries to buck up to meet Reece’s movements, but he’s tied too tightly to the chair. It’s infuriating. One of Reece’s hands lets go of his shoulder and moves down towards Steve’s belly, Steve doesn’t think anything of it until electricity is once again shooting through his body… literally.
“Jesus Christ, Reece!”
Reece is still riding, if anything with more power. Gasping and moaning when he angles himself in a way that makes Steve’s cock hit his prostate.
Between gasps he manages, “it can’t be that bad, can it?”

And perhaps because he’s too into the moment, or maybe because Steve is very aware that Reece is a fucking idiot, Reece turns the taser around in his hand and against his own bare thigh.

As if in slow-motion, Steve can see him press the button before he can warn Reece against it. And then all of Reece’s muscles spasm, his ass clenching around Steve’s cock so tightly his body tries to double over, but gets hindered by the ropes. With Reece’s added weight and his own jerking movement, the legs of the chair give out and they crash to the floor. He cums so hard he whites out for a second, and when he comes to, Reece is slumped against him. Going by the uncomfortable stickiness between them, the tasering was also enough for Reece.

The broken chair is digging into his back, but Reece refuses to move. His arms are still tied underneath him, and although they’ve gone slightly numb, he manages to somehow push them up into a seating position.

It takes a little while, and a lot of praise and gentle bullying from Steve, to get them both back into the car. Reece looks at him from the passenger seat, a bit dishevelled and very sleepy.
“You alright there?” Steve asks.
“Hmm. That was a nice kid, I think I’ll now go for the nap.”

Notes:

please don't taser anyone with known heart problems, kids

Chapter 42: A Random Act of Kindness

Summary:

Found, never published due to researcher’s involvement in unethical practices (see [redacted]).

Notes:

damn, I'm technically 5 minutes late in uploading this. I hope you can forgive me.

Hypothesis
Time travelling can be made possible by using the energy of orgasm.

Introduction
It has long since been theorised that at some point during human existence, we will invent time travel (Maxwell, 2015). Even before we started thinking of it as a real possibility, science fiction writers often used it to show the advancement of technology in the future (i.e., Wells, 1895).
This paper introduces the idea that time travel has actually existed for as long as the human race itself, possibly even longer, but up to now we have simply not been able to harness the energy needed. The potential physical and emotional energy that comes with orgasm can change this.

Theory
Orgasms have proven to have many beneficial effects, such as psychological happiness and clearer skin (Levinson & Hull, 1999). Other research showed that both these effects coincided with faster regeneration of human cells, effectively slowing down aging with every orgasm (Chambers, 2019). This could be considered a very small example of time traveling through orgasms.

On the other hand, in many cultures, orgasms are (nick)named after death (e.g. le petit mort or the small death in French), this might be seen as the opposite of rejuvenation (Chinnery, 2000).

However, one could argue that death is in fact a type of time travelling; passing through time without aging. One is simply no longer consciously able to enjoy the journey
(Although hope has not been given up on the possibility of bringing our loved ones back from the dead (Sowerbutts, 2014).).

The physical energy released during orgasm has great potential (Plimsolls, 2005 (his career went even further down hill, don’t worry about it)), and with the right methods, it has already been shown that those who orgasm can travel into the future, albeit by only a few seconds, flickering in and out of existence (Squires, 2016).

To travel further forward in time, or possibly even backwards, a lot more energy is needed. An onanism induced ejaculation would not be enough. Instead, one would need to use the emotional energy of a shared orgasm as well as the physical energy of the two individual orgasms.

Method
This research makes use of a case study of 2 individuals, selected through a convenience sample.
They shall be given clear instruction before copulation. Heart rate, brain age, physical energy, emotional energy, and chrono-sense will be measured before, during and after said copulation.
Participants
The participants were chosen through personal interest. The participants have known each other for over 30 years, and have been having regular sex for most of these years. Despite this, it was clear to the researcher that they had not grown tired of each other yet.
Participants were both males in their 50s, relatively healthy and with brain ages slightly lower than their chronological age.
For their privacy, we will refer to them in the rest of this paper as R and S
Instructions
Pick a preferred method of copulation, making sure both participants are being stimulated.
During copulation, think about your connection to the other participant, strengthening the emotional energy.
Both climaxes have to be reached simultaneously, if one is threatening to orgasm before the other, slow down and try the run up again.
Consent
Due to the importance of consent both in scientific research and sex, both participants were asked to read and sign consent papers (see Appendix B), as well as verbally consenting to each other.

