![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turnonmyheelsFandom: FNL/GG
Title: Just Follow the Lights(3/3)
Pairing: Tim Riggins/Chuck Bass
Rating: Adult. Mature Themes
Summary: 15 years later, Chuck Bass is in Dillon, Texas
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moosesal
Disclaimer: I am insane. Chuck Bass and Tim Riggins in no way know each other. Nor will they ever meet, unless FNL jumps networks yet again. GG belongs to CW, Cecily Von Ziegesar, et al, and FNL belongs to NBC, Peter Berg, et al
Part Two
Chuck doesn't stagger or slur his speech despite all the booze and pills, and Tim has to admit he's impressed. He knows firsthand how much partying it takes to build up a tolerance like that. He also knows firsthand how damaging it is inside and out and how much work it takes to stop doing it. He sees distaste flash across Chuck's face as he steps inside and sweeps his eyes across Tim's room. It distantly reminds him of the first time Lyla saw it. It's easy enough to let unconscious insults slide off his back now, some people are just like that -- uncomfortable when they're not surrounded by wealth. It's one of those facts of life Tim's come to understand, regardless of how silly he thinks it is. Usually it makes him laugh his ass off, but with a guy like Chuck he reckons it's just the way it is. Guy's probably never slept on anything less than a $6,000 mattress in his entire life.
"How's this going to work?" Chuck asks as he tugs his shirt out of his pants and starts unbuttoning it.
Tim lets his slow, lazy grin do the talking for him and cocks his head in Chuck's direction. The guy is so fun to mess with that he can't help himself.
Chuck kicks off his shoes before sitting on the bed to take off his socks. "No more of this silent treatment bullshit, tell me how this is going to go."
"What? Men don't get off together where you're from?" Tim lies back on the bed, legs splayed out, hands behind his head. He knows exactly how good he looks even without seeing the hungry gleam in Chuck's eyes.
Chuck's down to his purple silk underwear now, standing at the foot of Tim's bed, hands on his hips. "So what, it's a jerk-off session? A Dutch rudder? Maybe a double-Dutch?"
Tim has no idea at all what a Dutch rudder is, single or double.
"Maybe I suck you off and you fuck me because Texas men don't do fag?" The boxer-briefs are gone now and Tim takes in Chuck's naked body. It's nice. A little soft, but definitely not flabby. Some definition in the legs. He looks like a man who has worked out in gyms his whole life and never once played a game more physically damaging than tennis at the club. No scars from surgeries or any other kind of injuries that Tim can see. His skin is pale and Tim's a bit surprised to see the dense chest hair that thins out only a bit toward his belly button before narrowing down to a trail. He would never have imagined someone as fancy as Chuck Bass would allow unnecessary hair. Anywhere.
Tim sits up and panther crawls to the end of the bed. He clamps one hand over Chuck's mouth before he can say anything more insulting or arrogant than he already has. Tim may be ready to get off with the dude, but he's sick and damn tired of that mouth. Has been since the first time he showed up in Tim's shop and pranced around like a prince all day. "Shut up and get up here." Chuck shows no sign of following directions, so Tim wraps his arms around his waist and heaves Chuck up off his feet and onto the mattress. By the time he's finished bouncing, Tim's hovering over him on all fours. He sits back on Chuck's thighs and drags his fingertips down from Chuck's collarbone, lingering by his belly button, drawing a couple circles there before finishing at his balls and giving them a tug. "Nice."
"Come on man, give me a clue." There's command in the voice though the face is telling Tim he's not nearly as sure of himself as he was before Tim picked him up and tossed him on the bed. Tim wraps one hand around Chuck's cock and gives it a stroke. Then another. "Okay, you aren't afraid to touch my dick --" Tim does the only thing he can think of to shut Chuck up while keeping one hand on Chuck's dick stroking it occasionally.
