Title: Hands to Yourself
Fandom: Celebrity RPS
Request: "Viggo, Sean Bean, David Wenham, Harry Sinclair, Karl Urban either together or in any combination. ... NC-17 fic or hard R fic that is heavy on the kink. BDSMy kink is especially good. I'm also fine with non-BDSMy fics that are heavy on the passion and sensuality. No schmoop. No men who act like teenaged girls."
Summary: Karl keeps touching David, getting him to blush (and other things) in public. It's pretty clear Karl's being deliberately annoying, over and over. David knows why, and gives Karl the response he was silently asking for.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize. I know nothing about their social lives or sexual activities, more's the pity. This is fiction, period. It is done as a labor of love and I make no money from it.
Notes: Written for savageseraph for the 2008 slashababy fest.
Karl keeps touching David.
Not that David minds in principle, but there are times and places where a hard-on is inconvenient, to say nothing of embarassing. When David flushes it's from his hairline on down, and that unfortunately familiar burn in his face just gives him another reason to feel ashamed, compounding the problem.
David has explained this to Karl over and over, but it hasn't helped. David finally figured out that Karl does it because it embarasses David, that seeing his lover blushing and trying to hide a suddenly swollen cock is the whole point of the exercise.
Wednesday morning, when David dropped Karl off at his makeup trailer, their usual quick goodbye kiss was enhanced by the best four seconds of hand-job David had ever experienced, right before Karl snickered at him and ducked out the door, avoiding David's instinctive swat. Driving across the lot toward his own trailer, and his waiting hair and makeup people, David did his best to deflate matters, thinking of anchovy sandwiches and his sophomore English teacher in the all-together, but no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, he couldn't help imagining what Karl could do with that technique if he had, say, four minutes.
David is patient and by Sunday morning he's prepared to rebalance their relationship. He looks down at Karl's sprawled body, his long limbs taking up a good three-quarters of the bed; it's easy to see why most people would see Karl as the perfect top -- the perfect dom, even, if they're into that. And if they're used to making shallow judgements.
Karl is big and broad and muscular, beautiful and vital. He projects command from the screen perfectly when cued. Countless cute little bottom-boys in bars have all but laid a trail of drool across the room, to slink back and forth across Karl's eye line, hoping to attract his notice with their ironically agressive offers to submit.
David has never worried about any of them.
On Thursday, Karl strode into the catering tent just as David was finishing the last of his macaroni and cheese. He dawdled over his carrot cake, hoping for a few minutes to chat, maybe a quick kiss before some harried PA came through to hustle him back to the set.
Sure enough, Karl came over and plopped his tray down next to David's. He leaned over and stole a quick kiss, then started chattering about how their perfect sunny day had turned drizzly, how the AD had had them wait at first, but then decided to just go with the drizzle. By the time the lighting and camera guys had reset and changed filters and whatever all else they'd needed to do to accommodate the new conditions, the bloody rain clouds had passed by and it was sunny again.
And while he'd been relating the story, while the others at the table were laughing or eyerolling or whatever, Karl had been leaning in with his shoulder pressing against David's and his hand between David's legs again.
David, with a fork in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, couldn't reach down to stop him without it being obvious, or at any rate more obvious than he cared to be in front of half a dozen workmates.
The PA had of course come in looking for him at the worst possible moment.
After a hard week, Karl always sleeps like the dead, knowing that he doesn't have to drag himself up at the arsecrack of dawn the next morning. It's been a while since David took advantage of this fact, but he has plans to make up for it now.
He starts with the silk scarves instead of the steel cuffs; they're still filming and he and Karl have a rule about leaving marks anywhere which even might show on film, or for that matter, about leaving more than minor, incidental marks anywhere a wardrobe assistant might notice it. It means they do most of their serious playing when Karl's between projects, but that's all right; the lengthy periods of anticipation multiply the effect and make up for the long intervals without.
By the time Karl begins to mutter and shift, David has the rest of the items he'll need laid out on his night table. He's in no hurry since they both have the day off, and he's content just to look and touch for a while. Karl spread-eagled in the middle of their battered four-poster is definitely worth looking at -- long, solid muscles and smooth skin perfectly displayed. David runs his fingertips lightly past one knee and up the inner thigh, ruffling the fine hairs there.
Karl blinks and tries to roll over, which of course doesn't work. Then he tries to sit up. That doesn't work either. Finally awake, or at least mostly, he cranes his neck and squints down at David, who's naked and kneeling between Karl's legs. Then Karl groans and lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
"Morning, love," David chirps. His being bright and perky first thing in the morning, even if it's closer to noon, always makes Karl grumpy. David figures he owes Karl some grump and then some.
Karl makes a wordless little noise, a rising tone of inquiry, then tries to sit up again, with no more success than the previous time.