Results
It was quickly realised that it was more difficult than anticipated for the participants to follow the instructions given to them.
9 rounds spread out across 2 weeks had to be conducted until a successful trial was run. The results are from the successful trial only. For failed trials, see appendix C. For full data analysis see Appendix A.

Heart rate before:
R: 65bpm, std dev: 5.2
S: 62bpm, std dev: 3.7
Heart rate during:
R: 107bpm, std dev: 12.1
S: 99bpm, std dev: 8.7
Heart rates after:
R: 69bpm, std dev: 6.7
S: 67bpm, std dev: 6.9

Brain age before:
R: 47 (-6y compared to chronological age)
S: 45 (-10y compared to chronological age)
Brain age during:
Error to apparatus.
Brain age after:
R: 47
S: 45

Physical energy (total)
R: 120,000 kJ
S: 107,000 kJ

Emotional energy (total)
R: 372,000 kJ
S: 373,000 kJ

Chrono-sense
Time was described by both participants individually as slowing up and speeding down at indeterminate intervals.
Time measurers (occasionally nicknamed “clocks”) showed this too. Seconds would take longer or slower closer to the participants than time measurers further away.
Both participants noted moments of backwards time traveling to earlier copulations and moments in their relationship, “almost like your life flashing before your eyes”.

 

Discussion
Both participants flickered in and out of existence both physically and emotionally during ejaculation, which seems to support Squires’ (2016) research. Moreover, emotional energy plays a big role in time traveling, especially time traveling backwards. Some might argue that this could refer to replying memories in one’s head during copulation and orgasm.
Further research would have to look at whether this effect is replicable with other participants. For example; participants of different ages, participants of different genders, and participants who have known each other for a shorter number of years.

 

- - - - - - - -

Appendix C
Trial 1: failed due to premature ejaculation of participant S
Trial 2: failed due to measuring equipment coming off during copulation
Trial 3: failed due to one of the participants bursting out in tears
Trial 4: failed due to participants laughing so hard, neither could focus on the copulation
Trial 5: failed due to premature ejaculation of participant R
Trial 6: failed due to participants falling of clinical bed and breaking one of the time measurers
Trial 7: failed due to participants getting carried away and instantly starting ->
Trial 8: failed due to lack of pre-copulation measurements, see trial 7.
Trial 9: Successful!

Chapter 43: Wise Owl

Summary:

Not explicit!
I just want to protect Ronnie at all costs

Notes:

short but sweet?

“I know we said we'd have sex in some way or another every time for good luck, but I just don't know if I can.”
“Do you really find Ronnie that ugly?”
“No! No, dear. He's just… too... small. Too precious. Sex isn't what he needs.”
Reece can’t help but whisper a half-hearted “my precious” in Gollum’s voice in response.

They're sitting crossed legged on the floor opposite each other. Full costumes donned. The set is all set and ready around them.

“But what if it's what I need!” Reece tries to say it in his own voice, but Ronnie shines through; a little childish, a little petulant. He pushes himself onto his knees. His zip up hoodie has ridden up slightly, giving Steve a peek of the pale flesh of his hip. He has to tear his eyes away from the exposed skin and back to Reece's face. A face framed by an absolutely awful haircut that somehow works really, really well.
The entire look makes his heart ache. All he wants to do is to hold him close. Protect him at all costs, but then, he does also feel like that about Reece a lot of the time.

He's so absorbed in his own thoughts, it takes him by surprise when Reece pushes him to the ground and lies down on top of him.
Reece attacks his mouth with quick pecks while waiting for Steve to process what's happening. He grinds his crotch against Steve's and Steve groans, before abruptly stopping himself.

