New fic: "Canvas of Desire"
Aug. 8th, 2009 11:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneI was also a pinch hitter at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
weasley_fest, and here's the short Ron/Dean vignette I also contributed. The art in the banner is by makani.
Title: Canvas of Desire
Rating hard R
Featured Character or Pairing(s): Ron/Dean
Summary: Sometimes fantasy does become reality.
Word Count: 2,772
Author's notes: Thank you to my betas:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
emansil_08, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brumeux77 and emeraldsedai (who also introduced me to Google Docs!). Also thanks to my recipient, whose request was deliciously vague. But any prompt of 'Ron is sexy' is enough to get my imagination going!
Dean noticed Ron's shoulders beginning to sag, so he glanced at his watch. Sure enough, he'd been painting for over an hour and a half. It was time to call it a night.
"You nearly ready to quit posing?" he asked and Ron smiled, his posture straightening as he rolled his shoulders.
"Yeah. Before you got me involved in these, I never would have dreamed that sitting or standing still could be so tiring."
"It's a brutal business, art," Dean said, laughing.
"Too right!" Ron grinned and eased the lurid green surfboard he'd been holding down to the floor. "Hour after hour of hanging out with you, wearing almost nothing but my pride—"
"There was the one wetsuit," Dean interrupted, waving a paintbrush for emphasis.
"Yes, there was," Ron concurred. "The rest of the time it's just been tiny bathers. This is Britain. The water's fucking freezing! Maybe if it were an Australian company…"
Not that I've minded seeing you in nothing but a Speedo, Dean thought to himself. He puttered with his paints and brushes while Ron unselfconsciously stripped out of the suit before putting on his usual attire. The baggy jeans and rugby shirt hid his memorable physique. It was about to drive Dean mad, spending week after week with Ron mostly in a state of undress, sharing jokes and easygoing camaraderie, when Dean wanted so much more than that. He knew Ron was gay because he'd seen him at Scotsman's Pride. It turned out that it had been their first visit for both of them, but Dean hadn't been back. From what Ron had said while posing and then sharing a couple of pints at the Belligerent Badger with Seamus and him, Ron wasn't involved with anyone. To Dean, this was an absolute travesty.
"I'll firecall Seamus," Dean said as Ron sat down to lace up his trainers.
"All right," Ron said amiably, his lopsided smile causing heat to flood Dean's chest before settling far lower.
Dean walked into his small living room, adjusting his jeans, and then cast an Incendio in the fireplace.
"Seamus? Shay?" he called, and was surprised to see Seamus' girlfriend appear in front of their fireplace. "Oh, hi, Sabrina."
"Hi, Dean." She sank down to her knees, looking apologetic. "Seamus is sick, just a bit of food poisoning, I'm afraid. I went to visit my mum for a couple of days, and he decided to eat something dodgy out of the fridge. He should be able to meet you next week, though."
"Thanks! Tell him I hope he's better soon."
"I will." She smiled at him and gave him a small wave before standing up.
Dean backed away from his fireplace and put out the flames. In a way, he didn't mind at all that Seamus couldn't make it; maybe he could test the waters and see if Ron might have feelings for him beyond friends. Merlin knew he'd been wanking to images of Ron for weeks now, and the more time they spent together, the more he realised how attracted he was to the man he'd become. Ron was quite compelling in every way, not just his toned, long body and mouth-watering package.
"He going to meet us at the Badger?" Ron asked, carding his fingers through his hair.
"No. He's sick. Food poisoning."
"Must have tried cooking for himself," Ron said wryly, and Dean laughed aloud at how observant Ron was.
"That's exactly right! So it'll just be us."
"Nothing wrong with that. Come on, I'm thirsty."
Ron draped his arm over Dean's shoulders and affectionately squeezed his arm. Dean's pulse sped up at their proximity and the novelty of their similar heights. Standing just over six feet simply wasn't all that common in the Wizarding world. Ron moved away to let Dean turn out the lights and then lock up the flat. The Belligerent Badger was several miles away in an easterly section of Wizarding London, so they Apparated to a spot a block away from the pub. As they walked, Ron regaled Dean about one of the other apprentices in the Broommaker's Guild where Ron was in his second year of study.
"Are there very many companies to work for, once you've finished?" Dean asked as they got their pints and then sat at a booth. "It seems awfully specialised, what you're doing."
