Comedian Slash

FIC: Russell/Matt (R)

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 05:14:52 GMT

Title: Veo Su Amor
Pairing: Russell Brand/Matt Morgan
Rating: R. Gay stuff.
Word Count: 2614
Disclaimer: this is extremely not true.
Notes: No beta, all mistakes are mine. Please point them out if you see them. :) Concrit welcome as well.

fake cut to my journal.
This link will be unlocked for about a week, and after that just comment elsewhere on my journal and I'll friend you up so you can read it.

Gun!porn fic

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 00:32:27 GMT

Title: Untitled
Chapter: Oneshot
Fandom: Sort of 8 Out of 10 Cats...
Pairing: David Walliams/Jimmy Carr
Warning: Gun!kink
Rating: R-ish, maybe
Disclaimer: Slavery is illegal. I don't own them.
AN: It could be really blatant that I'm American, so if anybody sees anything that doesn't look natural, please let me know. Also, inspired by this.

Jimmy eyes David over the top of his glass. David had the gun pointed at him surreptitiously, though he couldn’t understand why. No one else was in the room with them and David had waved it around very casually before they sat down to eat. Needless to say, Jimmy was a bit confused when David rapped on the door, a gun in his hand and an intense look on his face. He pretty much forced his way in and took up residence in a corner of the kitchen. He’d loaded it ostentatiously, making the bullets click loudly against the chamber of the gun as he slid them in. He counted them out loud so Jimmy could hear, as if it were some perverted game of hide and seek.

David meets his eyes as he put the glass down and he feels like a butterfly in a bug collection. David flicks the gun away from himself and Jimmy takes the hint and keeps eating. David is watching him, and even though Jimmy believes David wouldn’t hurt him, the intensity of his gaze is a little off putting. Jimmy continues eating as David plays with the safety and tries not to look anxious or awkward. He flicks his eyes up to see David finishing his own meal and draining his glass.

“Come here.” David talks for the first time since arriving. It’s soft and commanding, and maybe Jimmy isn’t confident enough to demand an explanation.

He gets up, awkwardly, and creeps over to David’s side as the other man pushes his chair out. David splays out a little and points to his lap with the gun and Jimmy doesn’t understand what it means. David huffs a little impatiently and pulls Jimmy down over his lap. Oh. They fit together neatly, chests nearly touching when they breathe and Jimmy’s knees pressed against David’s hips. He feels David trailing the gun over his side and he finds he can’t breathe when David talks again.

“Do you want to have some fun, Jimmy?” Jimmy guesses it’s a rhetorical question, because there are no options with a loaded gun pointed at one’s spleen.

David leans forward and kisses him. It’s a pretty mild kiss, not too rough or gentle, but more like negotiation. Like he’s trying to get Jimmy to go along and get into it. David’s licking his lips when Jimmy opens his mouth and David practically dives in. The kiss becomes vicious and the gun pokes uncomfortably between two of his ribs. It’s similar to what he’d imagine would happen if he were to yield to David on television. He’d lose control of the whole thing.

David pulls back and puts a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. There’s a thin line of spit between them and David chuckles a little and draws the gun through it. Jimmy watches it, entranced, as he tries to predict what’s coming next. He starts to slide onto the floor until David realises and drags him back up. David smiles at him patiently as he drags the gun over his face. Now Jimmy knows what’s coming next and cracks his mouth open in anticipation. David takes his time, first going over cheeks and forehead before getting to Jimmy’s mouth. The gun dances around his lips before David pulls Jimmy’s lower lip back with the barrel and slides it in.

“Fellate that for me, won’t you?” David’s breath hitches and Jimmy readjusts himself on David’s lap as they start to rock against each other.

Jimmy wraps his lips around the gun and tongues the end of the barrel. He opens his mouth a little wider and makes slurping noises as loud as he can. David moans softly, and Jimmy allows himself to feel triumphant. He makes the fellatio obscene and feels David messing with the safety on the gun. He looks up, alarmed, and David smiles down at him patronisingly. Jimmy bites down on the gun as he pulls his lips back and finds himself breathless on his back a moment later. The gun scrapes the roof of his mouth painfully and he nearly gags.

The gun is removed from his mouth and he is pulled onto his knees. David retrieves the chair and quickly undoes his trousers. Jimmy thinks dazedly that David isn’t nearly as graceful in desperation as he is normally, but that could be true for anyone. Jimmy is gingerly feeling the roof of his mouth for damage when David picks the gun up again and motions to his lap. He hobbles over to David and bends his head down to lick experimentally at David’s cock. David gasps and unsurprisingly, the gun is pressed behind his ear.

He just gets on with it and wraps his mouth around David. He angles himself as close to David’s leg as he can and tries not to feel ashamed as he ruts against David like a dog in heat. It’s uncomfortable when David bucks his hips up and he nearly gags a few times, but he’s scared out of his skin with the way David is flipping the safety on and off near his head. Though, he is pleased with the amount of obscenities streaming out of David’s mouth. There’s a flash of blinding panic as Jimmy feels David orgasming above him. The roof of his mouth burns as he swallows and the gun clicks a few times by his head as the barrel pushes into his earlobe. He’s pretty sure David actually pulled the trigger, but is relieved that he found himself enough to flip the safety back on. Or it was just luck, which Jimmy has the strongest feeling it was.

David drops the gun and Jimmy clambers into his lap without waiting for the cue. Jimmy rubs himself frantically against the inside of David’s thigh as he drops his head to David’s shoulder and sucks little marks into the crook of his neck. David gives a gasping sort of laugh and holds Jimmy closer as he tries to get off. His breath stutters against David’s neck and he trembles as he comes. David thinks it’s the cutest thing ever and opens his mouth to tell Jimmy so, when Jimmy sits back up and picks the gun off the floor. He’s looking at it curiously and David dreads what he’s going to say.

“Why isn’t it gold?”

Cross-posted to the comedian_slash comm.

FIC: Love Potion No. Eight (15) Reeves/Mortimer

Thu, 29 May 2008 19:24:34 GMT

The sheer lack of R/M slash in this world, is a really sad thing... Don't you agree? They're totally made for each other *squishes them both so tight* And more fic should exist... But am I the only one that finds them damn hard to write? In the end though, I have to say I enjoyed writing this more than just about anything I've done in a long time... So I really hope you guys like it as much ^_^

Title: Love Potion No. Eight
Author: "colacancol"
Fandom: Comedy RPS
Pairing: Vic Reeves/Bob Mortimer
Rating: (15)

Synopsis: Written for a 'sex pollen' prompt... The well-loved (at least by all slashers) 'junior voodoo sketch' brings the idea of being with Bob to the forefront of Vic's mind... He sort of can't let it go, not now that he's thought about it... What if it was true? And can the fake spray explain why he suddenly feels so attracted to him?