“No! Stop it. I'm not doing it!”
Reece whines, but stills his body, lifting his head to give him some of his best pleading eyes. It just makes Steve even more sure in his decision.

Steve wraps his arms around him and rolls them both over, so now he's hanging above Reece. He can tell from Reece’s face that he thinks he’s won.
He’s convinced Steve’s about to ravish him, like he has done many times before. He can tell from Reece’s slightly parted lips that he’s simply waiting for Steve to make the next move. To tear his clothes off, or push his fingers into his mouth, or simply rut against him like they’re animals in heat.

But all Steve wants to really do, is to hold his face in his hands and tell him it's all going to be okay, so that's what he does.
Reece's expression slides from confusion to acceptance as he lets Steve talk at him. Steve's clearly not expecting any responses from him. He lets Steve gingerly move his hair out of his face, lets him kiss him gently on the forehead, the nose, the cheeks. His breath hitches when Steve’s lips touch his eyelids. It’s so tender. He feels like his heart might burst.

He lets Steve tell him that he's done such a good job. That he's doing so, so well. That he’ll protect him from anyone and everyone.
Reece isn't sure if Steve's talking to him or to Ronnie, but it doesn't matter. As long as Steve's right there. Always there.
It almost makes him cry.
The building bubble of emotion bursts when Steve, still talking sweet nothings, tilts Reece's head gently to the side to press a kiss against his non-prosteticed ear and he's suddenly eye in eye with the fucked up taxidermy rabbit.

He can't stop the laugh that escapes him. He wants to explain to Steve what's so funny, but it's impossible to form the words through the giggles, but it's all okay because Steve is laughing too. His entire body is shaking with it. He lets himself fall to the side, so they're both lying on the carpet. Tears are streaming down both their faces and they're still laughing and it reminds him of years long past when they had all the time in the world and spent most of it on the floor, laughing their heads off.

They laugh until their ribs hurt and their faces feel sore, and then some, and Reece thinks to himself that maybe this is exactly what he needed after all.

Chapter 44: The Bones of St Nicholas

Summary:

churches am I right

Notes:

an unholy amount of dirty talk

I like this one :)

There’s something about churches that always makes Reece want to misbehave. Be a little cruder, a little ruder than normal. Every single time he sets foot in a church, he feels the urge to blaspheme under his breath, almost like a superstition. God can’t catch him if he’s protecting himself with a curse. It's his own little enchantment.

Because of this, there is no doubt in his mind that they will christen the set inside the church today. It's only logical; churches are where things (people) usually get christened. He doesn’t share these thoughts with Steve, but after nearly 40 years he thinks Steve might have an inkling anyway.

They’re allowed to explore the church, and there’s nothing quite like a big, empty building to get their creative (and other) juices flowing. There’s a wonderful echo in one of the smaller chambers, and Reece hums a few lines of a song to himself, until Steve enters the room. Steve, unsurprisingly, makes a lewd joke, and their laughter bouncing off the walls is almost overwhelmingly loud.

They continue on. Steve is more than happy to let Reece lead him down the aisles and through doors and corridors. They both light a candle and for a little while they just stand in silence, watching the little flames dance in the draughty space.
“I hope someone will leave a candle or a little light on for us when we die.”
“Are we dying together then?”
“Of course.”

They go up a tower, and neither of them bumps their head into any doorframes or ceilings, making this part of the exploration an absolute success, despite the near death experience Reece has when he missteps on the way down. He can see his life flash before his eyes ("it were really boring"), until Steve’s hand seizes his bicep. He mutters a quick thanks, with one hand pressed against his chest to calm down his heart, before continuing down.

By then they’ve seen most of the church, but Reece made sure to save the best for last. In the corner of the nave stands an old confessional. Even just the thought of it makes his cock twitch in his trousers. He makes Steve sit in one of the little chambers before stepping into the other one himself.

He takes a deep breath and rubs his hands on his trousers. He'd been thinking about this all day.
“Sorry daddy, I've been bad,” he whispers, and hopes Steve can hear him on the other side of the grate.
Going by the low chuckle, Steve can.
“I think the words you're looking for are ‘forgive me father, for I have sinned.’”
“Maybe, but calling you daddy is more fun.”
Steve hums. His voice is darker, more authoritative, when he speaks again.
“Tell me about your sins, then, please. And don't leave a detail out. God can only judge you if you're honest.”

