- Date 2008-03-02 00:09 - Subject My first fiction... it's G/R RPS - Security Public - Tags lips, rps

I wrote an RPS fic :o

Title: Lips
Author: libra2
Genre: RPS (Gale and Randy)
Words: 5100

Thank you to singlewoman for the insta-beta :) I've made some changes so all mistakes are mine!

Summary: This is a man’s tale told from a man’s perspective in an extremely crude manner; it’s not emotional, colorful, imaginative or pretty. There’s possibly a tiny bit of tenderness, but it couldn’t be prevented ;)
I would be remiss if I didn't credit all writers in this fandom for educating and inspiring me.


Ultimately, this feels like a collaboration of every fic I’ve read over the last several months but with much less finesse. It was written in one sitting and I did it because we need more RPS so I’m, ahem, being a team player.
You can be honest. You can’t hurt my feelings on this, I promise, so please give feedback. Now, on with the presentation of that which will assure my place in hell. I am sorry Gale. I am sorry Randy. RPS is from the devil.
**This is FICTION... I am not implying gale and randy are or ever have been in a relationship**

Thank you so much to singlewoman for doing a beta-- I made many changes so all mistakes are mine!




Entirely Gale's POV

_____

Lips
_____


Her lips are coated in red. Not a natural shade, but that opaque primary ‘fuck me’ red, painted all the way to the edge. A perfectly defined curve dividing flesh from flesh. On one side the creamy skin of her face, beautiful I’m sure. But it’s the lips that hold my interest; those bright red gates that curve ever so slightly and define the horizon of her mouth while allowing me to see the tip of her plump wet tongue.

I know her eyes are just beyond my focal point, yet I can’t won’t look away in case I miss the moment. The moment when she moves in and touches her tongue to my deep mauve head… dripping.

It covers, circles, swallows.

I’m fighting nature now, that primal urge to slam my hips right into her pretty opaque primary red… nude pink glistening lips. Coated only with a bit of saliva placed ever so gently by the tip of that expertly practiced tongue. The tongue that is sure never to leave any part of the lip dry and wanting. Not the peaks and not that tiny area at each corner. The ones to the left and right that thin out then take that sharp turn up and end just so.

I pull sharply. Freeze for what feels like minutes, hit the tile with my left hand, shooting up into a shower of rain that captures my own milky stream and pulls it down to my bare wet feet where it dances around the edge of the drain in a rippling pool of water.


~~~~~


I’m tucking the edge of the towel into my hip before it occurs to me that at the same moment her lips transformed color and shape, the long brunette hair became a tight cropped mass of … “Fucking hell.”

My feet are no longer carrying me down the hall towards the kitchen. They are planted firmly to the hardwood. My hand running nervously through my wet hair. I shake my head vigorously to shed the excess dampness making a U-turn towards the nightstand where my cell phone lays.

“...Yeah, I’m sorry, I hope it doesn’t screw everyone up too much.

…Absolutely, if I feel better, I’ll be there.

…Okay

…Will do, thanks.”


I grab my mug of coffee and my keys and am out the door.


~~~~~


A few hours later, I have put about forty aimless miles between me and the studio. I’ve smoked almost two joints, three quarters of a pack of cigarettes, and have walked the trail around the pond three, maybe four times. I’ve been sitting in my truck for about 45 minutes watching ducks take off, land, swim, dunk, and waddle. And I’m… bored out of my mind.

Not to mention feeling like an over reactive drama queen who is now determined to stop this behavior that mimics a naïve wussy teenager. I’ll fucking go to work like I was supposed to do… before I freaked out like a school girl over… nothing… A minor fantastical glitch… What could be a major fucking deal is simply out of the realm of possibilities. Dismissed easily and convincingly as ”Not possible.”

Yeah, I’ve had the conversation.

“Seriously, no way! You don’t know what you’re talking about… Little fucker.”

I laughed but with a hint of ‘perturbed’ in my eye. One he apparently took as a hint of fear. Or guilt.

His slight grin faking understanding and concern… yet clearly he’s taunting me.

So I punched him. Perhaps a little harder than necessary. With a single knuckle. Into that little tender area just under his collarbone.