Disclaimer: It's fiction (though one can hope!) and I don't own them, though I do own the story so if you want to use it for anything, feel free but leave my name on it and let me know *grins*

( Vaulting onto the worktop, old vein-coated formica, he pushed nearer to the mirror and removed the biro from his ear. He assumed thick-rimmed glasses - the pair he had started wearing lately in order to aid his ailing eyesight - and examined his partner as he shrugged off his ill-fitting orange suit, closely scrutinising bare legs and fleecy suede loafers, half-mast trousers slumping to the ground. Vic blinked. 'You know... I don't think it's the spray.' )

Russell Brand/Noel Fielding- Learning Curve

Tue, 06 May 2008 15:33:57 GMT

Title: Learning Curve
Author: copycatgirl
Warning: Mpreg! Don't give me stick, I've had enough abuse. If you don't like it, stop reading and go and read something else, please! :'(
Rating: R for slash, language, mpreg and sexual implications
Pairing: Russell Brand/Noel Fielding, Russell Brand/Matt Morgan
Summary: They said it was harmless. They were wrong.
Status: Unfinished
Disclaimer: Russell Brand, Noel Fielding, Barbara Brand/Nichols (?) and Agyness Deyn are real people, and I own no rights to write fiction about them. No offence is meant by this story.

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 18:19:25 GMT

Hello again! Here are three ficlets I have written recently. They are all linked to my journal.

Disclaimer: These are all works of fiction.
Notes: The two Walliams/Brand ficlets are based on this picture

I. Give Way To Sport
Pairing: David Walliams/Russell Brand
Rating: NC-17

It's all part of the game for Russell to play dumb with him

II. I Bet I Know Exactly What It's Like
Pairing: David Walliams/Russell Brand
Rating: NC-17

So Russell Brand, just how into yourself are you?

In addition, I offer you all this untitled and wrong David Walliams/Noel Fielding ficlet, based on their seeming dislike for each other on the Big Fat Quiz of the Year 2006.

When David runs into Fielding at Noel Gallagher’s birthday party, it’s the first time they've spoken in over a year

Mon, 31 Mar 2008 20:32:10 GMT

Here are two ficlets I have written recently that feature David Walliams/Russell Brand.

Disclaimer: This is fiction strictly for entertainment purposes.

I. Anyone Quite Like You
Rating: R
Pairing: David Walliams/Russell Brand
Word Count: 970
Notes: Set before the filming of the first episode of the Russell Brand Show.

'Well now that we've christened the dressing room...'

II. Wayward Distractions
Rating: R
Word Count: 1265
Pairing: Mostly David Walliams/Russell Brand. Noel Fielding is there too, but not like that.
Notes: Set after the filming of Big Fat Quiz of the Year, 2006. Inspired by a quote from Walliams saying how Noel Fielding had told him he partied after every live show, while Walliams and Lucas maybe had one drink after theirs.

He's not quite sure how it happens, but he suddenly finds himself alone with Noel Fielding

Fic: "Larger than Life" (Russell Brand/Christopher Biggins)

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 22:31:20 GMT

I just want you all to know that I would never have written this or posted it here if it weren't for justwolf. So you should blame her.

Title: Larger than Life
Author: sheldrake
Pairing: Russell Brand/Christopher Biggins. I know, I'm sorry.
Rating: R (this stands for both 'Really quite tame' and 'Run away while you still can!')
Disclaimer: No this didn't happen.
Warnings: This fic features Russell Brand, Christopher Biggins and the concept of sex. Is that not warning enough? Er... oh, and some senior members of the royal family might be indirectly involved.
Less dramatic warnings: Come on, it's not that bad.
Summary: Christopher is a big fan of olive oil, you know.
Notes: Look, this only came about because of Russell's shameless flirting on The Big Fat Quiz of the Year 2007. It's all his own fault.

Larger than Life

FIC: Noel/Russell PG-13

Sat, 15 Mar 2008 05:30:28 GMT

Title: Soft Revolution
Pairing: Noel Fielding/Russell Brand
Rating: PG-13 at the very most
Disclaimer: It's fiction and written purely for entertainment.
Notes: This started as stream of consciousness notes about how a friendship between two mascara'd princes like Noel and Russell might work. I don't think it's finished yet.

When he gets back to the bedroom, he realizes he’s forgotten the water. Noel has taken his clothes off and is laying under the duvet, eyes closed, breathing slow.

EDIT: okay, I unlocked it. I'm retarded. Sorry for the cocktease.

FIC: Blah Bleep - Simon Amstell/Mark Owen

Tue, 11 Mar 2008 02:29:34 GMT

Title: Blah Bleep
Pairing: Simon Amstell/Mark Owen
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1293
Warnings: ...spitting?
Disclaimer: No truth, no profit.
Summary: Utterly devoid of plot, but lots of snogging, quite a bit of giggling, and a blowjob. :D
Notes: I was forcing really GAY old Take That videos on xmangoes and notsolaconic when they realised that 1) they already knew Mark Owen from this wonderful Popworld clip, and 2) somebody really REALLY needed to write a dirty follow-up to the interview. So, er. At the risk of breaking my precious childhood memories (I still have my TT fanclub badge from 1993 and refuse to feel ashamed), I am that somebody.

.

"You picked the wrong envelope," Simon says. He nudges Mark with his elbow. Mark nudges back, grinning all lopsided. Simon digs his elbow right into Mark's ribs, making him stumble against the corridor wall, and Mark busts out laughing in that way he's got, free and loud and girly, infectious as bubonic plague.

"Didn't want the other envelope," he says, "not if it's got flipping Brian Dowling in it."

"Not your type?"

"Well, he's a bloke, ent he?"

"And you're telling me you don't like blokes? At all? When-"

(Here his sentence breaks into two pieces, the first half before Mark figures out how to work the keycard and the second coming after.)

"-you've got one in your hotel room?"

"Easy. I never said owt about you getting some."

"I'll be a groupie. I mean, if you want. Will that help?" He flutters his eyelashes girlishly. Maybe he thinks it'll make Mark laugh again, and it does. Two hours of knowing each other and Simon already knows what'll make him laugh. While he's still at it, before he's got it together enough to have second thoughts, or even very much of a first thought, Simon takes two fistfuls of his shirt, pushes him against the closed door, and kisses him.

Simon's lips feel like they look - soft, wet. He kisses casually; this is a game, his mouth seems to say, this is just as much a game as that thing before, and Mark thinks he's okay with that. He feels like he's falling. That jolt you get in your stomach when you miss your footing at the top of a staircase, but instead of a jolt it's a sort of lingering, endless feeling of falling. It's a game, though. That makes it better. Slightly better. He kisses back, of course. That makes Simon smile, murmur a little laugh into his mouth, and slip him the tongue - and here's where the game really gets going, tongues fighting for dominance in each other's mouth. It's less of a kiss now than a sort of play-fight. Lots of giggling. Lots of spit.