"Maybe I should go away and come back when you're actually awake?" David keeps a polite expression of solicitous inquiry on his face, not letting any of the teasing show. Karl gets it anyway.
"No, wait, fuck!" He gives a more purposeful tug with one wrist, then tips his head up again and glares down at David.
"Fucking later," David says brightly. "Right now we're going to talk about your inability to keep your hands to yourself in front of other people."
On Friday, Karl wrapped early and came over to the Minas Tirith set where David had been filming the corridor scene with Billy. Unfortunately in that particular scene, David wasn't wearing his armor.
During a break for an angle reset, Karl cornered David over by a side entrance which no one had been using because it was blocked with the gaffer's entire supply of cabling on huge wooden reels. Karl somehow got his hands under David's tunic and brushed his fingertips lightly back and forth over David's nipples while whispering filthy things into his ear and grinding up against him, hip-to-hip
David's eyes squinched shut all by themselves. His head tilted up and sucked air in quick little gasps.
One big hand had just made it down into David's breeches to stroke his swollen cock when the AD's shout for Faramir echoed down the corridor. Karl grinned and sauntered away.
Karl gives David a challenging smirk and then stretches in a slow, undulating twist from his shoulders to his toes. It shows off every plane and ridge and angle of his body. It's gorgeous and enticing and never fails to get David's engine revving, and Karl knows it.
David isn't about to be hurried, though. He reaches back for Karl's ankles, gives a good squeeze to the taut silk circling each, then runs his hands in a long, smooth rub up Karl's shins, over his knees, up his thighs, past his twitching cock without touching it. Up his rippling abs to his broad chest, one hard pass over his stiffened nipples, then out from his shoulders to his straining biceps, a lighter brush across the tender skin of his inner elbow and forearm, to his bound wrists. The expanse of muscled flesh is hot and tense and vital, and every bit of it is his.
Still gripping Karl's wrists, David leans down and kisses him.
Karl strains up, eager and open-mouthed to kiss back, but after just a brief taste, David sits back on his heels.
"Not yet," he says. "The whole point is to remind you about the proper time and place. This--" he waves a hand around to indicate their bedroom, "--is one of the proper places, so we're set there. But I think we need to work on timing. The proper time being when I say, not just whenever you feel like being a brat."
Karl makes a whining, annoyed moan. David just raises an eyebrow.
When they'd first become lovers, David found that Karl loses his vocabulary during sex. David has always preferred more talkative partners; he likes getting feedback while playing. At first Karl's lack of verbal response had David off balance, but soon enough he'd discovered that Karl does provide feedback, as much as anyone could want. His moans and yelps and purrs are as expressive as anyone else's babbling. A widening of the eyes or lowering of the lashes, a tilt of the chin or curl of the toes and David knows exactly what Karl wants and how close he is to losing control entirely.
He's decided he likes it; it helps remind him to keep all his attention on his lover, watching for tiny cues and signs which shout out what Karl feels and thinks and needs, at least to someone who speaks the language. David is perfectly fluent.
"When we're at work is not a proper time."
David trails his fingers through the crisp hair on Karl's chest. He doesn't have any bare-chest shots in Rings, so he hasn't had to wax it. David's just as happy; the fine, dark hair swirling across Karl's pecs and trailing down to his navel and lower always draws David's hands. He traces the curling patterns, the way the hairs grow, feeling them like coarse satin against his palms.
"When we're with friends is not a proper time."
David grips Karl's thighs in his hands, squeezing the upper ridges of muscle hard, then settles down into a firm massage. He works his way up, almost to where Karl's thighs join his torso, but stops barely short and reverses, working his way back down just as slowly. Karl squirms and gives an irritated, impatient little moan. David just shakes his head.
"When there are strangers around is not a proper time."
This time his fingers trace Karl's prominent hipbones. The sharp ridges are beautifully sculpted, the skin stretched over them smooth and sleek. They set off his cock in the front and form a foundation for his gorgeous ass behind. David can't see it just now but he knows it's there and exactly what it looks like. David knows just how much pressure to use to prevent a tickle on Karl's hipbones; he uses just a tiny bit less and smiles at the whooping giggles he gets in return.
On Saturday night, Dave and Karl headed out to the usual pre-day-off beerfest with a couple dozen of the cast and crew. They went out to a place called the Rusty Albatross; it had a good local draft, a pair of pool tables, and a large, relatively clean men's room. When the beer had been flowing for a while, Karl had hauled David into the men's room with an evil grin and yanked his jeans open right there in front of the shiny porcelain urinals.
Just as David began pondering the stalls, there was laughter and footsteps right outside the door, then the unmistakable opening-door swell of tinny music and raucous conversation.
David reaches over to the night table and palms a couple of tiny rubber bands. Karl's sticking his neck up as high as he can, obviously trying to see what's coming, but David's pretty sure the rubber bands are too small for Karl to have gotten any kind of a look.