He doesn't ease in to the kiss and make it soft and sweet. He doesn't lick his way inside and tease Chuck's tongue into his mouth. That would be too easy and possibly give Chuck too much time to think up more questions. What he does is this: grab a handful of Chuck's hair and yank it back so his head hits the mattress and exposes his throat. Chuck's mouth falls open and Tim dives inside tongue first. Wet, messy, technique for shit, but the cock in his hand jerks in response and Chuck shuts the hell up and that's enough for Tim.
For now.
Chuck's arms wrap around his back and his hands roam up and down Tim's back squeezing his ass, reaching around and under to tug his balls. Tim grunts a little into Chuck's mouth and bites his way across his face then down his throat. He's leaving marks and he really doesn't give a shit. Not with Chuck sounding like a forty dollar whore writhing beneath them. Chuck abandons Tim's ass and wraps both hands around the one Tim's gripping him with, bringing his languid strokes to stillness.
"Look," Chuck starts.
"Jesus Christ." Tim sits back on his haunches, letting Chuck's dick slide between the cheeks of his ass to prove his point. He's genuinely pissed and about to be out of the mood if Chuck doesn't get over himself. "I want to get off. With you. Since you seem to like that plan" -- Tim tugs Chuck's dick once more -- "get with it already. If you need a business model or some shit; there's condoms and lube and handcuffs and a dozen other things in the drawer." He tugs once more and adds a twist at the top before letting go and rolling off of Chuck completely. Chuck sits up and opens the drawer and pilfers through it. "If you're this caught up in who gets to be on top or want to brag to your buddies about fucking a Texas redneck, be my guest." Chuck's back is as smooth as his chest was hairy. His skin is pale and completely unmarked and Tim can't help but reach out and touch it. Chuck stiffens for a second before relaxing back against his hand. Tim traces the contour of his spine and shoulder blades. "I always like to play things by ear, see how it unfolds." He shrugs to himself and sits up on his knees to lick his way up Chuck's spine.
"That's the most I've ever heard you say since I met you." Chuck tries to close the drawer but it sticks if you don't jimmy it up from the left and then toward the right; Tim's too curious to see what Chuck wants to play with to explain it, so he crawls over him to do it himself.
"You, are far more ... creative than I would have ever given you credit for." Chuck's sitting Indian-style on the bed laying out a line of condoms (flavored, ribbed, glow in the dark), different lubes (plain, tingling, spermicidal, cherry), matching up the lube and condoms like he's dealing a game of Texas Hold'em. He deals out a cockring, butt-plug, feather, and a slinky between the condoms.
"Sex wasn't invented in the city you know." Tim picks up the slinky and lets it do it's thing from one hand to the other. "There's not a lot to do in Bumfuck, and you need to mix it up every once in a while." Tim sets the slinky on his shoulder and let's it walk it's way down his body and over to Chuck's before it loses traction and falls on the bed.
Chuck picks up the slinky and stretches it out as far as his arms will reach. "A slinky?" He eyes it dubiously. "You win Riggins."
"I didn't know we were playing a game."
Chuck laughs a little and hands Tim the slinky. "I'm always playing a game and tonight you're the winner." He lays back, propping himself up on his elbows, splaying his legs out wide. "I'm the prize."
Tim rolls his eyes and gathers the slinky up, making it as small as he can before sliding it down Chuck's erect cock. "Some prize."
~*~
Epilogue
Chuck wakes the next morning and winces. The cheap-ass blinds on the windows do nothing to block the early morning sun, and his head feels like he drank all the tequila in Texas last night. Sitting up is worse though, because every muscle he has and some he wasn't aware of ache. He's covered in bites and bruises and dried lube is making him itch in some rather uncomfortable places. He starts to get out of bed when one of those monster hands connected to an arm the size of an anaconda wraps around him and pulls him back to bed.
"Stay."
"Gotta piss." Chuck extricates himself from the grip.
"Come back when you're through." Tim blinks up at him and smiles a little. "You can be on top this time."
That's an invitation Chuck can't refuse.
