Done Right



"Life is all memory except for the one present moment that goes by you so quick you hardly catch it going." ~Tennessee Williams.

The play had been bloody exhausting and Sean didn't know if he'd ever been so tired, except maybe in New Zealand. He could hear the mirriad of fans through the flimsy fire escape door and was contemplating staying where he was. Aching bone after aching bone creaked as he moved around backstage, gathering together his belongings. He was alone in the theatre and it felt kind of eerie; He remembered all the old ghost stories he'd heard about the place with its echoing wings and draughty corridors. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

It took a moment to realise that it wasn't the mythology of the building in which he was standing that was making his spine tingle and his insides flutter with apprehension. There was someone behind him. Watching him. He knew who it was, only one person in all the world could make him feel like that; Like any order he'd ever put to his life was about to be torn apart and disregarded with reckless abandon.

He hadn't known Marton was even coming to see him in the play full stop, let alone opening night. He sighed and turned around, his aching vanishing and being replaced by a deep seated hunger.

"You brought champagne?" It wasn't so much a question as an ice-breaker. Sean could very well see that he'd brought champagne.

Marton nodded, not saying much else besides letting a grin spread evenly across his face; This wasn't an innocent visit. It had no intention of ever being an innocent visit. Sean shifted nervously, thrusting a hand deep into his pocket and concentrating on the noise of the girls waiting for him outside that hopelessly small division. He couldn't quite remember why they were there now, though. There'd never been any girls around before, but then they'd never been in a theatre together before. Alone.

"Anyone else around in this place?" Marton asked, walking forwards and placing the bottle down on the nearest table with a heavy thud. Mind reader. Sean shook his head and put down the coat he was holding, placing it evenly over the back of a chair.

His hand reached for the familiar fabric of Marton's jacket and he shut his eyes.


"Is sex dirty? Only if it's done right." - Woody Allen

Rain thrums heavily against the glass of the window, it feels misplaced with the thick steamy air that burns a fire into his skin. Tapping rain as rhythmic as the fingers skittering over tender flesh; Flesh begging for more yet screaming for an end to the torture. Nerves shot to pieces like wood being shattered with the gleaming edge of an axe.

He struggles, writhing under the intense exploration. How did he get here? What's he waiting for? He knows there had been a ring on the doorbell, he remembers hearing it clearly slicing through the noise of all the guys trying to light the barbeque in the back yard. In the rain, which was a shockingly stupid thing to be trying to do in the first place, but it never stopped them. That's about as far as his memory gets before there's shocking cold making contact with his skin and he has to stop thinking because...He's not sure why but he does.

Brilliant white against his flesh and he wishes he had more control, but he doesn't and he grabs frantically at Marton's head, pushing his kiss swollen lips towards the cream smothered skin of his stomach. Desert; that's what he'd come round for. He remembers that and almost laughs aloud at the thought of it. It might not be the best idea to laugh and so he concentrates on the tongue playing with the cream on his stomach, doodling patterns and nipping at the skin near his bellybutton, he lets out a sigh.

He hadn't anticipated the noise that leaps out of his mouth when the exploring lips grasp at a nipple and it almost sounds like he's desperate. //Wait//, he tells himself, //you are desperate//. He wraps his legs around Marton's waist, without really meaning to. Both the sensitive nubs of flesh have been played with now, teased beyond a joke and covered with melting cream from the can he'd brought with him and brandished at Sean as soon as the front door had been opened. He's very hot and not sure just how much he likes all the food-based teasing they've been going through recently.

It's almost a bit on the smutty side.

He feels the need to reverse the roles sometime, but he doesn't think it would work quite as well the other way around and so he just carries on waiting. Arching upwards at the smallest of touches and watching with rapt enthusiasm as the tongue dips lower and lower, closer and closer towards its' target, hotter and hotter, burning further into Sean and finally making contact with the head of his cock. Lapping at the drizzle of pre-cum that's already there.

Sean moans. A loud moan, a keening moan. He doesn't even have the presence of mind any more to hope none of the others heard. He couldn't give a shit if they did, actually.

Breathing's hard and, he doesn't know about Marton, but he could do with opening that window that he'd been looking out of only twenty minutes before. That's a very unsexy thing to be thinking, he never did get the hang of the sex talk and such. Instead they both keep quiet, vocally, and the only sounds do turn out to be fairly hot. Sean concentrates on Marton's lips again.

He seems to be going around in circles and now he's had enough. He wants more than a dabbling lick and suck. Dipping his fingers into the cream, he pulls at Marton's hair again, slipping his finger into Marton's mouth and bringing him up for a languid and sweet tasting kiss, he presses up against Marton's thigh, demonstrating a little more precisely what he wants.

Marton reaches for the lube and condoms and Sean doesn't think he's actually been this desperate in his entire life. He won't be able to think at all for much longer. As fingers open him up, he's throbbing and wanting and crying out all over the place, it feels like the whole bed is moving to this rhythm. He's losing it and he doesn't know whether to grasp at the warm, firm body in front of him, or the bed sheets below him. He goes for the bed sheets because he thinks maybe they'll stop the room from spinning quite so much.

He's wrong. Everything actually tips upside down as Marton enters him, stinging and throbbing. He thrusts up to meet him and it feels like he's in a cheap fairground ride, the world ceasing to make sense and his head whirling so fast that he can't tell what's going on.

He always did like those rides. But they never pouded like this, they never made him lose his mind like this. His brain shut down, his body in sensory overload, aching with want and need. Marton inside him, tearing into his very being and Sean gave it all up to him. The orgasm shot through him, ripping its way through his muscles and limbs, making him cry out so loudly he was sure people would hear now.

He can feel mess everywhere. The cream's flown off the bed and the sheets are wound around them both in a sticky kind of cacoon that he knows won't be easy to escape.

He stays where he is and slides his hand down to meet the soft flesh of Marton's stomach. It feels too clean in comparison to everything else in the room and, he thinks, maybe he should just do something about that.


"You have to accept the fact that part of the sizzle of sex is the danger of sex. You can be overpowered.""- Camille Paglia

Sean's eyes opened and he looked straight at Marton. There was a glint in his eye that Sean recognised far too well; Sometimes it was enough to strike fear into his heart, but now? Now it almost made him want to laugh, like the last time. He hadn't laughed then and he wouldn't laugh now, instead he listened to the fans outside and thought it might be slightly invigorating to do something so risky and stupid.

After all, it had been a while since that last time in New Zealand. Thousands of miles away and hundreds of years ago, or so it seemed. He didn't know how strong the table was, or just how much the girls outside would hear. He could hear them talking, could they hear him taking the cork out of the bottle and trying not to laugh as he and Marton caught up on things Sean had thought he'd want to leave behind? He didn't really care, actually.

The cork hit a rafter in the ceiling and Marton's jacket hit the floor in a messy puddle of dull fabric at their feet. Neither of them picked it up, and Sean knocked his own to the floor.

Order always was overrated