Karl has beautiful nipples. They're small and tight, purely masculine. And when teased they stiffen up and lengthen in a way which is, again, perfectly male.
The left one responds eagerly to a slow, wet lick, and a puff of cool breath. David stretches one of the tiny bands out with his fingertips, using both hands, and releases it to tighten around the base of Karl's nipple.
Karl yelps, then sets up a lovely, long groan.
David flicks his tongue back and forth across the tip of the right nipple, then gives it a hard suck and a nip between his front teeth. Another yelp from Karl, and the second rubber band is in place, constricting and tightening. All of Karl's attention is focused on those two tiny points on his chest, and his hyper-stimulated nerves are sending pain-stiff-tingle-pull-sex! messages straight down to his cock. David can tell because of the way Karl's cock is filling and stiffening, as if in sympathy with his tortured nipples. Or maybe envy.
Wrists and ankles tug and twist, and hips thrust and shift. Karl is making more noise now -- needing, impatient, urgent sounds that send an electric thrill through David's core.
He tickles one red, constricted nub and watches Karl jerk. "So sensitive," he murmurs. "The pain is so good, it makes you desperate."
Karl whimpers agreement. He bucks up and thrashes, as though trying to get rid of the rubber bands, but they're there until David takes them off and they both know that.
David runs a hand down past Karl's belly, over his solid erection. He flicks a shining drop off the tip and says, "You're getting impatient again. Can't have that. I'll have to give you some help."
Another lean and reach to the night table and Dave straightens up with a coil of white cotton cord dangling from his fingers. It's thin but not too thin, about a number three. Karl gives him a suspicious look. David just grins and measures off a couple of arm lengths. A quick jerk breaks it off, and he tosses the rest back to the table.
"This isn't just for you, though," David comments while folding the cord in half to find the center. "For you, it's a bit of a crutch to help you control yourself, keep hold of your patience. You don't want to come without permission, do you?"
Karl shakes his head fast, his eyes widening a bit.
"No, of course you don't," David continues. "I don't want that either. I love watching you orgasm, and depriving you for two weeks deprives me, too. Neither of us wants that."
He gets another enthusiastic head-shake.
"Right. So this'll keep you from coming. Or at least, make it very difficult and very painful. Give you some extra incentive along with the assistance." He wraps the center few inches of the cord around the base of Karl's balls, ties an overhand knot, then checks to make sure it isn't too tight. Just enough -- perfect.
David makes another tie to turn the knot into a sturdier square knot, then uses both ends to encase first one testicle and then the other in individual loops of knotted cord. The wrinkled skin stretches out smooth, surrounding and defining each ball.
"Lovely." David bends down to lick, then lingers, enjoying the feel of the tight, satin skin against his tongue.
"Maybe next time I'll do this with you standing up," he says, his head tilted as though pondering possibilities. "Add some weights...." He presses one tight ball back and forth with one finger, as though demonstrating what would happen with a weight swinging from it.
Karl is tense and trembling, his lips drawn back against clenched teeth. He's panting and his eyes are glazed a deep black, dilated so far the hazel irises are invisible.
"I'll take that as a vote in favor." David gives him a sunny smile and pretends to scribble a note on his palm with an invisible pen. He gets a low, thready moan in response.
"But this is the second benefit," he continues. "Seeing your parts bound like this -- it's beautiful. And hot, and sexy. And getting to do it, to touch you and manipulate you, to decide how to bind you, where to put each knot, how to form the network so you're bulging out of it but without it being too tight -- wouldn't want to damage anything, after all. I have plans for this for a lot of years, still." He gives Karl's equipment a fond pat, then goes back to his work.
David ties the two ends of the cord firmly around the base of Karl's cock, then uses one to make a half-hitch a finger's width up the shaft, catching the second cord underneath it. He loops the second cord under the first to secure it, then makes another half-hitch with the first and secures it again with the second. By the time he ties off the much shorter ends of the cord just under the glans, the shaft is encased in a series of loops with two lines running vertically, one on each side. He tucks the ends in neatly and leans back to have a look.
The white cotton makes a bright contrast with the dark flushed-red of Karl's cock and balls. The sight of the whole package, bound tight, sends an urgent spasm through David's own cock, which has stiffened into an erection while he worked. If he's not careful, he's going to be the one shooting too soon. There's no actual punishment for it, but it'd be embarassing.
The tight-circled finger and thumb of one hand make a passable cockring for a minute or two. David sucks Karl's bound cock into his mouth and runs his tongue over the loops and knots of cotton. He feels smooth, heated flesh tight between them, and the musky scent of his lover, aroused beyond bearing, fills his nose.
Not quite beyond bearing, of course; Karl has help.