"What're you doing?" Mark wants to know, and Simon scolds him for giving such a clichéd line after being kiss-ambushed and sucks on his tongue to shut him up. He's still falling, still falling, and that sucking means Simon's winning the game so to go one-up on him (and because he just wants to) Mark slides his hands down to Simon's arse and pulls him in close. He gets an appreciative murmur around his tongue, and he half-laughs again, squeezing with both hands and fitting their bodies together like snug little jigsaw pieces, triumphant and amused and not exactly turned-on, but kind of. It's fun. It's funny. There's nothing life-changing about it, they're not going to be boyfriends or anything, but there's a spark and on a cold miserable drizzly day like this a spark is just the thing.

He's getting harder. They both are. Simon's still immersed in the kiss-duel; Mark's far more interested now in the stirrings down below. He shifts his hips slightly, rubs against him very gently. It's enough. Simon stutters in the kiss, losing it for a second. He makes an odd little sound against the corner of Mark's mouth, the bit that dimples when he smiles, and kind of slumps against him, pressing him harder into the door, pressing his cock harder into Mark's.

"You're being very calm about this," he says. "Snogging a man and everything. You did it with Robbie, didn't you?" Mark doesn't answer, just busies himself undoing the button on Simon's jeans and sliding the zip down. "Jason?" Simon tries. "Howard, then. Or... not Gary, surely?"

Mark reaches into Simon's boxers.

"Nigel," Simon says decisively, and Mark removes his hand. Simon changes at once, acting all contrite now. He goes back to the kissing, kissing Mark's lips and his cheek and chin and nose and it's very difficult to stay stoic when he's doing that, even more so when Simon's wrenching the fastenings of his trousers and dropping to his knees and smiling up at him but only with his eyes because his mouth's otherwise occupied. Mark's falling again, somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He grabs onto the door handle to anchor himself. Goosebumps form on his skin where Simon's got his fingers pressed into his hips, and they flood out in a rush of rippling heat, like earthquake tremors. Simon's kissing him, a slow, soft trail all up and down his cock. He's falling, falling, falling. Simon's nuzzling him, rubbing his cheek gently against Mark's cock and never looking away from his eyes. He's gone all smirky and pleased with himself. Understandable, Mark thinks, he'd be pretty fucking ecstatic with himself too if he'd sent someone into this kind of state where they can't even stand up without a door to lean against - Simon opens his mouth around Mark's cock then and Mark makes a funny noise, lets his head drop back against the door with a hollow thunk, squeezes his eyes shut and just feels. Simon's sucking him deeper half-inch by half-inch, tortorously slowly, and it doesn't matter that he's got his eyes closed, he knows Simon still hasn't looked away.

The cold air on his wet skin is shocking when Simon pulls away abruptly, and Mark gasps and snaps his eyes open. He was right, Simon is still looking at him, all lusty and smug. "What...?"

"You don't think I'm doing all the work, do you?" He finds Mark's hand, the one clawing frantically at the door, and slides it into his own hair. "I'm not a mindreader. Show me how you like it." He smirks again. "Show me how Robbie did it."

You were doing alright anyway, he was going to say, but the jibe makes him stop. Not because he's annoyed, and it's not true or anything, it's just obvious Simon wants his mouth fucked like a whore and he's going to pick and jeer until he gets his way so why not sooner rather than later? He twists his hand in Simon's hair and drags him back and Simon's got half a second for a smile before his mouth's too full for anything but sucking and holy fucking hell he knows how to suck. He doesn't even gag when Mark jerks his hips and hits the back of his throat, he just swallows and takes it all in, calm and slow and determined. He's all tongue and slippery warm lips, forcibly pulling his orgasm from him, and Mark's quaking like a leaf now; he can't even form Simon's name, just a shapeless kind of moan as he loses his grip on Simon's hair and slips almost completely out of his mouth, coming in great wracking spurts on his tongue.

It's not taken that long, or maybe just doesn't seem like it but it actually has, because somehow the laughter from before seems very far away and that kind of pangs, never mind he's just come so hard he feels like he almost turned inside out. He leans against the door, feeling limp and pathetic and just looking down at Simon. He's got his hands folded neatly in his lap, all prim suddenly as if they're not resting just inches away from his erection, a little closed-mouth smirky smile on his face, and Mark's taking a shaky breath to say something about how bad an idea this was, or maybe say nothing at all and just scarper, but then Simon says, "Blah," and dribbles all down his chin, and it's so fucking disgusting Mark can't do anything except collapse back into horrified laughter and then everything feels okay again. More than okay. Fucking brilliant.

FIC: Pegg/Frost, R

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 00:40:40 GMT

Hi folks. I've been waiting to join this lovely comm until I had fic to post. So, I wrote a story. And I joined.
That's it, basically.
Hi!

Title: You Can Fall In The Arms Of Each Other
Author: Prairiestar
Pairing: RPS Simon Pegg/Nick Frost
Rating: R
Word Count: 6800+
Disclaimer: This story is fiction and written purely for entertainment.
Notes: first time story, set just after the filming of Spaced series one. Thanks to stage_master for the awesome beta. Any remaining mistakes are all mine. Feedback rocks. :)

Fake cut to my journal: You Can Fall In The Arms Of Each Other

Fic: Clearly You'll Run

Thu, 14 Feb 2008 18:21:14 GMT

Title: Clearly You'll Run
Pairing: David Walliams/Russell Brand
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, cross-dressing
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction. No offense is meant by it.
Summary: David wants to indulge one of his kinks.
Notes: Notes: This was inspired by this post and this post and the videos discussed therein. Linked to my journal.

Russell can't quite believe that David has the gall to think he might be into this.

Fic: Adult Reading

Fri, 08 Feb 2008 17:33:45 GMT

I be new to the comm, and I bring fic :)

Title: Adult Reading
Fandom: And Then You Die
Pairings: Rufus Hound/Robin Ince
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Robin comes home to find Rufus reading
Disclaimer: This fic is in no way intended to portray a factual representation of the people involved. As far as I know, this never happened.
Beta: The lovely beedekka
Note: Inspired by a round of Life's a Bitch where Rufus reveals his love of a certain popular series of books.

Cross-posted here and at britpanelslash.

(Adult Reading)

Story

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 09:14:21 GMT

This was clearly begging to be written- Trevor seemed to like being tortured on the show a little too much.

Title: Russell and the Dominatrix

Pairing: Russell Brand/Trevor Locke

Rating: R?

Warnings: A bit of kink, swearing

Disclaimer: I don’t own them.

Thank you to http://xsweatergirlx.livejournal.com/ for an awesome beta.

Cross posted at Comedian slash, RussellB_slash

Trevor got out of the cab slowly, nervously and firmly clasped his hands in front of his crotch. The cabbie peered out at him and guffawed.

“You going to a fancy dress there mate?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

‘Well you’re dressed like that tosser aren’t ya? Brand, yeah. What a fucking wanker, hey?”

Trevor decided for the noncommittal approach.

“Well he has to have some guts wearing jeans like this.”

The cabbie snorted “But not much downstairs.”

Trevor decided to end this exchange. “Thanks for the ride.” He turned towards the building and as the taxi pulled away he panicked. The costume had been a mistake. Even if people found it funny, he’d be uncomfortable all night. It had seemed like such a funny idea when he’d thought of it. He’d even told Matt and Russell that he had the perfect outfit. Maybe he should go home and change.