"It is," Ron agreed, taking a deep swallow of his pint. Dean found his gaze captivated by Ron's long fingers, wondering how they would feel intertwined with his own, or gripping his arse…
"I may end up working overseas, at least at first," Ron went on, oblivious to the wishful erotic fantasy playing out in Dean's imagination. "But being an artist isn't exactly a common profession either."
"You're an artist, too?" Dean spoke before thinking and then realised how stupid he sounded.
"No." A playful grin slid onto Ron's lips before he took another drink. "You are. You seem to be off in another world. Am I boring you, talking about my apprenticeship?"
"No, no, of course not!" Dean exclaimed, impulsively reaching out to place his hand on Ron's in reassurance. He paused, his fingers covering Ron's, staring at the contrast of dark and light skin. Slowly he lifted his gaze, uncertain what expression he would see in Ron's face.
"Is something else on your mind, then?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe not to do with brooms, or painting, or the Muggle football you've managed to get me obsessed with?" He turned his hand so that their palms rested together before stretching his fingers so they slid in between Dean's. Dean let his fingers grasp hold of Ron's, and saw Ron's expression become heated.
"You—" Dean began, but his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat. "You're actually interested? In me?" he clarified, watching Ron's mouth as his lower teeth tugged his upper lip.
"Well, um, yeah." Ron seemed uncertain. "I was hoping that the weekly show of me having my kit off, at least briefly, was somewhat appealing to you. But I might not be your type at all."
"I don't have a type," Dean said, swallowing hard. His mouth had gone dry and his heart began racing as he realised his hopes might well become reality. "I just thought you weren't modest. I've been, well, I have a pretty active imagination, and you're really fucking sexy." The words came out in a low voice. Blood roared in his ears as he thought back to how many nights he'd brought himself off, envisioning the two of them in countless scenarios.
"Thanks. The same goes for you, you know." Ron's voice had roughened, and he ran his thumb alongside Dean's, the light touch causing a shiver of delight down Dean's spine. "I'd thought about asking you to go to that club again, but then I thought about you getting chatted up by someone else, and it didn't seem appealing anymore."
"You've been pretty much a regular in my wanking life," Dean admitted, feeling a flush creep up his neck. "I can't believe— all this time? Merlin!" He shook his head.
"Well, how about we finish our pints and go back to your place. But not to paint," Ron said, bringing their clasped hands to his lips and kissing Dean's knuckles. "You've got me at a disadvantage. You know what I look like, but I only have memories from Hogwarts, when you were sixteen. I want to discover your body, inside and out."
"Oh fuck," Dean breathed, feeling his cock begin to throb.
"I hope so."
Ron squeezed his fingers before letting them loose, glancing meaningfully around the pub. They were in a back booth that wouldn't attract attention, but Dean knew it made sense to be discreet. There were plenty of gay wizards, but their society wasn't very accepting, especially if you flaunted it in front of people who thought being gay was abnormal. He and Ron had commiserated about that, back when they'd discovered each other's preferences.
He watched Ron's Adam's apple bob as he took a couple of swallows of his ale, and felt his nerves buzz with anticipation. He would be able to kiss the throat he'd painted in various poses, run his tongue along miles of freckled skin and bury his face in the tantalising crisp auburn curls between his legs. Dean gazed at Ron, and from the lusty look in Ron's eyes, he was being mentally undressed as well. That thought sent another jolt of interest to his cock, and he shifted on the cushioned bench.
"What kind of a lover would you say you are?" Ron asked quietly before draining his glass.
Dean finished his own pint and wiped at his lips. "Well, I've not been with that many guys, to be honest. I've not had any complaints, though," he said with a shrug. "I'd be willing to try a fair amount, especially with you. I trust you. I mean, I've known you since we were eleven."
Ron fixed him with another quirked smile, and Dean realised he'd really fallen for Ron, despite telling himself it was just a crush that would go away as soon as he'd finished the final portrait.
"I'm not that kinky, if that's what you mean." Ron slid out from his seat and put on his jacket, his eyes drifting down to Dean's groin before focussing back on his face.
"Well, I do have some edible paint," Dean murmured as he put on his own coat, a long vintage one he'd bought when he'd sold his first painting. "I've not had anybody to try it with."