Fuck him. Like he would know.



~~~~~***~~~~~***~~~~~



“Buy me a drink?” A soft velvet whisper just beside my ear makes me jump. A low chuckle makes me shudder just before his teeth nip my lobe.

“Fuck! What the fuck? Buy your own drink. And don’t fucking do that!”

I shift on the barstool feeling the effects of this little assault in my crotch.

Little fucker. I’m beginning to realize his balls are not only as big as Justin’s- they have far more experience and a definite devious and dark sense of humor.

I mean, it is a little funny. Not to mention completely harmless, but give me a break.

“… left my card at home and only had twenty bucks on me.”

What is he saying? … Oh, a drink. Buy him a drink. I raise my eyebrow at him and gesture towards the bartender indicating he should go ahead and order.

“Thanks, I owe you…” he purrs in my ear.

So I order the drink for him. He obviously has the attention span of an A.D.D. riddled child tonight.
Which means this is probably number five.

“How are you this buzzed off of twelve bucks?” I deducted the cover charge.

“I bought a couple of beers. They,” he’s pointing into the sea of people. “Not them, them. They bought me a shooter… and a drink suh.”

“Suh?”

“Drink-suh… plural. Two.” So this is number six.

“I thought you said eleven?”

“I did… But I got here at nine.”

Great. I hand him the drink and affirm, “You did take a cab?”

“ Of courssssse” He hisses in my ear and it goes straight to my dick. Flirty little fucker. My arm comes up quickly, shoving him away from my side. He curls into it giggling and saunters off into the crowd.


~~~~~


Several minutes later he’s back.

“Have you been back there?” I ask.

“No, but… I found him. Come on.”

My stomach or something in my stomach does a quick jump up into my throat then crashes back down. All the way to my dick.

He nods to a tall brunette in the distance and the guy falls in line ahead of him.

I’m walking and staring at the back of Randy’s head when he stops and faces me. “Don’t forget… you promised you would.”

“I did not.”

“You did. You said ‘IF’ it turned you on.”

“You’re not just buzzed, you’re delusional.”

I did though. He’s not quite drunk and he remembers only too well. Little fucker. We’ve had several conversations about my desire to appear authentic not to mention the demand to convince other’s that I’m self-assured. So far so good, but I want to be better. And yeah, I guess you could say my curiosity is peaked. Possibly beyond.

He nods to an open space and I lean my shoulder against the wall. Both hands hooked lazily in the tops of my pockets one ankle hooked behind the other. This is the best impression of ‘nonchalant’ I can come up with for this particular occasion. He runs his hand across the guy’s chest, slips it up under his tee. His other hand is heading downward and clutches the man’s crotch causing him to flinch and fold slightly into himself.

But the ‘nonchalant’ game face becomes increasingly more difficult to maintain as Randy slides down the trick’s body toward his dick. Exposed dick. Encased in Randy’s hand moving slowly up and down the shaft only inches from his mouth.

I shift my weight from the wall, standing straight.

Shit. Take a step out, pull my hands from my pockets and lean my elbow back to the wall. Fuck...Fuck.

Nonchalant has become impossible, so I go for ‘controlled interest’ instead. But I’m moving my right hand slowly back into my pocket.

The fabric ends.

And it’s not deep enough.

My hand is not deep enough.

I pull it back out and grab my crotch. To hell with the elbow-on-wall-controlled-interest stance. My shoulder is once again against the wall, hand rubbing through my jeans.

His mouth pulls off of the guy’s cock and I realize he’s staring right at me.

His lips curl slightly and silently form “you promised.”

Oh. Shit.

His tongue starts its way slowly out of his mouth and touches the tip of the guy’s cock again… With his eyes locked on mine. Until they travel down to my crotch. God!

I pull my hand up sharply and plunge it down into my jeans. Not because I said I would, but because I cannot not do it.

My fist wraps around my shaft as my other hand unbuttons, unzips, and pushes the material further down my hip. Freeing myself completely. Into this room full of strangers. Men. Strange men.

And I care, yes. But I don’t stop because his mouth is wrapped completely around the trick’s cock and it looks exactly the way it did. When I imagined his mouth on a cock. My cock. His lips are dark pink. Shining with his saliva brought there by his expert tongue.