Title: Just Follow the Lights(3/3)
Pairing: Tim Riggins/Chuck Bass
Rating: Adult. Mature Themes
Summary: 15 years later, Chuck Bass is in Dillon, Texas
Beta:
moosesalDisclaimer: I am insane. Chuck Bass and Tim Riggins in no way know each other. Nor will they ever meet, unless FNL jumps networks yet again. GG belongs to CW, Cecily Von Ziegesar, et al, and FNL belongs to NBC, Peter Berg, et al
Part Two
Chuck doesn't stagger or slur his speech despite all the booze and pills, and Tim has to admit he's impressed. He knows firsthand how much partying it takes to build up a tolerance like that. He also knows firsthand how damaging it is inside and out and how much work it takes to stop doing it. He sees distaste flash across Chuck's face as he steps inside and sweeps his eyes across Tim's room. It distantly reminds him of the first time Lyla saw it. It's easy enough to let unconscious insults slide off his back now, some people are just like that -- uncomfortable when they're not surrounded by wealth. It's one of those facts of life Tim's come to understand, regardless of how silly he thinks it is. Usually it makes him laugh his ass off, but with a guy like Chuck he reckons it's just the way it is. Guy's probably never slept on anything less than a $6,000 mattress in his entire life.
"How's this going to work?" Chuck asks as he tugs his shirt out of his pants and starts unbuttoning it.
Tim lets his slow, lazy grin do the talking for him and cocks his head in Chuck's direction. The guy is so fun to mess with that he can't help himself.
Chuck kicks off his shoes before sitting on the bed to take off his socks. "No more of this silent treatment bullshit, tell me how this is going to go."
"What? Men don't get off together where you're from?" Tim lies back on the bed, legs splayed out, hands behind his head. He knows exactly how good he looks even without seeing the hungry gleam in Chuck's eyes.
Chuck's down to his purple silk underwear now, standing at the foot of Tim's bed, hands on his hips. "So what, it's a jerk-off session? A Dutch rudder? Maybe a double-Dutch?"
Tim has no idea at all what a Dutch rudder is, single or double.
"Maybe I suck you off and you fuck me because Texas men don't do fag?" The boxer-briefs are gone now and Tim takes in Chuck's naked body. It's nice. A little soft, but definitely not flabby. Some definition in the legs. He looks like a man who has worked out in gyms his whole life and never once played a game more physically damaging than tennis at the club. No scars from surgeries or any other kind of injuries that Tim can see. His skin is pale and Tim's a bit surprised to see the dense chest hair that thins out only a bit toward his belly button before narrowing down to a trail. He would never have imagined someone as fancy as Chuck Bass would allow unnecessary hair. Anywhere.
Tim sits up and panther crawls to the end of the bed. He clamps one hand over Chuck's mouth before he can say anything more insulting or arrogant than he already has. Tim may be ready to get off with the dude, but he's sick and damn tired of that mouth. Has been since the first time he showed up in Tim's shop and pranced around like a prince all day. "Shut up and get up here." Chuck shows no sign of following directions, so Tim wraps his arms around his waist and heaves Chuck up off his feet and onto the mattress. By the time he's finished bouncing, Tim's hovering over him on all fours. He sits back on Chuck's thighs and drags his fingertips down from Chuck's collarbone, lingering by his belly button, drawing a couple circles there before finishing at his balls and giving them a tug. "Nice."
"Come on man, give me a clue." There's command in the voice though the face is telling Tim he's not nearly as sure of himself as he was before Tim picked him up and tossed him on the bed. Tim wraps one hand around Chuck's cock and gives it a stroke. Then another. "Okay, you aren't afraid to touch my dick --" Tim does the only thing he can think of to shut Chuck up while keeping one hand on Chuck's dick stroking it occasionally.