Another taxi pulled up and Matt hopped out- his hair in pigtails.

“Trevor- the outfit, interesting. Russell might not be too impressed with it.”

“The school girl outfit doesn’t become you Matt,” Trevor said as they headed up. Trevor hadn’t thought about the possibility of Russell being offended by the mimicry. However, it was too late now- Matt has seen him and he’d look like a coward if he went and changed.

Someone dressed as an eggplant opened the door and laughed “Matt, you look so pretty. And Russell, you sexy beast, where’s your costume?” the woman said with a smile in her voice.

“And what are you supposed to be Jen? A giant blueberry?”

“You don’t want to make an eggplant angry Matt. We’re well ghetto.” She signalled them in. “There’s drinks in the kitchen if you want.”

Trevor made a beeline there, polishing off several drinks in the space of 15 minutes. The alcohol, combined with the positive responses he got from other party goers, helped him relax about his costume. He was attempting to chat up a girl when he heard shrill and excitable voices from the other room. He heard Russell’s distinct voice- Russell had made quite an impact. As Russell prowled in, Trevor pretended to have all his focus on the girl in front of him. His attempt at coolness was soon forgotten when he caught sight of the PVC clad figure in the doorway. Russell seemed to intentionally pause there, letting everyone take in what he was wearing. Trevor gawped at the 6 inch thigh high platforms, the skin tight bodice, and the riding whip in hand.

“Trevor mmm… I don’t know what it is but I’ve never found you so attractive in all my life.”

Trevor blinked rapidly, still taken aback but now no longer worried Russell’s reaction to him.

“Although it’s quite naughty of you to mock me so. I should punish you for that,” and to emphasise his point he slapped the riding crop into his palm.

“So what are you exactly?” asked the girl Trevor was talking to. “A trannie or something?”

Russell eyed her up, particularly the bikini of her Hawaiian outfit.

“No my dear,” he smiled, “I’m a Dominatrix.” He cracked the whip against his thigh.

“Oh,” she looked at Trevor, “I’ll see you around maybe.” She wandered off and Russell turned to watch her go.

“Nice, but I wouldn’t bother. She seems a bit of a bitch.”

“You wouldn’t bother or I shouldn’t?”

“Well, I guess since you are me this evening, you should have a crack at anything that moves. But don’t think I’ve forgotten that you need to be punished. Perhaps a spanking will be in order later.”

“O h god- look at the state of you!” It was Matt, his garish red lips already smudged.

“And who have you been snogging?”

Matt grinned.

“We need to get the police on to this pervert. Taking advantage of a young girl like yourself.”

“A pervert you say Russell?” and Matt looked at Trevor pointedly as Russell giggled.

“If I know Russell,” said Russell with a cheeky grin, “and I think I do. He’d go for a fellow sexual predator like himself. Rather than an innocent young woman. The deviants are so much more fun.” He emphasised this by running his hands up his bodice to his neck. Trevor couldn’t help but stare as he bit down on a finger suggestively.

Matt snorted “I’m gonna go find that girl again.”

“Ooh lesbianism,” Russell cooed. “I need to see this.”

Trevor shifted in his seat trying to subtly adjust his jeans. He couldn’t understand how Russell sat in these things without slicing his testes in two. He’d had too much to drink and the girl next to him was talking in double speed. Russell had been right- she was a bitch. In the short time they’d been talking she’d managed to insult several minorities and mention the positives of corporal punishment.

“I mean don’t you kinda think poor people kinda like their standing in life?” She looked at Trevor to agree.

“No,” Trevor couldn’t bite his tongue any longer; a potential fuck wasn’t worth listening to this. “That doesn’t even make any sense. Why would anyone enjoy being poor? That’s just stupid.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

Trevor shifted again, his squashed crotch making him grumpy. “Yup,” and he levered himself up and tottered into another room.

“Trevor, come amuse me, I’m bored.”

Russell was leaning on the arm of a couch that Matt and some girl were kissing on. Russell pouted at him. “Matt’s busy amusing someone else.”

“Fuck you,” came the muffled response from Matt’s direction.

Trevor stepped up to Russell slowly, “Don’t your feet get sore in these shoes?”

Russell shrugged and Trevor couldn’t help but watch his bodice ride up with his movements. “You get used to it. So, what’s it like being me? Amazing? Sexy?” he raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m being self involved but you seem a lot more confident as me.” He stopped and looked at Trevor sidelong, “It’s a curse! Like on Buffy. We’re being our costumes!”

Trevor laughed gently, “You’re an idiot.”

‘No, a Dominatrix,” he said slowly and slid his hand down his side. Trevor shifted uncomfortably; he got nervous when Russell got intense like this. Russell pulled out the riding crop from his boot and held eye contact with Trevor, until he looked down.

Russell sighed dramatically, “You always spoil my fun.”

“Well you always take things too far,” Trevor said vehemently.

Russell laughed, “You haven’t seen me take things too far. I tone it down for your delicate sensibilities.”

“Don’t patronise me Russell,” Trevor said gently, still focused on the floor.

“Not patronising, being honest. You’re a prude and you look down on me for the things I’ve done.”

“I do not,” Trevor raised his eyes to Russel’s. “I kind of envy you- for living, being willing to… to… just go for it. Be wrong, make mistakes. I have no concept of that. Everything I do is so measured.”

Russell laughed, “How much have you had to drink. “’Coz you’re gonna regret saying this tomorrow.”

“That’s exactly the fucking problem, isn’t it? Regret, fear, they rule my life. Sometimes I just want to scream and break out of that.” Trevor was panting now with emotion. He blinked and looked around the room, trying to regain composure. Blushing furiously, he stared down at his boots.

“I’m gonna go to the toilet,” he stuttered and shuffled off. He was mortified at his outburst; he hated showing weakness in front of Russell. Trevor would never admit it to anyone, but in many ways Russell was his idol. All the things he wasn’t and wanted to be. It was part of the reason for the costume he realised, he was trying to physically mimic Russell in the hope that the mannerisms would follow.

As Trevor reached for the door handle he felt someone come up behind him. He turned his head slightly as he opened the door to check who it was. However before he had caught a glimpse, the person behind him shoved him roughly forward, into the bathroom. He was about to call out in shock when he was shushed.

“Russell! You nearly gave me a heart attack. That’s not even funny.”

Russell wasn’t looking at him; he was turned away, locking the door. “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” he said, still facing away. “I was trying to catch you off guard. You said you wanted to be bold- well I have an idea to help.”

“What, by scaring me?”

“No, but you’ll need to be willing to go along with something. Do you trust me enough for that?”

Russell had said that last sentence so softly that Trevor felt himself caving in against all previous experiences and better judgement. He didn’t want to appear too eager though so he paused, it was important to save face with Russell. Trevor sighed and studied Russell’s posture; it was impossible to read, bent forward slightly, closed off.

“Why should I trust you?” Trevor said as softly as Russell.