"Until now," Ron said in a low voice.
Dean shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from pulling Ron to him and grinding against him, there and then.
"Until now," he echoed, tilting his head toward the door. "Let's get out of here before I do something embarrassing or illegal."
Ron's eyes sparkled. "Promises, promises," he said, and Dean's heart stumbled in its beat.
His mind whirled at the thought of the state of his flat: bed unmade, laundry in piles, dishes that needed to be washed. Ron hadn't been in his bedroom before, just the studio, living room and kitchen.
"My room's a bit of a mess," he confided as they stepped outside into the crisp autumn air.
"That's all right," Ron said, striding quickly down the block to the alley where their Apparition point was. "My room's never clean. I don't think I'll be focussing on how tidy it is, anyway."
Once in the alley, Ron stopped and put his hands on Dean's shoulders. He licked his lips before leaning in to kiss him, firm and deep. Dean tasted the bitter ale Ron had been drinking, and a faint hint of cinnamon from gum he'd been chewing earlier. Ron's tongue thrust into his mouth and blood rushed to Dean's erection, already a hard bulge in his jeans. He moaned at the ache of it all, and the knowledge that soon he'd be able to taste every inch of Ron. After a last probing sweep of Ron's hot mouth, Dean broke off the kiss, breathing heavily.
"Want to Side-Along?" he asked, his hands glued to Ron's belt loops.
"Sure," Ron rasped, his expression feral. "Whatever gets us back to your flat. NOW."
"Let's go, then."
Dean forced his focus away from the heaviness between his legs to his flat and regretfully removed one hand so he could grab hold of his wand. There was a crack! and then they were in his bedroom, clawing at each other's clothes.
They moved away long enough to pull off their shirts and peel down their jeans. Dean stood in front of Ron, naked and painfully aroused, realising he was awaiting some kind of judgment. Ron's hot gaze went straight to his cock, travelled up his torso, and then he looked dazedly into his face.
"I can't believe I waited this long," Ron murmured before stepping close to him, running his hands across Dean's chest before anchoring his hands again on his hips.
"No sense in having regrets." Dean circled his arms around Ron's back and pushed against Ron's cock.
"Mmmmmm, no," Ron answered, his large hands moving to Dean's arse, seizing him firmly.
He leaned in, a prurient smile on his lips, and gave Dean a fierce kiss. Dean rutted against Ron's pelvis, delighting in the novelty of feeling his hot flesh slide against Ron's. Ron's tongue delved fast and aggressively, sweeping against his palate and teeth. Dean was drowning, claimed by Ron, but he wanted a chance to savour the moment, so he leaned back enough to nip at Ron's lips. He sucked on his bottom lip, hinting that he wanted to slow down their ferocious speed. More tantalising to shag at the speed of a slow-erupting volcano than an exploding geyser. Dean gratefully found Ron was an intuitive lover and their exploratory slide of tongues simmered to a slow burn. Suddenly Ron pulled away, licking across his front teeth.
"You mentioned edible paint."
"I did. I was going to use it on you. I'm the artist, after all."
Ron's quirked grin caused Dean's cock to twitch, and Ron's grin grew wide.
"I don't think so. You're always painting. Let me use you as the muse for once. Where is it?"
Dean closed his eyes, using his admittedly sub-par wandless magical abilities, and then there was a quiet thump on the bed.
"Brilliant."
Ron gave Dean's arse a last squeeze, then insinuated his hands between them to grasp both stiffnesses.
"Fucking Merlin," Dean said hoarsely, feeling his cock cradled next to Ron's. In the strong hold of Ron's grip, he could feel the pulse of thick veins and each other's racing heartbeats. He groaned at the friction of skin on skin, something he'd imagined so often.
"I'd like you on the bed."
Ron's husky voice seemed to scorch Dean from the inside out; desire branded him.
"Think I need my cock back, first."
Ron rumbled a laugh and loosened his grip. Dean staggered to the bed, scooting the paint out of the way, and burned under Ron's gaze. He held on to his headboard for purchase, wondering why Ron was waiting to join him.
"Something wrong?" Dean asked, anxiety clenching in his gut. Was this all just a cruel joke?