He doesn't ease in to the kiss and make it soft and sweet. He doesn't lick his way inside and tease Chuck's tongue into his mouth. That would be too easy and possibly give Chuck too much time to think up more questions. What he does is this: grab a handful of Chuck's hair and yank it back so his head hits the mattress and exposes his throat. Chuck's mouth falls open and Tim dives inside tongue first. Wet, messy, technique for shit, but the cock in his hand jerks in response and Chuck shuts the hell up and that's enough for Tim.
For now.
Chuck's arms wrap around his back and his hands roam up and down Tim's back squeezing his ass, reaching around and under to tug his balls. Tim grunts a little into Chuck's mouth and bites his way across his face then down his throat. He's leaving marks and he really doesn't give a shit. Not with Chuck sounding like a forty dollar whore writhing beneath them. Chuck abandons Tim's ass and wraps both hands around the one Tim's gripping him with, bringing his languid strokes to stillness.
"Look," Chuck starts.
"Jesus Christ." Tim sits back on his haunches, letting Chuck's dick slide between the cheeks of his ass to prove his point. He's genuinely pissed and about to be out of the mood if Chuck doesn't get over himself. "I want to get off. With you. Since you seem to like that plan" -- Tim tugs Chuck's dick once more -- "get with it already. If you need a business model or some shit; there's condoms and lube and handcuffs and a dozen other things in the drawer." He tugs once more and adds a twist at the top before letting go and rolling off of Chuck completely. Chuck sits up and opens the drawer and pilfers through it. "If you're this caught up in who gets to be on top or want to brag to your buddies about fucking a Texas redneck, be my guest." Chuck's back is as smooth as his chest was hairy. His skin is pale and completely unmarked and Tim can't help but reach out and touch it. Chuck stiffens for a second before relaxing back against his hand. Tim traces the contour of his spine and shoulder blades. "I always like to play things by ear, see how it unfolds." He shrugs to himself and sits up on his knees to lick his way up Chuck's spine.
"That's the most I've ever heard you say since I met you." Chuck tries to close the drawer but it sticks if you don't jimmy it up from the left and then toward the right; Tim's too curious to see what Chuck wants to play with to explain it, so he crawls over him to do it himself.
"You, are far more ... creative than I would have ever given you credit for." Chuck's sitting Indian-style on the bed laying out a line of condoms (flavored, ribbed, glow in the dark), different lubes (plain, tingling, spermicidal, cherry), matching up the lube and condoms like he's dealing a game of Texas Hold'em. He deals out a cockring, butt-plug, feather, and a slinky between the condoms.
"Sex wasn't invented in the city you know." Tim picks up the slinky and lets it do it's thing from one hand to the other. "There's not a lot to do in Bumfuck, and you need to mix it up every once in a while." Tim sets the slinky on his shoulder and let's it walk it's way down his body and over to Chuck's before it loses traction and falls on the bed.
Chuck picks up the slinky and stretches it out as far as his arms will reach. "A slinky?" He eyes it dubiously. "You win Riggins."
"I didn't know we were playing a game."
Chuck laughs a little and hands Tim the slinky. "I'm always playing a game and tonight you're the winner." He lays back, propping himself up on his elbows, splaying his legs out wide. "I'm the prize."
Tim rolls his eyes and gathers the slinky up, making it as small as he can before sliding it down Chuck's erect cock. "Some prize."
Epilogue
Chuck wakes the next morning and winces. The cheap-ass blinds on the windows do nothing to block the early morning sun, and his head feels like he drank all the tequila in Texas last night. Sitting up is worse though, because every muscle he has and some he wasn't aware of ache. He's covered in bites and bruises and dried lube is making him itch in some rather uncomfortable places. He starts to get out of bed when one of those monster hands connected to an arm the size of an anaconda wraps around him and pulls him back to bed.
"Stay."
"Gotta piss." Chuck extricates himself from the grip.
"Come back when you're through." Tim blinks up at him and smiles a little. "You can be on top this time."
That's an invitation Chuck can't refuse.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-11-18 01:27 pm (UTC)::throws confetti::