“Because I’m not trustworthy. And it would be a fearless thing to do,” he turned his upper body and looked at Trevor through his lashes. His expression was drawn and he stared fixedly.

“You’re scary when you’re like this Russell.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, you win; I’ll go along with you.”

Russell turned fully around still staring. He began unfastening part of his bodice. “It’s a real dominatrix outfit. I actually got a look from the sex shop guy, I think he recognised me.” He had finished taking away a section. “The restraints are incorporated into it,” he said holding up leather cuffs. “Neat, huh?”

“Neat?”

“I thought it’d be funny, you know, juxtaposing 1950s nostalgia talk with kinky sex games. Give me your wrists,”

“What?”

Russell beckoned at him, “Come on.” He grabbed Trevor’s arm. “Don’t dilly-dally.”

“You’re insane,” Trevor said but he didn’t pull away. He watched Russell bind his wrists together. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” he said sing-songingly. He tugged at the cuff, causing Trevor to step forward. Russell leaned in, breathing into Trevor’s ear. “You’re mine now,” and with that he pushed Trevor back and led him by the wrists towards the shower. Trevor closed his eyes for just a moment as Russell lifted up his arms. He heard a clinking sound and looked up to see that he’d been chained to the shower rod. He yanked at it as his breathing quickened.

“Russell, you bastard, let me down.”

“But this was my plan all along, to get you in this compromising position.”

“Why what are you going to do to me?” said Trevor, thinking he was about to be on the receiving end of another prank.

“I haven’t decided yet. Although, I think I’d like to hear you beg.”

“Russell please…”

“Not yet, Trevor. There’s no fun if you already do it.”

Trevor gave another tug of his restraints, becoming even more worried when they held firm. He was almost completely incapacitated. Russell stepped into him and Trevor stilled as Russell scratched his cheek along his.

“Ow!” He felt Russell breath on his ear and his arm slid around to rest on his ass.

“You have nice earlobes,” Trevor could feel the words as well as hear them. He felt the slightest moisture on his ear and tensed when he realised Russell was licking it. Trevor gasped as Russell sucked on the lobe and pressed himself along Trevor. He sucked harder and grazed his teeth on the soft flesh. He squeezed Trevor’s ass and bit down hard.

“Jesus Russell!” Trevor exclaimed, pushing him away with his body. Russel stepped back, his eyes dark. “I don’t want to play your stupid game anymore. I’m sick of you torturing me, bullying me.”

“Pfft, you love it,” he stepped forward grabbing Trevor’s cock through his jeans. “These jeans don’t hide erections so well, you’ll learn that.”

“It’s not…” Trevor trailed off.

“Not what… an erection. Pretty sure it is.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it!”

“That’s exactly what it means.” Russell began circling his thumb and Trevor bucked. “Ha,” Russell said, “If you behave yourself I might do something about that,” and he moved his hand away.

“What’s wrong with you Russell? Why are you like this?” Trevor hissed. “You have no respect for anyone, life is all about you and how people can get you what you want...”

Russell’s face dropped for a moment then he grinned excessively wide. “Well it seems I’ve drastically misread this situation.” He waved his hand, “I’ll let you out of these restraints then shall I?” He stepped up and reached for the chain.

With the boots on he was even taller than usual, towering a good half foot over Trevor. Trevor was at eye level with Russell’s neck and he watched the muscles flex as Russell swallowed. Trevor glanced up and saw that Russell’s jaw was clenched tight. There was something there, something raw that Trevor was unaccustomed to seeing in his usually guarded friend.

“Russell?” Trevor spoke before he had a chance to think. “Russell, why did you do this? Are you making fun?”

Russell paused, his arms still raised. “”No, I’m… I’m being serious,” he smiled genuinely, “as serious as I’m capable of being.” He lowered his arms slowly. “I’m not entirely sure why I’m doing this. Just going on instinct I guess. I didn’t really consider that you might not want what I thought you wanted.” He touched Trevor’s chest with his index finger. “It’s nice to see you button-down, quite literally.” He ran the finger down to the top button. “Maybe I’m really just the ultimate narcissist and really wanted to shag myself.” He quirked an eyebrow and looked back up.

Trevor’s eyes widened, “Is that what you had planned?”

“Maybe, like I said, I hadn’t decided yet.”

‘And you assumed I’d want to?”

“Well yes. I know you Trevor. And I know when someone is attracted to me.” He fiddled with Trevor’s button. ‘And you, my friend, want me,” he whispered.

“No, no, I just, it’s just a bit of hero-worship, see. Its sort of well, I’d like to have more of your traits. Like when I said that to gain confidence on stage I think what you would do. That’s all.”

“Huh, you blurred the line between wanting to be me and be with me long ago. You check me out all the time.” Trevor opened his mouth to protest but Russell interrupted. “Just be honest with yourself. You are textbook repression in everything you do. You uber-WASP.”

Trevor huffed and went to speak again. Before he could Russell leaned in and kissed him gently. Trevor was surprised how soft Russell’s lips were and when he kissed harder Trevor kissed back. He tried to move forward, the angle was all wrong, but the cuffs held him in place. Russell pulled away first and Trevor watched him run his tongue over his swollen lips.

Russell gave a wicked little smile, “So… shall I let you out now?”

“Fuck no.”

Russell laughed, “This is why I trust my instincts.” He moved back in, unbuttoning Trevor’s shirt. Opening it, he smiled and ran his fingers down to Trevor’s belt. “I’m going to make you beg in the best possible way.”

Trevor smiled shyly, “Go on then, I dare you.”

The door handle jiggled noisily, causing them to jump. Russell swung around, “Well that was bad timing.”

“Screw them.”

Russell laughed appreciatively, “Tell you what,” he began buttoning up Trevor’s shirt. “We’ll head back out, do the rounds for 10 minutes, then we can go back to my place.”

Trevor pouted, a sight Russell had never seen before. “Fine,” he said petulantly as Russell undid the chain and began undoing the cuffs. Trevor rubbed at his wrists, watching Russell reattach the sections to his bodice.

“Ready?” Russell asked, smoothing out his outfit. Trevor nodded and as Russell turned, he brushed his lips with his fingertips. He quickly lowered his hand as Russell opened the door.

Someone peered in, “What have you two been up to in here?”

“Ah, Ben, we’ve been having some deep and meaningful. That's what happens when Trevor’s pissed.” Russell looked back with a sparkle in his eye and Trevor followed him out.

Russell wandered off and Trevor walked, dazed, to where Matt had last been. He was still there with the girl attached to him.

Russell sauntered up casually and leaned on the arm of the couch next to Trevor, his leg touching Trevor’s.

“Well Matt, I’m heading home. Do you want to catch a lift, Trev?” Trevor marvelled at his acting skills. Matt laughed.

“What?” questioned Russell.

“Well it just seems so appropriate. If you asked someone who you’d think Russell,” he pointed at Trevor, “would go home with from a party, you’d say a dominatrix,” he pointed at Russell. “Although, I don’t think it’s quite the usual situation.”