"Just admiring one of your other distinctive features," Ron said in a low voice. He walked over, his erection bobbing like a javelin. "I can't waist to taste your cock," he said, his eyes bright. "But there's something else about you I'm a bit obsessed by."
Confused, Dean thought frantically for a minute. "My eyes?"
"No." Ron stroked Dean's prick until Dean couldn't keep his eyes open and he arched into the touch. "Your hands."
Dean lazily opened his eyes as he felt the paint being squeezed onto his stomach, then his aching shaft.
"Yes," Ron went on. "Very strong, but with such long, expressive fingers. I can't wait— well, I will wait to feel them all over me, in my mouth, my arse, around my cock. Now, though…"
Dean became a human canvas for an artist devoted to his craft. He let himself be carried away by the ecstasy of it. He was daubed, dribbled on, painted affectionately until he couldn't bear it and groaned his release, both violent and vibrant. When his turn came, tired of paint, he explored his former model's body with the thoroughness of a sculptor. He needed to feel, caress, lick and press intimately into every curve, every fissure. More like a mapmaker, Dean learned about each valley, each hidden cave, delving as deeply as a spelunker and memorising what made the exotic land uniquely so. After being buried and then emerging, exhiliratingly sated, he took his turn ministering between Ron's legs until he swallowed down Ron's briny offering. Boneless and sweaty, he lay down at Ron's side, kissing him with slow, bittersalty languor. Finally they rested, Ron intertwining his fingers in the hand Dean now knew he would never look at with the same innocence.
"Well, that was fucking amazing," Ron said, and Dean huffed a laugh.
"Wouldn't want to disappoint with the pent up frustration we both had!"
There was a soft, contented sound in response.
"You're welcome to stay," Dean found himself saying, hearing the tentativeness of his voice. "Tonight, I mean. You don't need to rush off."
Ron turned his head and looked at him, a profound amusement in the depths of his eyes.
"I'd hope not. This model's far from done posing for you."
weasley_fest, and here's the short Ron/Dean vignette I also contributed. The art in the banner is by makani.Title: Canvas of Desire
Rating hard R
Featured Character or Pairing(s): Ron/Dean
Summary: Sometimes fantasy does become reality.
Word Count: 2,772
Author's notes: Thank you to my betas:
emansil_08, brumeux77 and emeraldsedai (who also introduced me to Google Docs!). Also thanks to my recipient, whose request was deliciously vague. But any prompt of 'Ron is sexy' is enough to get my imagination going! Dean noticed Ron's shoulders beginning to sag, so he glanced at his watch. Sure enough, he'd been painting for over an hour and a half. It was time to call it a night.
"You nearly ready to quit posing?" he asked and Ron smiled, his posture straightening as he rolled his shoulders.
"Yeah. Before you got me involved in these, I never would have dreamed that sitting or standing still could be so tiring."
"It's a brutal business, art," Dean said, laughing.
"Too right!" Ron grinned and eased the lurid green surfboard he'd been holding down to the floor. "Hour after hour of hanging out with you, wearing almost nothing but my pride—"
"There was the one wetsuit," Dean interrupted, waving a paintbrush for emphasis.
"Yes, there was," Ron concurred. "The rest of the time it's just been tiny bathers. This is Britain. The water's fucking freezing! Maybe if it were an Australian company…"
Not that I've minded seeing you in nothing but a Speedo, Dean thought to himself. He puttered with his paints and brushes while Ron unselfconsciously stripped out of the suit before putting on his usual attire. The baggy jeans and rugby shirt hid his memorable physique. It was about to drive Dean mad, spending week after week with Ron mostly in a state of undress, sharing jokes and easygoing camaraderie, when Dean wanted so much more than that. He knew Ron was gay because he'd seen him at Scotsman's Pride. It turned out that it had been their first visit for both of them, but Dean hadn't been back. From what Ron had said while posing and then sharing a couple of pints at the Belligerent Badger with Seamus and him, Ron wasn't involved with anyone. To Dean, this was an absolute travesty.
"I'll firecall Seamus," Dean said as Ron sat down to lace up his trainers.
"All right," Ron said amiably, his lopsided smile causing heat to flood Dean's chest before settling far lower.
Dean walked into his small living room, adjusting his jeans, and then cast an Incendio in the fireplace.