Reece nods, then realises Steve can't see him. He clears his throat.
“I've been having… wicked thoughts, daddy.”
Steve waits for him to continue. He did ask for details.
“Lustful thoughts…”
He lets it hang in the air between them. Reece tries to focus, trying to listen out for any noises Steve might be making, but he's met with complete silence.
“I… have been fantasising. There's this person. This man,” he swallows, it feels weird saying this out loud in a church, “I… can't stop thinking about him.”

And now he does hear Steve move. He thinks he might be changing seating positions, or readjusting his trousers. A man can hope.
“What sort of thoughts are these, my child?”
“Well, daddy, I imagine his hands. So warm and strong on my body. Touching me. Appreciating every curve and angle. He holds me as if I am precious, as if I am holy. He worships me how one ought to worship God.”
His heart is beating in his throat and he's not sure why. This is nothing new. Steve knows about these thoughts. But saying them out loud, here, feels different.

He doesn't realise he's stopped talking until Steve clears his throat.
“Is that all, my child?”
“Oh, no, uhh. I…,” he tries to collect his thoughts, “sometimes I imagine he fucks me. Fucks me so hard I can't help but curse and blaspheme and all the rest. His cock so deep inside me, I think he might be touching my soul.”

And now he can definitely hear Steve's breathing speeding up.

“I imagine he moves inside of me and I can feel every inch of his dick. His hands holding me down, his mouth on my neck. I imagine he's kissing and licking. I imagine one of his hands coming up to my head and pulling it back by the hair. I am at His mercy. I was created to worship Him and be worshipped in return.”

He has to pause to catch his breath. He pushes the heel of one hand against his crotch and his eyes flutter closed. He continues.

“He is omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent. I imagine he covers my body with his, and all I want to do is taste his sweat and feel his essence filling me up. I imagine he keeps fucking me through his own orgasm, his hand now on my cock. He's holding me slightly too tightly and slightly too roughly. I imagine I cum all over his hand and he brings it up to my mouth so I can taste myself.”

“Fuck, Reece.”
And Steve's voice sounds hoarse and a little clipped.
Reece tries to think of anything else to say, but he can hear Steve trying to open the door of the booth, hears him curse under his breath when he's too impatient and nearly rips the little lock off. And then suddenly he's pulling on Reece's door and of course Reece has already unlocked it. Steve looks flustered, and sweaty, and brilliant as he stands there in front of Reece.

There's no space, no space at all, but somehow Steve manages to enter his booth and close the door. He's pulling Reece up by his lapels and, as Judas and Jesus before them, he's kissing Reece, and kissing Reece, and kissing Reece.

And he's whispering so many things against Reece's lips. A sermon of his own making. A sermon to his own small God. There's not enough room, but they've never needed personal space anyway. Steve promises to worship him, and worship him again. Reece knows he'd intended to call Steve daddy all the way through and rile him up, but before he can get it out of his mouth, they're both panting and they've tarnished some of the century old booth in a way wholly inappropriate for a church.

And if cursing in a church would hide Reece from God’s eyes, then surely this would be enough to make God visible to him instead. He thinks he might be right, as he follows Steve out of the church, the light seemingly bending out of his way especially. All he sees is Steve.

Perhaps this is heaven.

Notes:

chicken run reference :)

Chapter 45: Mother's Ruin

Summary:

noises and hands

Notes:

oddly, i've found i find it a lot harder to write chapters for the episodes I love (like this one and wise owl) than for the episodes i care less about.
I hope this will do.

Steve really appreciates the noises Reece makes when he's pretending to be in pain. They aren't quite the noises he makes when he's actually in pain, and they aren't quite the noises he makes when he's teetering right on the edge between pain and pleasure either. They're their own thing entirely.
Steve can't quite put his finger on what it is about these specific noises that make him feel a little flustered, a little hot under the collar, he just knows they do.