And his eyes are electric blue and smiling. At me.

I pull sharply and shoot into the open air of this dark backroom of a gay bar in Toronto.


~~~~~


I’m still leaning against the wall. Head whirling, thoughts racing, words flashing. Randy’s hand is flat on my chest rubbing slightly up and down. He pulls it across to my shoulder and runs down my arm grabbing my hand. “Let’s get a drink” and he pulls me silently behind.

I’m speechless. Not that I want to say anything. Not that I could even pick words from my racing mind to express… what? Well, I can’t figure out what. That’s why I’m speechless.

And he does exactly what he said he would do. Nothing. Out of the ordinary, I mean. He doesn’t grin like a Cheshire cat. He doesn’t look at me like he was right. Or like I’m guilty. He doesn’t comment, and thank God, he doesn’t ask. Anything.

He never ceases to amaze me. I think that’s why I like him. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known.



~~~~~***~~~~~***~~~~~



I’m rocking into his ass. One hand on the mattress, one flat against his pale skin moving up, down, across, around, and under. I’m so hard I’m convinced my dick is about to cut its way through his bare ass like a saw does a tree. He gasps. I grunt. I move my head up his back and my mouth just behind his ear as my hand moves down his belly and runs right into the stiff head of his cock.

“Oh. Fuck.” Into his ear.

He moans and presses his ass so hard into me I think he’s going to fracture my dick. Or make me come. “Rrrand.”

“Cut!”

Shit. I said it too loud.

“That’s a wrap guys, great work!”

Thank God. My head is still beside his and he’s trapped face down beneath me but I’m careful not to collapse on top of him. We’ve been faux fucking for over an hour and we’re both trying to catch our breath.

I finally roll to the left of him onto my back and stare high into the studio ceiling.

“Fuck.”

Finally. He speaks.

And thank God it’s not a bad fuck or a mad fuck. It’s more an exhausted fuck. I think. Or maybe a what-the-fuck? fuck? Not an angry what-the-fuck?, but a sort of bewildered what-the-fuck-was-that? fuck. God, I hope it isn’t that fuck. Even though that’s precisely what my ‘Oh. Fuck’ fuck was.

“Come on. We’re done,” he says springing up from Brian’s bed.

“Yeah, and we’ve earned a relaxing evening of meaningless tube and lengthy inhalations. You in?”

“Definitely,” he responds, “Meet me at my apartment later and we can walk to Marty’s for dinner.”

It’s not actually called Marty’s. But the owner/chef extraordinaire looks exactly like Marty. Disgusting, I know. And we eat there.


~~~~~


I’m sitting on his couch rolling a joint. He’s on the floor beside me channel surfing. He stops on The Daily Show and leans his wet head back on the couch, eyes closed. He licks his lips and leaves his mouth slightly open. I don’t even want to know what he’s thinking. But I do. And I’m still staring at his mouth when he exhales a deep sigh.

“No sleeping,” I say.

“I’m not… just relaxed from jerking off.”

I knew I wouldn’t be the only one jumping straight into the shower with a stiff dick after work.

“You were great, by the way… in the shower.”

...

...

I’m not even surprised. If I’m straight beating off to images of him, of course, he’s beating off to images of me.

“Likewise,” I say eyebrow cocked, tongue planted into the side of my cheek.

His head whips around and he’s fighting his mouth to keep from forming a shit-eating-I-stalked-captured-and-had-the-canary-in-three-variations-for-a-full-course-meal grin.

I shrug as I exhale and hand him the joint.



~~~~~***~~~~~***~~~~~



“Just let me know… if you ever want to… know. That’s all I’m saying.” He actually said that to me yesterday while we were eating lunch. Yeah, like I want him to suck my cock…

I mean, what guy doesn’t want a guy to suck his cock?… but actually let’s a guy suck his cock. Straight guys. I don’t know any straight guy that wouldn’t want a gay guy to suck his cock if he could. I mean, anyone could, of course, but if he could without any remote possibility he would discover he loved it and had had some latent desire for men since hitting puberty. And if he could without catching shit and being called gay. I mean, I think any straight guy would. It’s not exactly something I bring up in conversation, but come on.