“No,” said Russell. “We’re not going home to fuck each others brains out.”

Trevor’s eyes bulged and he tried to cover it by spluttering out a reply.

“There, there, Trevor,” Russell said laughing. “I’m not a dominatrix and you’re not me, so you have nothing to fear.” With that he smiled slightly, grabbed Trevor’s wrist and led him out of the party.

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 16:36:15 GMT

Title: Surpassing Comfort and Security
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Simon Amstell/Patrick Wolf
Rating: R
Warnings: Fluff. So much fluff.
Summary: They did go back to his dressing room, true, but it was for a cup of tea and a chat, not wild sex on the awful threadbare floral sofa.
A/N: This is just ridiculously soppy, but I couldn't help it. I started writing this after Patrick's appearance on Never Mind The Buzzcocks. Title from Patrick Wolf's 'Wind in the Wires'.

If he had come out of the closet before the age of twenty-one...

That link goes to my Livejournal, the link there goes to my Insanejournal. You can comment on the Livejournal entry if you don't have an Insanejournal. I know it's confusing. :/

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 10:00:40 GMT

TITLE: Punks Love Points
SUMMARY: Simon Amstell/Donny Tourette slash. R. 717 words.

Simon is in his dressing room after the taping when he hears a knock on the door. He runs a hand through his curly hair and turns, about to say "come in," when the door opens anyway.

"Heyyy," the bleached-blonde punk says. It's Donny.

"Hey yourself," Simon replies, furrowing his brow when Donny steps in and kicks the door shut with his heel. "May I ask what..."

"You've still got my glasses," Donny grins, walking forward. He hops up on the table, crossing his legs and leaning forward. He holds his hand out expectantly.

"Do I?" Simon fumbles in his pocket and pulls out the purple shades. "I do." He crosses the room until he's in front of Donny and sticks his hand out, offering the sunglasses to the other man.

Donny leers at him, looking up at Simon with a devilish grin. He reaches out but instead of taking the sunglasses, he yanks on Simon's wrist. His other hand flies up and grabs a hold of Simon's tie, pulling the top half of his body closer at an awkward angle.

"What are you -" Simon starts to ask, flustered but trying not to let it show. Donny winds the tie around his hand and pulls him closer so that their noses are touching. He's still smirking like the Cheshire Cat, twinkling eyes beaming up at Simon. "You didn't come for your glasses, did you?" Simon says, trying to keep his breath even.

Donny shakes his head slowly, mouthing the word "no" before arching up and closing the remaining few inches between them. He presses his mouth to Simon's in a hot kiss, keeping his hold on Simon's tie to reel him in closer.

Simon moans into Donny's mouth and he drops the sunglasses. They clatter to the floor noisily.

Licking and biting at Simon's lower lip, Donny slides his hands down to Simon's ass and tries to hoist him up onto the table with him. They end up awkwardly balanced, neither completely on or off of it. Donny's back is pressed flat against the table and Simon is leaning over him, resting all of his weight on his hands which are just above Donny's shoulders. Donny's legs are wrapped around Simon's waist. He stupidly tries to use them to pull Simon forward more, but instead just rubs their crotches together. Donny gasps at the friction and scrambles backward.

"Get the fuck up here, Amstell," he breathes, and Simon obeys quickly. He climbs up onto the table, a flurry of hands and knees. Donny pushes him onto his back and pins him down. He kisses the corner of his mouth and reaches down between their bodies, stroking Simon through his trousers. Simon lets out a shaky breath, grabbing Donny's shoulders for support when Donny finally manages to unbuckle, unbutton, and unzip him.

When Donny rolls over to start working on his own zipper, Simon steals the chance to push his pants down. He doesn't get them much past his knees before Donny is kneeling on top of him again, kissing his jaw and reaching down to grab their cocks.

He strokes them together with a practiced rhythm that seems to come easily. Simon clutches at Donny's shoulders as he thrusts up without meaning to into Donny's fist.

"Donny," Simon mutters, but his word is swallowed up by Donny's mouth as he kisses him again, tongue warm and moist against his own. Donny matches his thrusts. "Donny," Simon repeats, and this time it sounds more desperate, not only because Simon is stricken with orgasm, but also because he can feel the table begin to give out beneath him. "Donny!" Simon repeats, but this is the last warning because one of the legs snaps and they both go tumbling to the ground as the table collapses underneath them.

Donny's face contorts in pain and Simon starts to giggle. Donny screws his eyes shut and whacks Simon on the arm.

"Fucker," he says, then grabs Simon's tie again and pulls him over and kisses him. Something pokes into Simon's thigh.

"Is that the table or are you just happy to see me?" Simon smirks. Donny playfully slaps him on the ass.

"I'm always glad to see you, you fucker," Donny mock insults him, and shuts him up with another kiss.

Fic: Noel Fielding/Simon Amstell

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 07:37:56 GMT

Title: Winning
Author: Peak in Darien
Rating: R
Pairing: Noel Fielding/Simon Amstell (with implied mentions of Noel/Julian and Noel/Russell
Warning: Features "adult" bits, such as sex and taxation. Well. Maybe not taxation.
Summary: Simon and Noel find themselves together after a night out.
Disclaimer: This is 100% fictional and intended as harmless fan fiction. I make no money from this.
Note: Thanks to trickseybird for a spectacular beta which included such structural advice as “lol booty call”.

-->-->Don't worry your pretty head about it, Fielding.

FIC: Echo From The Past (15) Alexander Armstrong/Ben Miller

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 18:48:40 GMT

Now while I may not be overly impressed with Moving Wallpaper/Echo Beach, it felt like plot bunny central ^_^ The thing is, I'm not a big fan of AUs - they don't really get me here *pats chest* I think I can find them a bit silly sometimes... In this case though, the alternate reality has already been written out for me in some way, and the format of the show already walks that fine line between what is real and what isn't... How awesome is that? With Ben Miller as the producer? It practically SCREAMS casting couch fiction... You don't really have to have watched the show - it's just porn! Hope you like...

Title: Echo From The Past
Author: "colacancol"
Fandom: Comedy RPS
Pairing: Alexander Armstrong/Ben Miller
Rating: (15)

Synopsis: Ben's taking a break from filming on Moving Wallpaper/Echo Beach, and trying to get away from being unlikeable producer Jonathan Pope... But when an old friend comes to audition for the starring role, he's more than happy keep the persona up for a little while longer - just what lengths would he go to in getting that part?

