RPF 911
(Open, Moderated, Anonymous)
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Summary
“You know, I always thought it would be cool knowing what my own dick felt like,” Buck says, voice fucked out and breathy as Eddie works him open, two fingers buried deep in his ass, stretching him for Oliver’s cock.
After Eddie, Buck was sure he’d never want to be filled by another person, but this might be the sole exception.
“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me at all,” Oliver murmurs, sucking a wet path up Buck’s neck, grazing his teeth in a way that makes Buck shiver. A sensitive spot they share. “You’re a bit of a freak, you know that, Buck?”
“You’re the one who’s about to fuck the character you play,” Ryan points out, sending Oliver a teasing look from his spot on Buck’s other side. He’s got his hand wrapped around Buck’s cock, the exact size, shape and colour as Oliver’s, that enjoys being jerked in the same way, while Buck has a hand wrapped around Oliver’s cock, the exact size, shape and colour as Buck’s.
It’s a bit of a head fuck.
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“You're good at it,” Oliver says. “Dancing.” Ryan shoots him a look that says something like duh, one eyebrow raised, and it's not like he's wrong. But for the past two hours there's been nothing on Oliver's mind except Ryan's stupid-hot legs, so maybe he can be excused for momentarily forgetting about the whole Step Up thing.
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It gets even worse when Ryan lurches from the ground and flies onto the couch. He wiggles around on his back, hips writhing in the air, then flips to his front. Oliver wants to grab him. He wants to tug Ryan’s hips until he leaves bruises and he wants to bite the bare skin of his thighs until he’s pink and red. He wants Ryan squirming not because of the music but because of Oliver’s touch. He wants and he wants and he wants and he thinks the wanting might bowl him over this time.
OR: Oliver stays to watch the Risky Business scene.
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“The mustache has been getting you hot?” Ryan asks, but it’s a statement, a true one, he knows, “This whole time?” And he grins, a smirk, smug and satisfied and sure.
The blue of Oliver’s eyes has shrunk to a sliver, and they flash with the silver of an oncoming storm at the provocation. “Fuck,” he spits out, and then, words turned breathy, “You’re such a bloody tease.”
Ryan has a second to grin wider, pleased beyond words, before Oliver wrests the upper hand from him, by dropping to his knees.
Or: Oliver wants something before the mustache is shaved. Ryan gives it to him.
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Summary
One of Ryan’s hands slides up Oliver’s torso, over his shirt, until it’s grasping the base of his throat.
“Can’t help but notice there’s a lot of focus on the fangs.” Ryan punctuates this with a small nip at the curve of Oliver’s neck, and Oliver is powerless to stop the moan that comes out of him.
“Mmm, yea, I thought so, baby.”
Oliver melts.