Well, Chris Potter wouldn’t, that goes without saying. And Hal wouldn’t, he’s made it clear. Well, and Scott doesn’t seem inclined either. Maybe it’s just me. But shit, who could suck cock better than an experienced gay man? No one, I’m sure. Not sure. I haven’t ever and won’t ever let one suck me. Watching is one thing, receiving is altogether different.

God, this has got to be the most idiotic conversation I’ve ever had with myself while showering. I could have been beating off the entire time. Too late now though or I’ll be late for work.



~~~~~***~~~~~***~~~~~



It’s one a.m. and we’re both about to get really high. I should have gone home.

“Come on, I want to dance, not waste it. Don’t you want to dance?” He leaned right into my ear for that last part and it doesn’t sound to me like he wants to dance. But this place is totally lame, not to mention empty. We’re both starting to peak on the ecstasy he offered up about 30 minutes ago. The bar next door is packed, of course. One o’clock on a Friday night? All boy bars are packed.

So here we are. And he’s pulling me out on the dance floor, weaving us between hot sweaty chests until he finds the spot he wants to claim and turns to me with his electric eyes and starts moving with the sea of bodies. I kind of only know that one move Brian does, and it took years of awkward school dances and embarrassing moments on club floors just to perfect that.

Well, actually, it took doing the show to perfect it. I didn’t move my legs quite as far apart or thrust my hips quite as far forward as they encouraged me to do for Brian. And, of course, I’m doing it now because it’s… cooler. And because Randy has thrown his X’ing hard little body into mine and is circling his pelvis around my cock… fuck. This X is some good shit. I’m looking a little to the left over his shoulder because I sense he’s staring into my eyes. I don’t want to go there. I just want to enjoy the peak, just dance and feel. Not stare into his eyes or think about us dancing or me feeling.

Our dicks are rubbing together and I just licked his fucking neck. Not a camera on the premises and I just licked his fucking neck. And I think I moaned into his ear. I must have because his tongue is running across my lips and I’m pulling his mouth closer with my hand in his hair and holding his body against mine with my other arm wrapped around his lower back.

The music is so loud and visible. The colors and lights are amazing. It’s been years since I took ‘E’ as they call it now. When I did it… it was X. Choose any letter from the alphabet and it’s still one of the best feelings experienced on earth. The ‘lovey-huggy’ drug. More like the ‘grope and grind’ at the moment.

I can’t hear him moaning, but I’m sure he is. And that I am. And we’re moving face to face, body to body from the center to the edge of the dance floor. And I realize it was me pushing us back. Towards the entrance of the backroom.

He’s not stupid. He knows what I’m doing, even if I don’t. He has my hand in his while he stops at the bar for water. He downs half and hands the rest to me to finish as he leads me back through the maze of dividers until he stops and shoves me back against a wall assaulting my mouth with his and my hard cock with his hand that is now inside my jeans.

“Randy.”

“Shhh.”

He runs his thumb over the head of my dick and I know it’s beyond wet when he moans and moves quickly to undo my fly.

“Ran”

“It’s okay, Gale. I promise… I won’t say a word… secret.” He’s devouring my mouth again. “S’ours.”

God. His hand feels better than I imagined. Or, my dick feels better in his hand than I imagined. Better in his hand than not in his hand. Fuck. Randy’s hand is on my bare cock in the backroom of a gay bar in Toronto. Fuck… FUCK!

“…Mmmuhh.” Yes… shit… I’m fucked. Feels so fucking good.

When I look down I realize it feels so fucking good because his mouth is swallowing my cock. His wet pink perfectly shaped lips. The one’s that angle up in the corners are nearing the base of my cock and his tongue is sucking furiously on the underside while the top molds into the roof of his mouth and back of his throat.

“Oh… Fuck.” Yes...Rand.

“God” FuckfuckfuckRandyhowinthehellmyheartsgoingtoexplode… “Mmmmuuuuh!”

Jesusfuckingmotherrrr “Rrrand!”

He’s pulled back a little and is laving my head and I’m coming harder than I have in years and I feel better than I have… God. The look on his face is wrecking me. His tongue on the head my cock…

He’s in my face and plunges his come covered tongue into my mouth and… fucking hell!
What have I done? What am I doing? Shitshitshit. Why in the name of God would I do X with Randy?

We’ve each got a bottle of water and we’re headed out the door… fuck, out the door to do what? I just let a man blow me. Blow me and it was so oh my God I never imagined. Shit. What now? Jeez, what am I…

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

We take a cab to an all night breakfast place, eat omelets, and drink coffee. And water. And talk about politics… as if everything is normal.