After their rehearsal - they've got to make sure they all know where the cuts are, and where to cut - he shares these thoughts with Reece, who just smirks.

“Of course you do,” he says, and then affectionately adds, “you fucking maniac.”

At the same time, Reece is having some thoughts of his own. They hadn't written it originally, but when Edward's about to be decapitated, Steve - as Harry - very briefly touches his hand with his own, and Reece hasn't been able to get over it. It felt like being zapped with a thousand Volts. Such a small, gentle gesture. Reece isn't sure why they hadn't written it.
Once the rehearsal is over, he writes it down, shares it with the relevant people, making a hundred percent sure it's going to be in the episode.
He doesn't share his own personal feelings about it with Steve (yet).

When they eventually get around to christening the set, it's surprisingly gentle for such a gruesome episode. Reece thought that perhaps they'd be doing some more necromancy, or using the demon trap on the floor, or even using the chainsaw (although he can never quite forget what the chainsaw was originally used for).
Instead, Steve lies him down on the carpet, and takes his clothes off. Reece's back arches off of the floor when Steve's tongue probes at his ass, softly circling his rim, dipping in.
Reece is glad whenever they plan their christenings beforehand, because it gives him the opportunity to shower and clean himself, making him significantly less self conscious when the time comes.

And then Steve looks up at him from between his thighs and asks him to make those noises again.
“What?”
He’s too in the moment to remember their conversation from a few days ago.
Steve isn't.

The noises have been playing on repeat inside Steve's brain, modulating them, distorting them. He wants to hear the original version again. He's even brought a wooden spoon, in case Reece needs it to recreate them.

Slightly reluctantly Reece gives in, and he doesn't regret it for a second. Steve redoubles his efforts immediately. Using his tongue, and then also his fingers, to open him up. Crooking his digits inside of him until they find his prostate and for a second Reece loses track of exactly what noises he's making.

Before long, Steve crawls back over Reece, lubing up his cock, and pressing it against Reece's hole.
“Wait, wait!” Reece spits out the wooden spoon, “I have a request of my own.”
Steve looks at him expectantly, but it takes a moment for Reece to find the right words. It seems so silly.
“Can you… hold my hand?” Reece says it so quietly, you'd think he'd just asked for the dirtiest of the dirtiest.

Expectantly, Reece opens up his hand next to his head and waits for Steve, who responds gladly. He laces their fingers together and Reece’s breath hitches in a way that usually takes a lot more effort on Steve's part. Then Steve starts pushing in and Reece's breath stops completely for a few seconds as Steve slides further and further in.

He looks up at Steve's face, seeing the concentration, the passion, the want there. Then Steve's eyes lift to his own.
“All good?”
“All incredible.”
“Then make the noises again.”

Steve's hips snap forward when Reece does, burying his cock so deep inside of Reece, he might just lose it in there one day. The pace is brutal, and Reece has to concentrate hard on keeping the noises steady, instead of letting them rise into high-pitched moans.

“God, you're so torturable,” Steve groans, and Reece can do nothing but moan in return.
“Such perfect little noises while in pain. Every day I could take a little piece, and the noises would never end.”

Reece looks at Steve, his pupils so wide there's barely any blue left. Steve's face is contorted into a sneer, but a sneer so horny, Reece becomes even louder.
He's yelling, and cursing, and moaning, and yowling, and with every sound Steve slams into him even harder, even faster.

Steve's hand is still securely in his own, and to Reece it feels like a buoy. A safety harness. A lifeline.
When Steve's thumb strokes along the side, he feels so loved, he thinks he might cry.

His shouts falter, but Steve's hips do not. Then Steve reassuringly squeezes his hand and Reece cums with his cock untouched.
He doesn't have to exaggerate the noises leaving his lips.

Steve cums only a few thrusts later, pressing his face into Reece's neck, their hands still interlocked.

“God, we should do this more often,’ Steve mumbles into Reece's shoulder.
“What? Have sex? I don't think I have the stamina, dear.”
“Ha! Yeah, no. Me neither. Pretend to cut your leg off, I mean. It's great.”

Steve lifts his head to grin at him when he says this and Reece can't help but grin back.
“Ah. Well, I'm sure we can come up with another character to do that to.”