Disclaimer: It's fiction (though one can hope!) and I don't own them, though I do own the story so if you want to use it for anything, feel free but leave my name on it and let me know *grins*

( 'I'm here for the role!' he shouted with gusto. 'Whatever do you mean?' the greeted couldn't be more confused. 'Stay in character - it's a roleplay,' Alexander whispered, 'You aren't supposed to know me here, remember.' Ah comprende - Ben winked back at him, knowingly. 'Right well, you know the drill,' he quickly changed his tone of voice in order to play the game, 'My name is Jonathan Pope and I am the producer of Echo Beach.' )

2 Quizcom Panel Show Slashfics

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 19:35:39 GMT

Here are two quizcom panel game slashfics I posted over at the britpanelslash community... I hope that you like them! ^_~

Title: Riding In Cars With Strange Boys
Author: "colacancol"
Fandom: BFAQ
Pairing: Jack Dee/Alan Carr
Rating: (PG)

Synopsis: Alan can't remember whether he booked a cab - he's far too drunk to know or even care - but it's cold, and Jack would never leave him out here all alone... There's a bond between them and he knows it, if only he would open up... Set after the Big Fat Anniversary Quiz...

Disclaimer: It's fiction (though one can hope!) and I don't own them, though I do own the story so if you want to use it for anything, feel free but leave my name on it and let me know *grins*

( 'Mine'll be along any minute,' he said. 'You're only too kind, deary,' the younger man gave a toothy grin, before shivering and shrinking into himself. He snivelled, pushing up foggy glasses, the frosted condensation making it rather difficult to tell who his benefactor actually was. That and the double-vision - but all it meant was, that after cleaning a splodge on the lens, he ended up with two handsome Jacks instead of one. )

-x-x-x-

Title: Manly Toughness Trophy
Author: "colacancol"
Fandom: Would I Lie To You
Pairing: Lee Mack/David Mitchell
Rating: (PG)

Synopsis: When David looks in the mirror, he just sees a girly boy - and it doesn't help that he's spending Christmastime down the pub with all these real men... Maybe fellow WILTY team captain Lee Mack can give him some tips on how to be tough... Or better still, a lesson in how to love himself...

Disclaimer: It's fiction (though one can hope!) and I don't own them, though I do own the story so if you want to use it for anything, feel free but leave my name on it and let me know *grins*

( Not all of the burly bargoers were tattooed to the nines, and yet they still managed to maintain some sense of manliness. He was like a pre-pubescent girl in frillies, with greasy hair he couldn't do a thing with, and poor braced teeth. Oh, he was wearing a pink shirt for Christ's sake. If it weren't for the fact a fifteen minute toilet break was clearly beyond the norm, he probably never would have left the gents at all that night. )

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 21:59:05 GMT

Title: Let's Not Tell Our Mums
Pairing: Russell Brand/Noel Fielding
Rating: PG13
Word Count: <1000
Author's notes: 100% disclaimed. Beta by forevernew. Title shamelessly nicked from a chapter in Russell's autobiography. Background fic for fueledbybritcom.

People were always asking Russell if anything had ever gone on between him and Noel Fielding.

Fri, 07 Dec 2007 19:37:59 GMT

Title: Scissors Made Of Glitter
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Noel Fielding/Simon Amstell
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Real person slash
Summary: ...Basically, it's just porn. I won't lie.
A/N: Set after Noel's third episode of being team captain on Buzzcocks, but I don't think you have to have seen that for this to make sense, although there are a couple of references to it. Also, MY GOD, this was really, really difficult.

'Can I come in?' says Noel, once the others have passed them in the corridor and they're left in privacy.

There's some confusing linkage going on here. That link goes to my journal, and the link there goes to the fic, which is on InsaneJournal due to my paranoia and mistrust of LJ at the moment. If you don't have an IJ but still want to comment, you can do that on my journal, and I'm disabling comments on this entry here to (hopefully) minimise further confusion. *phew* Sorry if that made your brain explode; I wish I could find a simpler way to do this.

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 04:15:22 GMT

This one, unlike the other fics I've been posting, is not old. Quite the contrary; it is very new indeed; I wrote it just the other day, and really am quite fond of it.