~~~~~


I left my pot at his place and I’ll be damned if I’m going to come down from the X without it because I’ll just be exhaustedly wired for hours. So I’m walking behind him towards his apartment wondering what the hell to say. If I need to just tell him tonight was a onetime thing and that we’re not under any circumstances ever going to fuck. And that most emphatically and particularly we are not going to fuck a few moments from now when we get to the top of these stairs. “Christ, I’m tired.” My mouth is agape and I start smiling at his back and all I can think is, ‘you little fucker.’ It’s all so easy.

While I’m on the couch rolling a joint he walks in with pillows and a blanket. He’s tucked between me and the couch and he’s talking about the crazy omelet concoctions one of his roommates used to come up with while we pass the joint back and forth. He shuts his eyes and says, “Turn the lamp off when you’re done.” And he’s burrowed down beneath the covers and asleep before I can even put the roach out.

He didn’t ask if I was spending the night. He didn’t ask if I was leaving or if I’d be there in the morning when he woke up. He didn’t ask if he gave the best head I’d ever had. He didn’t ask anything, just as he’d promised.

I can stay or go without question, without explanation, without awkward gestures. And so it’s okay to stay. And I fucking adore him.


~~~~~***~~~~~***~~~~~



We’ve been talking and laughing while watching The Lost Boys for what is probably my twentieth time. Randy’s on the floor when he turns to say something and stops. Mouth open mid word. He licks his lips.

I know this because I’m looking right at them. I shift quickly to his eyes and see… what I’m not ready to see so I focus on his mouth again.

“Gale.”

“Yes.”

“Gale…”

“Yes, Randy.”

“What‘re you…” I pull my eyes away from his mouth to meet his eyes this time and practically yell, “Randy for fuck’s sake! Yes!”

He springs up as he comes forward planting his open mouth on mine. I feel his hands working to gain access and then my dick is pulled out by his hand wrapped tightly around it. One of us moans, me, and
I think I can’t breathe.

I want to laugh because he was right all along. I want to cry because he gave me all the time I needed to figure out that he was right all along. But more than that, I want to plunge my cock so far up his ass right now that I shove him off of me and am standing over him pulling him up to hold the back of the couch and am yanking his pants down and off before he even realizes that I’m quite possibly about to shove my dick into his ass without lube and without a condom.

“Gale,” he says.

“Randy.”

“Gale, the drawer… condoms. Lube.”

Fuck. “Fuck. Rands what was I thinking? Fuck.”

He laughs. “The drawer.”

I hand him both and now he’s completely naked so I decide to take off my shirt and pants. When I look back up he has one hand on the back of the couch and… fuck me… two fingers in his ass.

I grab the lube and pour it on my finger tips, spread it quickly down the lengths and in between and pull his hand away as I lean into his back with my chin on his shoulder. I kiss the side of his face and into his neck as I insert my own two fingers and I’m awed by this place I’ve never been before and I “God damn” into his ear.

“I know,” he says as he pushes back with his arms and turns his head capturing my mouth with his. “One more.” So I pull back and group three fingers. I push slowly in and his ass clamps down and I have no idea how I’m going to get my dick in there. Then he relaxes a bit; pushing down while pulling my fingers into his body.

“Fuck” is all I can say until he finally says, “Yes, now. Fuck me.”

I grab the condom and rip it open with my teeth. Not to be ‘Brian cool’ but because I’m watching his body move back and forth on my fingers. It’s the raunchiest most vile and mesmerizing thing I’ve ever seen with my own eyes. My own hand. And I don’t want to stop.

I roll the condom on with one hand and say, “Randy.”

I don’t know why except that I’m still watching his ass on my hand and it’s his ass.

He tells me to bend my fingers and move them around telling me that I won’t break him.

“Wuh oh! Gale, right there… feel it?”

“Yeah.” There’s an obvious bump just beneath my fingertips.

“My prostate.”

