happier_bunny ([info]happier_bunny) wrote in [info]bj_action on February 14th, 2010 at 07:20 pm
Theme # 14: Amnesty 2 of 6
TITLE: Inside of You
AUTHOR: [info]frantic_quest
A/N: Written for Theme #10: Choose Your Own Adventure 1. Noon or Midnight 2. Office or Studio 3. Finger Fucking or Snowballing. Thank you to my beta babe, [info]sunshinyday5762. No warnings unless you have a problem with finger fucking horny fags.

I wandered through the partially empty rooms, bare feet almost soundless on the highly fucking polished hardwood floors, fingers idly trailing across random pieces of furniture whose surfaces seemed to glow softly in the moonlight.

I paused at the wet bar in the pretentiously named front parlor and poured myself a double shot of Beam, grimacing slightly as I knocked it back in one swallow, closing my eyes to enjoy the feel of it burning its way into my gut. I poured myself another and saluted my Irish ancestors for blessing me with the ability to enjoy copious amounts of fabulously harmful mind-altering substances on a regular basis. Who said Jack Kinney was a pathetic excuse of a man? Oh yeah, that would be his sainted wife, my alcoholic, frigid bitch of a mother.

I lit a cigarette, grabbed my glass, and admired the peaceful expanses of our property at midnight, starkly revealed by the clear, moonlit night sky. It was a far cry from the view from the loft in the city, but at least it was finally starting to feel like home.

I felt the welcome haze of the alcohol as it finally started to work its magic on my nervous system, and set my empty glass aside as I left the room, ready to explore some of the other nooks and crannies located inside of fucking stately Britin Manor.

I headed directly to the third floor stairway, stroking my hardening cock through the thin fabric of my sweatpants as I saw light pooling from beneath the closed door at the top of the stairs. There was only one huge fucking room located behind that door, spanning the entire length of the house because creative geniuses apparently need a room the size of a fucking football field to spread their artistic shit throughout.

I mounted the stairs only slightly more slowly than I was planning on mounting the current artist in residence. Fucking Picasso had been virtually missing in action for the better part of a week, struggling with his latest masterpiece, and basically being even more of a fucking princess than usual as he was apparently getting bitch-slapped by his uncooperative muse.

I had made this journey faithfully for five nights in a row, only to find the door locked, and in an obvious moment of weakness the last time the twat had tied me to the bed, I had promised not to disturb the artist at work if the fucking studio door was locked. Trust me, after that I made sure all anal beads were on the top shelf, well out of Sunshine’s reach.

I smirked when the doorknob turned easily in my grasp, pushing the door open slowly, not wanting to startle Justin in his natural habitat. I spied him immediately, standing before one of his larger canvases, paint-splattered and sexy as fuck in ragged sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a too-tight tee shirt that bared his midriff quite enticingly. He appeared to be engrossed in studying the painting before him, but I could tell by the way he froze for a split second that he was all too aware of my fucking horny presence.

I slid in smoothly behind him, pushing my hard-enough-to-pound-nails cock against the crack of his ass possessively, eager as fuck to reclaim my private playground after a five day hiatus. I wrapped my arms across his chest and pressed my lips roughly into the side of his neck, sucking hard enough to pull up a mark on his pale skin and force a moan from deep within his throat. I ghosted my right hand slowly from his chest to his stomach, enjoying the way his breathing sped up the lower my hand traveled.

I fisted my left hand into his hair and forced his neck backward, my tongue eagerly slipping into his partially opened mouth, as my right hand finally closed over his cock, firmly stroking and sliding through the slick that had already gathered at the tip.

I growled playfully into his mouth, and raised my damp fingers directly into his field of vision, pushing them past our joined lips, offering us both a taste, and soaking my fingers with our combined saliva, leaving him in no doubt as to where those fingers next destination would be. He moaned and squirmed, rubbing his ass against my cock like the wanton slut he turns into after his artistic brilliance has manifested itself. It was definitely one of the perks of living with an artist.

He pushed his sweatpants down until they pooled at his feet, and whispered, “Fuck me,” as he nipped at my lower lip none too gently. I dropped to my knees and parted his ass cheeks roughly, thrusting two moist fingers and my tongue into his tight hole in one quick movement. I wrapped my left arm around his waist to offer support as his legs trembled and threatened to buckle beneath him.

“Jesus Christ” I heard him moan as he struggled to adjust to the sudden penetration. But Justin always liked to skirt on the edge of too intense, and his fearlessness was one of the first things that drew me to him back when he was my seventeen-year-old stalker.

I slid my arm from his waist across to his groin and started jerking him off in rhythm to the thrusting of my fingers. I added a third digit and removed my tongue from his ass so I could lick a trail up his crack toward the base of his spine. I knew I was blowing his mind when he began a familiar chant that never failed to make me want to shove my cock as deep into his tight hole as I could. It basically went like this: “Fuck me Brian…Brian fuck me…fuck me…fuck me…fuck me Brian.” No points for variety, but after five days with only my hand for company, it was almost enough to make me shoot my wad on the spot. Only the knowledge that Justin would mock me for months if I did allowed me to hold off.

I stepped up the speed and adjusted the angle of my finger fucking so I was pressing on his prostate on every stroke. I pressed my face into his crack and felt the moment he came completely undone.

He shot streams of come over my left hand, and his ass clenched tightly on my still stroking fingers as he hoarsely cried out his pleasure. I quickly removed my fingers from his ass and wrapped them around my own throbbing dick, aiming the ribbons of my own load directly at the crack of his ass, as I shouted his name in a mix of relief and fucking awe at another mind-blowing session of sex in the artist’s studio.

He wiped himself off with his tee shirt, which had somehow managed to leave his body at some point during the last ten minutes, and he flashed his trademark grin as he turned to face me. “Hey,” he said softly as he brushed his lips against mine, pausing to burrow his way into my neck in a move that was enjoyable but in no way to be defined as snuggling.

“Hey,” I answered, brushing his sweaty hair off his brow. “So…this is it…the latest Justin Taylor original… huh?” I gestured to the huge, motherfucking brilliant masterpiece looming on the easel before us.

“Hmmm?” he turned to gaze at it with me. “Yeah, that’s the nasty bitch that’s been kicking my ass all week.” He peered up at me from under his fucking eyelashes and shot me a look that never failed to make me do and say things I would ultimately regret for the foreseeable future. “I’m really sorry to have been such a pain in the ass.”

I snorted at his blatant attempt to pussy whip me. “Well, don’t worry, Sunshine. All will be forgiven once I’ve had a chance for equal time in your ass.” He returned to nuzzling against my throat, tongue snaking out for another taste of my sweaty skin. I slid my lips next to his ear and whispered, “Now it’s time for all fabulously successful artists to come to bed so they can get fucked into the mattress. Consider it your first opportunity to make it up to me. Once you crash, you’ll be like fucking Sleeping Beauty, and my balls will be bluer than your eyes.” I lean in and press my lips to his forehead. “By the way,” I point at the painting as we turn to leave the room, “It’s fucking genius.”

He smirks at me like the annoying twat that he can still be at times and fucking gloats. “Of course it is.”

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