"Seamus? Shay?" he called, and was surprised to see Seamus' girlfriend appear in front of their fireplace. "Oh, hi, Sabrina."
"Hi, Dean." She sank down to her knees, looking apologetic. "Seamus is sick, just a bit of food poisoning, I'm afraid. I went to visit my mum for a couple of days, and he decided to eat something dodgy out of the fridge. He should be able to meet you next week, though."
"Thanks! Tell him I hope he's better soon."
"I will." She smiled at him and gave him a small wave before standing up.
Dean backed away from his fireplace and put out the flames. In a way, he didn't mind at all that Seamus couldn't make it; maybe he could test the waters and see if Ron might have feelings for him beyond friends. Merlin knew he'd been wanking to images of Ron for weeks now, and the more time they spent together, the more he realised how attracted he was to the man he'd become. Ron was quite compelling in every way, not just his toned, long body and mouth-watering package.
"He going to meet us at the Badger?" Ron asked, carding his fingers through his hair.
"No. He's sick. Food poisoning."
"Must have tried cooking for himself," Ron said wryly, and Dean laughed aloud at how observant Ron was.
"That's exactly right! So it'll just be us."
"Nothing wrong with that. Come on, I'm thirsty."
Ron draped his arm over Dean's shoulders and affectionately squeezed his arm. Dean's pulse sped up at their proximity and the novelty of their similar heights. Standing just over six feet simply wasn't all that common in the Wizarding world. Ron moved away to let Dean turn out the lights and then lock up the flat. The Belligerent Badger was several miles away in an easterly section of Wizarding London, so they Apparated to a spot a block away from the pub. As they walked, Ron regaled Dean about one of the other apprentices in the Broommaker's Guild where Ron was in his second year of study.
"Are there very many companies to work for, once you've finished?" Dean asked as they got their pints and then sat at a booth. "It seems awfully specialised, what you're doing."
"It is," Ron agreed, taking a deep swallow of his pint. Dean found his gaze captivated by Ron's long fingers, wondering how they would feel intertwined with his own, or gripping his arse…
"I may end up working overseas, at least at first," Ron went on, oblivious to the wishful erotic fantasy playing out in Dean's imagination. "But being an artist isn't exactly a common profession either."
"You're an artist, too?" Dean spoke before thinking and then realised how stupid he sounded.
"No." A playful grin slid onto Ron's lips before he took another drink. "You are. You seem to be off in another world. Am I boring you, talking about my apprenticeship?"
"No, no, of course not!" Dean exclaimed, impulsively reaching out to place his hand on Ron's in reassurance. He paused, his fingers covering Ron's, staring at the contrast of dark and light skin. Slowly he lifted his gaze, uncertain what expression he would see in Ron's face.
"Is something else on your mind, then?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe not to do with brooms, or painting, or the Muggle football you've managed to get me obsessed with?" He turned his hand so that their palms rested together before stretching his fingers so they slid in between Dean's. Dean let his fingers grasp hold of Ron's, and saw Ron's expression become heated.
"You—" Dean began, but his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat. "You're actually interested? In me?" he clarified, watching Ron's mouth as his lower teeth tugged his upper lip.
"Well, um, yeah." Ron seemed uncertain. "I was hoping that the weekly show of me having my kit off, at least briefly, was somewhat appealing to you. But I might not be your type at all."
"I don't have a type," Dean said, swallowing hard. His mouth had gone dry and his heart began racing as he realised his hopes might well become reality. "I just thought you weren't modest. I've been, well, I have a pretty active imagination, and you're really fucking sexy." The words came out in a low voice. Blood roared in his ears as he thought back to how many nights he'd brought himself off, envisioning the two of them in countless scenarios.
"Thanks. The same goes for you, you know." Ron's voice had roughened, and he ran his thumb alongside Dean's, the light touch causing a shiver of delight down Dean's spine. "I'd thought about asking you to go to that club again, but then I thought about you getting chatted up by someone else, and it didn't seem appealing anymore."
"You've been pretty much a regular in my wanking life," Dean admitted, feeling a flush creep up his neck. "I can't believe— all this time? Merlin!" He shook his head.
"Well, how about we finish our pints and go back to your place. But not to paint," Ron said, bringing their clasped hands to his lips and kissing Dean's knuckles. "You've got me at a disadvantage. You know what I look like, but I only have memories from Hogwarts, when you were sixteen. I want to discover your body, inside and out."