The feel of the bound flesh draws David to feel with every sensitive part of himself -- tongue and cheek and lower lip, the inside of his wrist and of his thigh, and finally he's rubbing his own stiff but free cock and balls against Karl's corded package.
"You're so fucking sexy," David pants. He kisses Karl, hard and deep, exploring the familiar mouth with no less enthusiasm than he had the very first time. He shifts back down and feels Karl's hot flesh in its prison rub against his belly. That puts one of Karl's nipples right under David's lips, and he can't resist.
"Don't want these to feel neglected," he mutters, then laves one with his tongue until it's wet and slippery. Then a suck with some teeth to it and the rubber band pops off.
Karl yowls when blood suddenly rushes back to deprived flesh and David spits the tiny band into the sheets. "One down." He licks and nibbles until the crinkled nipple is warm again, than moves to the other.
Knowing what's coming this time, Karl is whimpering by the time David flicks the second rubber band off. He gives another sharp cry, then settles back down to a whining moan while David soothes the aching nub and warms it back to full circulation.
Karl is pleading now, in begging little whines. David crawls up and kneels with his knees up in his lover's stretched armpits and leans forward with his hands on the headboard. "Suck me," he says. His own voice is more than a little tight too, and he couldn't hide it even if he wanted to. "The faster I get off, the faster I'll get back to working on you."
Not that Karl actually needs the incentive. And not that David actually needs any special attention because having Karl under his hands, helpless beneath David's teasing and manipulation, is nearly enough to get him to pop all on its own. Karl's done this dozens of times, though -- maybe hundreds because who the fuck keeps count? -- and somewhere in between two of the heartbeats slamming in David's ears, he spasms to climax and comes down Karl's throat.
He always drifts for a few moments after; he comes back to awareness draped over the headboard, his now-limp cock brushing against Karl's chin. Karl leans forward and gives it a little lick or a quick suck every few seconds, but he can't quite reach it anymore, not completely. David gives him points for trying, though.
"God, you're good at that." David backs up and gives him another kiss, a long and devoted thank-you.
Although he has a feeling that Karl would prefer a different sort of thanks.
One more reach to the night table and he snags his pocket knife.
Karl's eyes grow huge once more and this time it's not all lust.
"You're going to have to trust me, love," David says. He leans over for another kiss, gentle and reassuring this time. "The only way that's coming off is with this."
He crawls back down to face Karl's bound flesh and unfolds the smallest blade in the knife. Not only is it narrower and easier to slide into tight places, it's also the sharpest because he uses it the least.
"Trust me," he repeats, and he carefully slides the blade under one of the cords around the center of Karl's shaft. He tilts the blade very slightly, so that the sharp side is lifted some fraction of a millimeter off the skin, and moves it forward until it's completely under the tight cotton, then cuts it with one careful slice.
Karl makes a short, terrified little noise just as the cord parts.
"Don't move, love," David says. He kisses the tip of Karl's cock. "You can yell all you want, but don't move." He slides the blade under and slices. Then another slide and slice, and another. He cuts all the way down to the first loop around the base of Karl's cock, then goes back to the center and slices his way up.
"You're being so good for me. I love that you trust me to do this -- so hot, such a rush. Do you like it too? The danger, the surrender?" The final loop tucked just under the glans is difficult; he teases it down just a tiny bit with his fingernails, then slices it free. Karl's low growl of an answer makes him smile, but David keeps most of his concentration on what he's doing.
Back down, this time to the cords around Karl's balls. These are harder because the cords are tucked into deeper depressions; the flesh here isn't as unyielding as the shaft.
"Perfectly still, love...." Two surgically careful slices free the testicles from their individual loops, then one easy cut releases the entire thing. David is left with a handful of knotted scraps; he tosses them over the side of the bed, along with the refolded knife, then sucks in Karl's still-solid cock.
With one hand rubbing the base of Karl's cock and the other massaging his lover's tight balls, David sucks hard, his tongue soothing the shaft, which had to be burning wherever the cords had been released. Karl hollers what's almost an intelligible cuss word and fucks David's mouth, then fills it with come.
"Mmmm. Wonderful, love." David licks him clean, savoring the dark flavor of sex and musk and Karl. He gives his balls a last lick, then moves down to the foot of the bed to unpick the knots in the scarves.
"Gonna kill you," Karl mutters. His voice his weak and hoarse. "Soon's I have the energy. Think m'brains squirted out m'dick."
David snickers and walks around to work on freeing Karl's wrists. "I'll give you a rain check on that murder, then, hmm?" One wrist, then the other. Karl just lies there, not moving even though he could now if he wanted. And if he could work up the strength.
After a long stretch, David flops back onto the bed and cuddles up next to Karl. He tucks his head in the crook of his lover's neck and says, "Next time, I want to ride you like that, feel your bound cock inside me, all those ridges rubbing...."
It turns out Karl has recovered enough to smack him good with a pillow.