Notes:

This fic now has about the same amount of words as the great gatsby lol

10 more chapters to go!

Chapter 46: Paraskevidekatriaphobia

Summary:

superstitions, of course
(OCD-ish undertones warning, just in case)

Notes:

the title of this episode is like that Welsh placename to me.
I just sorta go paraskskjagghlkjdbgphobia
(Llanfairskjdhgalkhskljdaghgogogoch)

Steve likes reading about superstitions. He doesn't believe in them, but that doesn't make them less fun. It's a bit like reading classic mythology, or even the Bible. It might not all be true word for word, but there's usually a lesson or moral hidden in there somewhere. It's nice figuring out what it is and how it's got there.

He reads about them, and then he gets a little carried away. He starts catching himself accidentally following some of them. He’s touching wood (not like that) and crossing his fingers. He starts feeling disproportionally upset when he spills salt or when he sees someone put their shoes on the table.
It's not like Steve at all, and soon it becomes obvious enough for Reece to notice as well. They've both been thinking about superstitions a lot lately, with the writing of this episode, but they'd both assumed it was Reece who was more susceptible to these kinds of things.

When Reece asks, Steve says it'll pass, and that's usually the case, so they leave it.
It doesn't pass, however.
To his own annoyance, the superstition that gets to him most is the one about making eye contact during a toast.

While some sources proclaim that the consequences of not doing this consist of 7 years of bad luck, others say it causes 7 years of bad sex, significantly funnier, but oddly also significantly more terrifying to Steve.
He's not sure why, because he knows it's bullshit. He knows he has its origins either in a mediaeval trust exercise (and not poisoning whoever you're toasting with) or simply with the idea that making eye contact is polite. He knows all that.

And still he finds himself staring at whoever he's drinking with. Especially if it's Reece. And slowly it becomes more than just keeping eye contact while toasting. Soon he's trying to catch Reece's eye any time either of them drinks anything. Reece is trying not to let it get on his nerves, but it's slowly becoming unworkable. And so he suggests what any sane person would suggest in this situation; sexposure therapy.

They'll toast with their eyes closed, and then have some earth-shattering, mind-blowing sex. Just to prove the superstition wrong.
It's harder than it seems (pun intended). Steve has to swallow several times before he manages to close his eyes with his glass in his hand. Moreover, it's significantly harder to do a good toast when you can't see where the other person's glass is.
They manage it anyway, and Steve has to take some deep breaths to stop himself from panicking.

Reece's mouth is on his own before he can even consider hyperventilating. He languidly moves his lips against Steve's, softly pushes his tongue inside, and Steve feels himself melt.
He only realises his eyes are still shut when Reece gently tells him to open his eyes. Reece, who's smiling up at him. Reece, who he just toasted with his eyes closed and they're both still alright. Reece, who he is pushing against a wall before his brain has caught up with his body.

Reece's breath catches, but his smile stays securely in place as Steve pushes his thigh between his legs. They both lean in again and now Steve's setting the pace. Kissing Reece deeply, enjoying the taste of Reece's orange juice on his tongue.

They only stop kissing when Steve needs some fresh air to reach his lungs before he passes out. He leans his forehead against Reece’s as they catch their breath. Both their hands come up to their trouser buttons at the same time, and Steve lets out a breathy chuckle. Great minds and all that.

Before he knows it, they're holding each other's cocks in one of the world's odder handshakes. And slowly, as Reece's hand speeds up, the anxiety dissipates.

His forehead is still resting against Reece's, and now that the spell is broken, it almost feels like he might never be able to look Reece in the eye again. He stares transfixedly at the space between them, the way Reece's hand looks where it's wrapped around his cock. He craves more, he craves all of it, forever, which is perhaps how this whole obsession started in the first place. He can't ever risk losing this. And he realises now how silly he'd been. No broken mirrors, no black cats, not even a peacock feather could change anything about this.

He lifts his head to look Reece in the eye again. Reece is still smiling, and Steve can feel a well-known heat coiling in his lower stomach. Reece kisses him, just briefly, but there's a promise in there for things to come. More christenings, more laughter, more sex that can never, ever, ever, be bad, no matter what happens.