"Oh fuck," Dean breathed, feeling his cock begin to throb.
"I hope so."
Ron squeezed his fingers before letting them loose, glancing meaningfully around the pub. They were in a back booth that wouldn't attract attention, but Dean knew it made sense to be discreet. There were plenty of gay wizards, but their society wasn't very accepting, especially if you flaunted it in front of people who thought being gay was abnormal. He and Ron had commiserated about that, back when they'd discovered each other's preferences.
He watched Ron's Adam's apple bob as he took a couple of swallows of his ale, and felt his nerves buzz with anticipation. He would be able to kiss the throat he'd painted in various poses, run his tongue along miles of freckled skin and bury his face in the tantalising crisp auburn curls between his legs. Dean gazed at Ron, and from the lusty look in Ron's eyes, he was being mentally undressed as well. That thought sent another jolt of interest to his cock, and he shifted on the cushioned bench.
"What kind of a lover would you say you are?" Ron asked quietly before draining his glass.
Dean finished his own pint and wiped at his lips. "Well, I've not been with that many guys, to be honest. I've not had any complaints, though," he said with a shrug. "I'd be willing to try a fair amount, especially with you. I trust you. I mean, I've known you since we were eleven."
Ron fixed him with another quirked smile, and Dean realised he'd really fallen for Ron, despite telling himself it was just a crush that would go away as soon as he'd finished the final portrait.
"I'm not that kinky, if that's what you mean." Ron slid out from his seat and put on his jacket, his eyes drifting down to Dean's groin before focussing back on his face.
"Well, I do have some edible paint," Dean murmured as he put on his own coat, a long vintage one he'd bought when he'd sold his first painting. "I've not had anybody to try it with."
"Until now," Ron said in a low voice.
Dean shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from pulling Ron to him and grinding against him, there and then.
"Until now," he echoed, tilting his head toward the door. "Let's get out of here before I do something embarrassing or illegal."
Ron's eyes sparkled. "Promises, promises," he said, and Dean's heart stumbled in its beat.
His mind whirled at the thought of the state of his flat: bed unmade, laundry in piles, dishes that needed to be washed. Ron hadn't been in his bedroom before, just the studio, living room and kitchen.
"My room's a bit of a mess," he confided as they stepped outside into the crisp autumn air.
"That's all right," Ron said, striding quickly down the block to the alley where their Apparition point was. "My room's never clean. I don't think I'll be focussing on how tidy it is, anyway."
Once in the alley, Ron stopped and put his hands on Dean's shoulders. He licked his lips before leaning in to kiss him, firm and deep. Dean tasted the bitter ale Ron had been drinking, and a faint hint of cinnamon from gum he'd been chewing earlier. Ron's tongue thrust into his mouth and blood rushed to Dean's erection, already a hard bulge in his jeans. He moaned at the ache of it all, and the knowledge that soon he'd be able to taste every inch of Ron. After a last probing sweep of Ron's hot mouth, Dean broke off the kiss, breathing heavily.
"Want to Side-Along?" he asked, his hands glued to Ron's belt loops.
"Sure," Ron rasped, his expression feral. "Whatever gets us back to your flat. NOW."
"Let's go, then."
Dean forced his focus away from the heaviness between his legs to his flat and regretfully removed one hand so he could grab hold of his wand. There was a crack! and then they were in his bedroom, clawing at each other's clothes.
They moved away long enough to pull off their shirts and peel down their jeans. Dean stood in front of Ron, naked and painfully aroused, realising he was awaiting some kind of judgment. Ron's hot gaze went straight to his cock, travelled up his torso, and then he looked dazedly into his face.
"I can't believe I waited this long," Ron murmured before stepping close to him, running his hands across Dean's chest before anchoring his hands again on his hips.
"No sense in having regrets." Dean circled his arms around Ron's back and pushed against Ron's cock.
"Mmmmmm, no," Ron answered, his large hands moving to Dean's arse, seizing him firmly.