I press into it again and he moans. And I really like that sound. “God… Randy, I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Then I almost laugh because I get a mental image of being in human phys in high school and decide I find his teaching style to be so much more effective than the average learning process.

I start moving in longer sweeps as he exhales a loud “nnnguhh…fuck me, Gale.” He reaches around and grabs hold of my shaft to emphasize his words by guiding me in. I’m watching this. And, God damn, my cock is seconds away from plunging into Randy’s ass and I pull my hand back slowly having to stop before I can pull completely out because he’s squeezing the hell out of it again. And I’m fixated. On the sight. On the feeling. On what we’re about to do.

He grabs my hand and pulls it back before getting hold of my dick again and places my head right up to his asshole. I wrap my hand around his and “Ohhhh. Oh. Ran.” I’m just inside and his ass is like a vise on the head of my cock and I know I’m going to come. I’mgoingtocome. Nono. “Waitwait. God wait.”

And suddenly my balls are pressed against his ass. His hand is still and fiercely planted in the flesh at the back of my hip holding me against him. This time he’s the one who gasps ‘wait.’

“Rand, y’okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

I burst into laughter that I hope isn’t hysterical because I can’t at this moment believe just how okay I am being buried ass deep in my friend and co star. In Randy. A man. I’m buried in a man’s ass.

“Fuck me, Gale.”

I pull back slowly Mother of God “uumah odd” as I slam back into him. After a few more strokes my balls are so tightly drawn that “Rand. Can’t.”

“S’okay… come, Gale.” As his ass clamps down so hard my body explodes on impact and I’m blinded by white and sensation and I’m coming and falling. Both of my arms are wrapped tightly around his chest and I take us both sideways bouncing into the couch and I get another explosive shock to my system because I’m still in him and still coming and oh my fucking God. My face is buried in blond and I swear I thought I was in better shape than this because I’m going to die. The little fucker’s ass has taken all of the air out of my lungs and I hope there’s more somewhere in the vicinity because I need some oxygen. Now.

He exhales loudly and turns his head to look at me. I pull back a little to meet his eyes briefly before looking down his back.

I have no idea why I can’t look at him, but I can’t. And he doesn’t ask. He simply kisses my forehead and says, “Thirsty?” as he jumps up and heads into the kitchen. I assume he’s going to the kitchen, but I’m not sure because my face is in the cushion and my eyes are squeezed together forbidding any sight to enter.

I hear him open two bottles and when he walks back in he says “here” so I sit up into the corner of the couch and he throws the remote into my lap, grabs a blanket, and curls up beside me. A moment later he opens his mouth to speak and all I can think is nono don’t say anything please Rand no.

“What’s on tonight?”

‘What’s on tonight’ is what he says. All he says. So I pull my arm up from between us and wrap it around his shoulders because I don’t know and I don’t care and it doesn’t matter.

We drink another beer, order something to eat, and surf through sitcoms for the rest of the night. A couple of times he catches me looking at him. He doesn’t comment or ask. He just looks back into my eyes as his cheek pulls ever so slightly as if he might smile but doesn’t quite and he settles just a little bit deeper against my chest. He doesn’t ask if I’m staying. More importantly, he doesn’t ask if I’m okay and if he thinks that I am, I figure I must be. The world didn’t flip on its axis. Lightening didn’t strike. I have no sense of self-loathing or impending doom and God damn, I adore him.


~~~~~


At some point during the night he’s elbowing me in the side and calling my name.

“What?”

“You’re smashing me against the couch. I can’t breathe.” We had turned over. I had both arms and a leg wrapped around him and was apparently nuzzling into him so hard his face was planted into the back of the couch. “Let’s go to bed.”

So I get up and pull him along behind me into his room. At this point I make no effort to give him space; I simply flip to my side that isn’t numb and wrap myself around him exactly as I was before. He didn’t say he didn’t like it, he just said he couldn’t breathe. Besides, even if he doesn’t like it, he might just have to get used to it.


~end