Reece tightens his grip on Steve's cock, making him grunt and spasm, and cum.
Steve tries his best to keep tugging at Reece's cock throughout his own orgasm. He wants to talk to Reece; tell him how good he feels in his hand, tell him he's been so good, and so wonderful, and so insanely beautiful, but none of the words come out.
Instead, he keeps tugging. His other hand comes up to hold the back of Reece's neck.

Reece's eyes are closed now. He's biting down on his lower lip and his brow is furrowed. If he hadn't just cum, Steve thinks Reece's face would have been enough to send him over the edge. Especially when Reece himself tips over the edge, slumping slightly in Steve's arms and breathing hard. His seed dripping from Steve's hand to the floor below them.

When Reece stands up properly again and looks at Steve, the wonderful smile from before has been replaced by a shit-eating grin.

“Do you think there are any superstitions about spilled cum?”
“If there aren't, we can come up with some new ones.”
“Do you think it brings bad luck? Spilled salt brings bad luck and semen can definitely be salty.”
Steve ponders this for a second.
“No. I think it should be a positive superstition. It brings good luck, and good sex, and economic fortune,” he pauses, then adds, “oh and it makes sure your anthology TV series becomes a success, of course.”

Notes:

one day you will wake up and you'll open your internet browser to look up something completely unrelated, and you'll be faced with your most recent google search which led you down a rabbit hole about the different flavours cum can have and what components (I nearly said ingredients) give it those flavours

Chapter 47: Love is a Stranger

Summary:

zoom date :)

It’s one of their more obvious ones, and that’s okay. There isn’t really anything else to do for this episode. The concept has been staring them in the face the entire time. And even though Reece whines a bit that it won’t feel like a proper christening unless they’re in the same room together and he can actually touch Steve, they still end up on a Zoom call.

He misses the old Skype music while the call is going out. He doesn’t like waiting in silence for Steve to connect. Besides, he doesn’t understand why Steve isn't here yet. They’d done this properly; had decided on a date and time, and Steve had sent him a Zoom invitation via email. Yet now it’s five minutes past nine, and Steve hasn’t appeared on his screen yet.

It’s right when Reece is picking up his phone to text Steve and double-check whether he’d misunderstood something, that he’s let into the meeting, and after a few seconds of loading, Steve’s face appears on his screen. Or well, Steve’s face hidden behind a wig and a set of fake teeth.
“Sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find me teeth,” Steve says with a lisp, and Reece can’t help but laugh. Of course Steve would take this opportunity to dress up and be silly. He’s almost annoyed at himself for not doing so as well.

“Nice to meet you…” Reece lets the unasked question of who this character is hang in the air.
“Oh! Joachim. Yes. Nice to meet you too.”
Steve extends a hand toward the screen.

Reece asks questions, politely inquiring about Joachim’s background (overly present mum, absent dad, tough childhood), his interests (modern jazz), his favourite movie (One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest), and gets asked absolutely no questions in return. Everything Reece tells him about himself somehow becomes about Joachim again. Eventually Reece interrupts a rant to say he doesn’t think Joachim is who he’s looking for and before he’s even finished his sentence, Joachim puts his middle finger up and ends the call.

Reece stares at the screen amusedly for a second and waits. He’s sure Steve intended to do this. Before long, another call comes in and this time Reece is prepared for the fake nose and half-lidded eyes.
“Morad. 47. Liverpool,” Steve says before Reece can even ask.

It’s even harder to have a conversation with Morad. Not in part because Morad seems to be having trouble keeping the Liverpudlian accent going. This time, it’s Reece who ends the call, right as Morad starts talking about his (perhaps vaguely romantic) love for Nigel Farage.

There’s three more characters, all with different hair, and ears, and teeth, and accents, until at long last, Steve enters the call and just looks like himself. What a breath of fresh air.

It’s nice. They pretend like they haven’t met before. Introduce themselves and before long they’re talking about films and theatre and odd people they’ve seen on the tube (there’d been a memorable incident, Reece recalled, of a man on the Central Line recently, who’d been confidently holding his book upside down while pretending to read it).