Title: Shuffled Off
Author: Culumacilinte
Pairing: Noel Fielding/X (X being the persona Chris Corner takes on with IAMX)
Rating: R
Summary: Noel dreams...
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all! Noel and Chris belong to themselves, and X is Chris’s creation. Anyone else mentioned in the fic- Julian, Sue, Russell- also are property of themselves. I’m making no money with this, only me own perverse pleasure.
Warning: A wee bit of S&M, featuring a sub!Noel with a thing for pain. If that’s not your cuppa, consider yourself warned.
Author’s Note: This is set during one of IAMX’s tours that Noel played bass for; I don’t know when these dates were, only that this did occur at some point. Also, as a point of interest, everything X says is an IAMX lyric

~~~~~~~~~~~

Noel Fielding was lit by a single spotlight amid the oppressive, choking blackness. He had the feeling that there might have been an audience somewhere out in the void, but he could neither hear nor see them. The space (or perhaps non-space would have been a better word) smelt of sex, of dead charcoal and of warm, resinous incense, and Noel’s breath juddered harshly against the heavy dark. Behind him, silver-dark tongue flickering over very white teeth, stood a man who looked very like Chris Corner; dark eyes painted with sweat-smudged eyeliner, thin lips bisected by a single black line, black hair swept artfully across his forehead, crumpled top hat of white velvet perched lazily atop his head. If Noel was all points and sharp angles, this man was even sharper, and he looked like he didn’t care who got cut on him. Smiling a wicked smile, he leaned forward to speak into Noel’s mane of hair.

‘Do you wanna be a sailor?’

Noel shivered as cold, booze-smelling breath whispered against the back of his neck, sending prickles of arousal down his spine. There was that familiar body, so thin here as to be almost skeletal, pressed against his in a way that made Noel feel as though he’d already been violated. Hands crept spider-like over his shoulder, long fingerbones clad in elegantly torn lace gloves caressing Noel’s naked chest, nails scraping against nipples dark and pointed with chill, with excitement and with trepidation.

He was curiously silent here, Noel, save for his ragged breathing, the only sound echoing around in the blackness the sound of this not-Chris’s murmurs, filthy suggestions and disturbing memories swirling in Noel’s brain. This was X, and as much as he might look like Chris Corner, Noel knew he was not. Loved that he was not.

‘‘Cos I’m gonna take you like a sailor,’ came the sibilant whisper, and arousal twisted in Noel’s gut like a snake, heavy and unsettling. His mind was still trying to wrap itself around the words, but his body pressed backwards into the strange strength, into muscles stretched tight over bones, and he heard a wrenched moan escape his own throat.

‘God, yes...’

He was a whore for X, moaning and wanting it; he always was. There was a chuckle behind him, high and strangely fey, and one of those pale insect-hands swept through his hair, tangling amid ink black, pulling his head to one side and baring the long curve of his neck, the ridge of his collarbone. He struggled, just a little; just enough to make a point about it, enough to incense X, whose teeth showed in little needle-points between painted lips.

‘Ahh,’ he breathed; a recognition, a challenge, a sigh of satisfaction, and Noel echoed him somewhere in the back of his throat. The sound hung in the air for a moment until, with the greatest care and deliberation, X leaned forward and sank his teeth into the knotted muscle at the base of Noel’s neck. He arched wildly, his mouth open in a voiceless ‘o’, one hand fisted in X’s sweat-damp hair.

It hurt. Oh, oh it hurt like death and like sex and maybe a little like love, and Noel loved it. A whine tripped from his lips, sounding like a wounded animal, and X pulled away with a satisfied smirk, pressing a swift kiss to the place where he had bitten and leaving a smear of shocking scarlet. He didn’t bother to lick it away or clean it up; instead, he ran a finger across the gore-slicked skin and brought it to Noel’s lips, the tip painted vermillion. The finger disappeared into Noel’s mouth with an audible groan and he suckled at it like a babe on the teat, pathetically desperate. X chuckled.

‘You’re living but you’ve got no soul.’ He intoned against Noel’s ear, and in his head, the lyric completed itself: You captivate but you hold no weight at all. He didn’t feel like it, though; he felt as heavy as if he contained whole universes inside himself as he sagged against X, who was supporting him apparently without any effort at all.

Those hands which had been skating over his chest a moment before, viciously twisting at his nipples, slid down the plane of Noel’s belly- god, they were cold- snapping open the fastenings of his trousers and reaching inside. Without the slightest bit of preamble, one long, pale hand closed around his cock, and Noel exhaled a long, quavering moan, his fingers working spastically at his sides and his hips twitching into the touch. X was jerking him off with such violence that Noel’s eyes, though they were wide and glassy, saw almost nothing at all.

‘Does the punishment fit?’

The voice hissed against his ear, the sibilant ‘s’s harsh, loud and uncomfortably wet against his skin, and Noel found himself shaking his head. His voice was low and broken and breathless as it murmured, over and over again:

‘No, no; please, just... anything, god, please...’

X’s laugh was darker now, and he stepped back, releasing his grip on Noel’s prick. He made a little noise of protest, wanting the contact renewed, but X gave him a little shove and Noel fell to the floor. He caught himself on his hands and knees, and his eyes closed momentarily in blissful anticipation before he looked over his shoulders at the figure now standing above him. Painted lips quirked in a cruel little smile and lazily, X snapped one of his braces against his chest, the sound harsh and finite as he looked appraisingly down at Noel.

‘I’m at your feet,’ he murmured ironically, and ran one sharp fingernail down Noel’s back, tracing the stairway of his spine. Noel bit back a moan.

It hurt when X entered him; it hurt like hell; more than it ever did in reality, more even than his first time had done. A brutal spike of knifing, white-hot pain that sent dots dancing before his eyes like the spangles X wore on his cheeks. He swallowed hard at the ache of it, feeling the hot wetness of tears on his cheeks as X moved inside him. There was no shame in it, though, as there would be with anyone else; X expected tears, expected pain, but that didn’t stop him jeering when the little noises Noel was making turned from pained whimpers into short pants and groans of pleasure.

‘Imagine hurt.’ A pointed thrust, sharp stick-fingers digging into Noel’s hips. There would be bruises later, shimmering with glass-dust glitter. Noel groaned again, rocking back against the intrusion; wanting it, welcoming it. X growled against his spine, lips limning a heated path across the skin.

‘Imagine- tears.’

X buried himself cruelly inside Noel, finding an angle that sent a fresh wave of perfect agony through him, and indeed tears did spring once again to his eyes as if on command.

‘He opens up,’ X panted, his movements becoming more frantic, his normally smooth voice suddenly ragged, ‘until he disappears.’

Disappears.

Noel pressed backwards frenetically, meeting X’s thrusts with masochistic need. He was close; so close, he could feel it clenching desperately in his belly, increasing with every hurt X did him. Pleasure like the most potent crack imaginable, shivering and twitching in his muscles, in the ache of his knees against the floor, spiralling insanely in his brain and body.

It was not long until he reached his finish, coming with a series of sharp gasps, head back and mouth open like a porn star as he spilled himself into the darkness. Above him, utterly unconcerned for Noel’s comfort, X continued, riding him hard until he too came, the only noise he made a long, satisfied growl, and Noel felt suddenly and unaccountably filthy at the sensation of heat spilt inside him. A moment or several passed and then X finally pulled out; Noel grimaced at the slow, slick feeling of hot wetness running down his thighs.

‘Cunt,’ X murmured at him, but there was something almost like affection in his voice- or, at the very least, amusement.

Wasted and spent, Noel slumped to the floor, his hand trailing out of the spotlit circle into the darkness beyond, delicate fingers cut off at the tips. Behind him, X’s breathing was heavy, and Noel could hear and feel the rattle of his thin chest as it rose and fell. Unthinking, he burrowed into the other body, spooning up against him as though he were Julian or Russell or even Chris himself; any other ordinary man with whom it would be natural to cuddle after fucking. But X laughed; a quiet sound not exactly malevolent, but certainly unsettling.

‘Are we pretending, Noel?’ He asked, ‘‘Cos I like pretending.’

Noel shivered against X, whose long arms crept around him in some twisted parody of an embrace. He wanted to speak, but found a slender white finger at his lips when he made to. X shook his head ever so slightly, one stringy strand of hair unsticking itself from his forehead. He looked strangely serious, and his eyes were huge.

‘This will make you love again,’ he said quietly, and in an instant, Noel awoke.

His eyes blinked open in the darkness. He was curled in the seat of a coach, his knees tucked up to his chest, resting against the seat in front of him, his head leaned back, hair all over his face. Under him he felt the vague, comforting purr of the engine, buzzing up through his limbs. Dragging himself into wakefulness, he pulled away from the window, clammy and chill with condensation, where his cheek had been stuck to it. Beside him lay a sketchbook, open to a page covered in strange, gothic monsters doodled in biro. He felt warm and stiff, with only a hint of that curious, cold arousal still tracing through his veins. Lit by the muted blue glow of the neons highlighting the aisle, Noel could see the dim figures of Janine, of Edward and their road crew, and there, across from him and a few seats up, Chris sat slumped in sleep, Sue’s head resting contentedly on his shoulder, his thin arm pulled protectively around her. Faint snores issued from his parted lips.

Noel swallowed and looked away. Chris was out of his X clothes now; they had been replaced with a pair of jeans, one of Sue’s band shirts, and bare feet, but in the shifting orange light of streetlights as they passed them, Noel could still see traces of black around his closed eyes, and the striped silk scarf hung loose and untied around his neck. He shifted restlessly, looking pointedly away from the pair of them and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling, eyes half-heartedly following the plush patterns there.

The radio was playing quietly- something to keep the driver awake, he supposed- and Noel could hear the faint strains of something smooth and sixties-sounding; Marvin Gaye or the Temptations- something like that. But in his head, he could still hear Chris’s voice, feel the pounding beat of his own bass line, still see the manic, flashing lights of tonight’s gig, still taste on his lips the blood of his dream-self.

Three way, freeway, take me like a sailor.
Three way, freeway, wanna be a sailor?

A quick step, boy girl love me like you love her.
A knee-jerk, slow work, wanna be a sailor?

He wasn’t in love with Chris; no, it was nothing quite so perfect and poetic as that, nor was it a case of lusting after the character but not the man. No, Noel just couldn’t get the lyrics out of his head.

That was all.