White Noise
By Mickey M
© March 2006

Ricky tries not to think too much about this, about long and lean curled around him at night, hot wet mouth whispering filthy things to him, teasing and egging him on. He's happy, so he purposely doesn't think about it.

Sometimes, though, doubt filters in. He wonders why him? For how long? Insecurity doesn't sit easily with him; he's worked too damn hard for the confidence he throws around in public and he's not going to give in without a fight.

"I can smell the smoke, cat," JC mutters sleepily, moving restlessly beside him. "Stop thinkin' so hard and go to sleep." Ricky smiles, faintly, and shifts; he sighs when JC twines around him, hooking one leg over his. "Just relax," he says quietly.

"Lo siento," Ricky says, pressing backward. "Want me to go so you can sleep?"

"No." JC tightens his hold. "I want you to sleep." He kisses the spot right under Ricky's ear, then licks downward, finishing with a bite. It's sharp and quick, the sting gone even before it really registers, but Ricky feels it humming just beneath his skin.

"That's not the way to make me want to sleep," he says, twisting a little. JC bites him again and laughs softly when Ricky shivers.

"Maybe we'll get you to sleep another way." This time he lets Ricky turn so he's facing him, mostly. When JC leans in to whisper, Ricky holds his breath, waiting…anticipating. When the words come they're pure sex, heat that winds through him and over him and envelopes him. JC teases him with fuck me and taste me and lemme ride, feel you deep, or pull me up and hold me while you fuck me, until he's throbbing, so hard he aches.

JC rolls easily when Ricky pushes, legs spreading, wicked grin on his face. Ricky kisses him hard, teeth nicking JC's lip, leaving a metallic taste in Ricky's mouth. He licks downward when JC tilts his head back, tasting salt before biting, sucking warmth up to the surface. He bites again and JC groans, wriggling beneath him until Ricky can't stand the friction, needs more.

"Slut," he whispers, teeth catching at JC's ear.

JC laughs, low and dark. "I don't hear you sayin' no."

"Not gonna, either." Ricky pushes back and kneels up. "Roll over."

JC raises an eyebrow but rolls, flat on his belly, legs open. Ricky covers him, tangles his fingers into JC's hair and pulls his head back to kiss him, lips shiny-wet and swollen from kisses earlier, yesterday, last night. He's marked JC, too, blood-red bruises scattered here and there on his neck and back and no, he's not thinking about that, about how it makes him feel to do it, see it.

Ricky slides his hand down JC's side, between them, finger sliding deep inside JC easily. He's open, wet and slick inside, and god when did they fuck last? Hours? An hour? It's part of that not-thinking thing, because there's something about JC that makes Ricky hungry. Hungry for him in ways he doesn't dare examine too closely.

It's quiet all around them, but for harsh breathing and the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Beneath him JC's twisting and shaking, and Ricky has two fingers in him and wants to bury himself balls-deep and never come out. He shifts, reaches for the bottle of lube still on the bedside table from earlier. It's just a moment, not long at all before he's pressing in, inside, sliding deep, but it feels like forever. Then he's home, snug up against JC's ass, JC making little panting noises beneath him. Those change to grunts and growls when Ricky pulls out and thrusts back in, pleasure slamming through him with each stroke.

"Slow," Ricky hears, and JC's voice seems distant. "Slow down, Keek. I'm not goin' anywhere--" It's hard to slow down; he wants to drive himself in, harder and faster each time, until that's all he can feel. JC's voice pulls him, though, draws him in. "That's it. Easy…fuck me so we don't feel anything else. Slow…go deep, man, want to feel nothin' but you."

Filthy mouth, like a fallen angel might have, and Ricky bites JC's neck, shuddering when JC tightens around him, holding him in. Holding him.

Slow is like drowning in pleasure, thick, hot and sticky all around him, around them. He can't hold back forever, though, and each thrust in is faster, harder, than the last and JC's shoving back against him, meeting each one. He pulls them both up, him on his knees and JC moving so he's on all fours. Ricky watches his fingers pressing white points into JC's hips, holding him still so he can pound in. He comes with a groan, driving himself forward over and over until it hurts, and still Ricky can't stop, can't make himself slow down. Pleasure burns into pain and back into pleasure, and his jaw aches where he's clenched it. JC's shuddering against him, and Ricky sits back on his heels, pulling JC with him, wrapping one arm around to stroke JC's dick. It's quick, just a few strokes before JC gasps, a low moan the only noise he makes as he spills over Ricky's fingers, thick wet heat he licks off his hand before kissing JC.

Outside it's dark, and in the sudden quiet of the room Ricky can hear the ocean, soft white-noise that makes him feel homesick and comforted all at once.

They stretch out then, JC falling forward, pulling Ricky along with him. It's cool in here now, sweat drying on their bodies, and there's aborted movement beside him until JC sits up and pulls the discarded blankets up over them.

"Think you can sleep now?" JC's got his arm around Ricky, fingers splayed over his stomach. He sounds mostly asleep already, and Ricky smiles.

"I think so, yeah." He takes JC's hand and squeezes, listening to the words they don't say spreading between them.