With every passing minute, both of them seem to get a little lewder, a little hornier, towards each other. It’s Steve who eventually makes the unspoken, spoken.

“Not to be too forward, Reece, but I think you’re really quite beautiful, and I have been dealing with a raging boner here for the last 10 minutes. Would you be interested in joining me as I get it out of my system?”
“Well, when you put it that poetically…”

They’re both giggling, knowing there must be a way of making this transition into sexting (zexing?) more smoothly, but neither of them knows how. Instead, they both just start groping themselves, first through their trousers, and then with their hands down their own pants.

Steve asks if Reece would like to see his cock, but Reece says he likes the mystery (in reality, he knows exactly what Steve’s cock looks like, and he can picture it so perfectly, he doesn’t want some unflattering angle to ruin it for him). And so the cameras stay focused on their faces. There’s something weirdly hot about just seeing each other’s expressions, and the slight shaking of a hand moving up and down, without seeing the rest of each other.

“Shit, Reece. It’s been lovely meeting you today,” Steve says, voice gone low and hoarse.
Reece can’t keep up the pretence of not knowing Steve.
“Sometimes,” he gasps, “I do wish I could meet you for the first time now. With both of us fully grown up. But I can’t imagine who I’d be without you. Who I’d be if we hadn’t met. I’d definitely be having less sex. But also all the other stuff. Fuck, I could’ve been a fisherman. Or worse, a fucking drama teacher.”
He has no idea what he’s saying, but it’s all just coming out.
“Steve,” he can never help but whine a little when he says Steve’s name like this, “talk to me, please. I don’t want to think about these stupid alternate futures, or alternate pasts. Make me shut up. Please, make me shut up.”

Steve has just been watching him, a slightly bemused look on his face, as his body still shakes with his hand’s movements, but now he starts to speak.
“God, I’d love to meet fisherman Reece. All rough handed and rough faced. I’d love to reduce him to whimpers and moans. I think he’d pretend to be all strong and manly, but deep down he’d still be that shy little theatre kid. I’d make him beg for it. And don’t get me started on teacher Reece. God, you’d be bullied by those kids. And after a long day you’d come home to me, and ask me to bully you some more. Finally being able to let go of those responsibilities and let me take over for a while. And I would treat you so well. I’d take my time. I would fuck you so long and so hard you’d forget your own name, until the only thing in your mind would be me. And maybe, maybe you could do the same for me. Whether I’d become a lawyer, or a journalist, or nothing really at all.”

Reece ejaculated half-way through Steve’s speech, but he’s too enthralled to let go of his cock while Steve's still talking. It’s verging on painful now, but he can’t let it go. When Steve finally cums, Reece is tempted to take a screenshot, but he knows he doesn’t have to. He knows Steve’s face. He thinks he might know Steve’s face in every emotion known to mankind. When he looks at his own face in the corner of the screen, he realises he looks horrifically sappy. How horribly rude of Steve to do that to him.

“You know what, maybe this internet dating thing isn’t as bad as it seems.”
Steve nods.
“Yeah! Let’s meet up face-to-face some time. I’ve got a lovely cellar I want to show you…”
Reece snorts.
“This isn’t To Have and to Hold, you know. Just murder me in your living room like a decent human being.”
Steve rolls his eyes at him before he shakes his head. Perhaps this internet speed date wasn’t the perfect match after all (it was. He texts Reece not five minutes later. He hopes to see him again some time *two winking faces and an aubergine emoji*).

Notes:

With only a few chapters to go, I want to let everyone know that once I've uploaded all chapters, I'm going to lock this fic.
I actually only accidentally didn't lock it from the start, but then by the time I realised, there were enough guests leaving kudos that I wanted to leave it up for people to read.
HOWEVER, I would prefer not to get murdered by Reece, and thus I shall lock this fic away never to be found (unless you have an ao3 account, in which case I hope you will find it over and over again).

see you tomorrow :)

Chapter 48: 3 by 3

“... Does this mean we have to watch Lee Mack get off, then?”
“NO!”