He leaned in, a prurient smile on his lips, and gave Dean a fierce kiss. Dean rutted against Ron's pelvis, delighting in the novelty of feeling his hot flesh slide against Ron's. Ron's tongue delved fast and aggressively, sweeping against his palate and teeth. Dean was drowning, claimed by Ron, but he wanted a chance to savour the moment, so he leaned back enough to nip at Ron's lips. He sucked on his bottom lip, hinting that he wanted to slow down their ferocious speed. More tantalising to shag at the speed of a slow-erupting volcano than an exploding geyser. Dean gratefully found Ron was an intuitive lover and their exploratory slide of tongues simmered to a slow burn. Suddenly Ron pulled away, licking across his front teeth.
"You mentioned edible paint."
"I did. I was going to use it on you. I'm the artist, after all."
Ron's quirked grin caused Dean's cock to twitch, and Ron's grin grew wide.
"I don't think so. You're always painting. Let me use you as the muse for once. Where is it?"
Dean closed his eyes, using his admittedly sub-par wandless magical abilities, and then there was a quiet thump on the bed.
"Brilliant."
Ron gave Dean's arse a last squeeze, then insinuated his hands between them to grasp both stiffnesses.
"Fucking Merlin," Dean said hoarsely, feeling his cock cradled next to Ron's. In the strong hold of Ron's grip, he could feel the pulse of thick veins and each other's racing heartbeats. He groaned at the friction of skin on skin, something he'd imagined so often.
"I'd like you on the bed."
Ron's husky voice seemed to scorch Dean from the inside out; desire branded him.
"Think I need my cock back, first."
Ron rumbled a laugh and loosened his grip. Dean staggered to the bed, scooting the paint out of the way, and burned under Ron's gaze. He held on to his headboard for purchase, wondering why Ron was waiting to join him.
"Something wrong?" Dean asked, anxiety clenching in his gut. Was this all just a cruel joke?
"Just admiring one of your other distinctive features," Ron said in a low voice. He walked over, his erection bobbing like a javelin. "I can't waist to taste your cock," he said, his eyes bright. "But there's something else about you I'm a bit obsessed by."
Confused, Dean thought frantically for a minute. "My eyes?"
"No." Ron stroked Dean's prick until Dean couldn't keep his eyes open and he arched into the touch. "Your hands."
Dean lazily opened his eyes as he felt the paint being squeezed onto his stomach, then his aching shaft.
"Yes," Ron went on. "Very strong, but with such long, expressive fingers. I can't wait— well, I will wait to feel them all over me, in my mouth, my arse, around my cock. Now, though…"
Dean became a human canvas for an artist devoted to his craft. He let himself be carried away by the ecstasy of it. He was daubed, dribbled on, painted affectionately until he couldn't bear it and groaned his release, both violent and vibrant. When his turn came, tired of paint, he explored his former model's body with the thoroughness of a sculptor. He needed to feel, caress, lick and press intimately into every curve, every fissure. More like a mapmaker, Dean learned about each valley, each hidden cave, delving as deeply as a spelunker and memorising what made the exotic land uniquely so. After being buried and then emerging, exhiliratingly sated, he took his turn ministering between Ron's legs until he swallowed down Ron's briny offering. Boneless and sweaty, he lay down at Ron's side, kissing him with slow, bittersalty languor. Finally they rested, Ron intertwining his fingers in the hand Dean now knew he would never look at with the same innocence.
"Well, that was fucking amazing," Ron said, and Dean huffed a laugh.
"Wouldn't want to disappoint with the pent up frustration we both had!"
There was a soft, contented sound in response.
"You're welcome to stay," Dean found himself saying, hearing the tentativeness of his voice. "Tonight, I mean. You don't need to rush off."
Ron turned his head and looked at him, a profound amusement in the depths of his eyes.
"I'd hope not. This model's far from done posing for you."
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Canvas of Desire
Date: 2009-08-19 01:42 am (UTC)These two fit together so well. Ron posing...Mmmmm!
Love this!
Re: Canvas of Desire
Date: 2009-08-20 05:58 am (UTC)Thank you for reading, sweetie!
XOX
Re: Canvas of Desire
Date: 2009-08-20 08:25 pm (UTC)Re: Canvas of Desire
Date: 2009-08-21 06:17 am (UTC)And boy is it hard to concentrate with that icon! A man undoing his jeans and a nice package underneath. How am I supposed to reply??
Re: Canvas of Desire
Date: 2009-08-21 09:30 am (UTC)Yours is fantastic. :D