Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-04 03:09 am
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-04 03:09 am
Fake News (RPF) | The Way You Play The Game | R | Brian/Jon
Title: The Way You Play The Game
Fandom: Fake News (RPF)
Rating: R
Pairing: Brian Williams/Jon
Warning: Some D/s overtones. They were actually unintentional, believe it or not.
Summary: A new twist on an old cliché.
Word Count: 1,290
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Thank you for the beta, Abigail.
“Every time,” Brian says, voice half disbelief and half amusement. “Every single time, this happens. How do you do it, Jon?”
Jon smirks, tugging lightly on Brian’s tie. “You’re the one who has me pinned, you know,” he says, eyes sparkling like a mischievous teenager’s.
“Ah, yes, because that’s always stopped you from turning the tables before,” Brian replies, stilling Jon’s hand.
“Hey, dude, if the illusion of control gets you off, who am I to ruin that?” Jon shifts, just slightly, and is almost startled when he’s pressed even more tightly against the wall. When he realizes he can’t move, he licks his lips, and Brian raises a challenging eyebrow.
“Illusion, huh?”
“Yeah, you know, that helpful tool that lets you get through the day thinking you’ve made a difference.”
“Oh, potshots, is that the road we’re going down, Mr. Class Clown?”
Jon grins. “And who are you in this scenario, the student teacher? Plan on making me stand in the corner, wearing a dunce cap?”
“Maybe, or I might have you write lines.”
“’I will not throw spit balls from the back of the classroom’?”
“Something like that.”
Brian kisses him then, with purpose—always with purpose, because every single one of their encounters is purposeful. They banter, spar, make each other laugh, keep each other high on their toes—it’s an endless tug-of-war, a game neither wants to win because playing it is just so much damn fun.
And now it’s Jon’s move, because Brian is kissing him and while that is certainly distracting him, it’s also distracting Brian, giving him the perfect opportunity to push back, and keep pushing, until Brian’s the one pinned, this time against Jon’s desk.
“Especially rambunctious today, aren’t we, Mr. Leibowitz?” Brian asks breathlessly, breaking the kiss to do so. He smirks at Jon, punctuating it with a very deliberate grope of his ass.
Caught off guard, Jon ends up back against the wall with both his wrists trapped over his head. He swallows, glancing briefly upward, before settling his gaze on Brian’s face. “Only for you, sir,” he says, expression an imitation of the smug grin from his jackass younger days.
“Naturally,” says Brian. “You want my attention.”
“Of course I do, BriWi,” Jon says, smirking at the reaction the nickname gets from Brian. “Everyone does, after all. You’re so popular—all the girls draw your name in little hearts.” He watches as Brian struggles not to laugh, unable to keep from bursting into giggles himself.
“I like how I transitioned from the teacher to the high school quarterback.”
“It’s a fluctuating thing, my friend. You have to lay back and enjoy the ride.”
Brian just smirks at that, and then all of a sudden Jon’s being kissed again, this time with a passion and intensity that likely would have knocked him over were he not pinned to the wall. He groans into it, goes to move his arms around Brian, and is almost surprised to find they’re still pinned above his head. He thinks to say something about this until his legs are suddenly pushed apart by Brian’s knee and all his rational thought takes a jump out the window, free-falling toward the sidewalk below.
“Fuck, Brian,” he breathes when they break the kiss, grinding against the man’s leg.
Brian chuckles, a deep, low sound, right next to his ear, and Jon shivers. “In due time, Jon. Don’t worry.”
“Tease,” Jon accuses, moaning when he feels Brian’s free hand trailing down his stomach and resting not-so-innocently over his growing erection.
“Now, Jon,” Brian admonishes lightly. “Have you ever known me to do anything halfway?”
With the way Brian’s looking at him, Jon suddenly understands why he hasn’t let his hands free, yet; he’s pushing it, pushing everything: their game, their boundaries, they way they are in general. Jon knows he’s free to push back, to keep things balanced as precariously as they are, but he discovers that he doesn’t really want to. They invented the game, after all; they can change the rules.
“So what are you waiting for?” Jon pants, squirming against Brian as that hand squeezes just right.
“You’re so impatient, tonight,” Brian comments idly, as if he weren’t currently unzipping Jon’s pants and sliding a hand inside both them and his boxers. His tone suggests he could just as easily be reading a newspaper and reaching absently for a packet of sugar to put in his coffee, and for some reason, that turns Jon on even further.
“Have you ever known me to not be impatient?” Jon growls out, frustrated by the hand wrapped around his cock. Brian’s strokes are slight, tentative, and nothing short of maddening.
“Not this impatient,” he says, speeding up his hand, but only barely.
Jon lets out a groan. “In the past, I was usually able to touch you,” he points out, glancing pointedly above his head, where Brian’s other hand still has his wrists tightly pinned. He never knew the other man was so strong, but it doesn’t really surprise him.
“Want me to let go?” Brian asks, but Jon sees a different question in his eyes, one more along the lines of, Is this okay?
It’s hard to think with one of Brian’s hands squeezing his cock and the other gripping his wrists, but Jon manages, “No, I don’t.” The look he gives Brian adds, Keep pushing.
Brian smirks, looking at him speculatively. “I didn’t think so.”
“Well,” says Jon, trying to be as nonchalant as is possible when he’s this turned on, “you know I can’t resist a man in charge.”
“Of course,” Brian says, amused. “How many men, though, is the question?”
“Mostly just you,” Jon says. “And sometimes Clooney.” His grin falters when Brian’s hand gives a particularly evil twist. “Fuck,” he moans. “Never pegged you for the jealous type, Brian,” Jon manages, in between breaths.
“Not jealous,” Brain replies. “Just reminding you who has the upper hand.”
“Oh, I hadn’t forgotten.”
There’s something about the way that Brian’s looking at him that Jon really enjoys. He smirks, eyes plainly asking if they’re going to finish this anytime soon. Brian just raises an eyebrow at him before letting his hands free and taking a step back.
“We should move this somewhere else,” he says, and Jon nods.
He’s not entirely sure why things are different, this time, and why Brian wants to push things further, but he’s not about to complain. Complaining leads to pausing and pausing leads to thinking and thinking doesn’t lead to anything good, not in this game.
“Zip up your pants and follow me,” Brian tells him, and Jon obeys without even thinking about it—but it’s always been like that. Brian is good at being in charge, and Jon is more than happy to follow his lead—or not follow his lead, sometimes, in order to witness the reaction. Most people want to win too badly to worry about having fun during the actual play, and that’s the best part.
Anyway, he’s pretty sure that there’s no wrong way for him to go about things, here; after all, when one makes the rules, those sorts of decisions are left basically up to one’s discretion. Jon can’t let Brian be the only one having fun by testing boundaries, now can he?
They’re just about to leave the building when Jon pushes Brian against the wall and kisses him deeply. He grins as he steps back, pleased with the way the older man is affected. “Your turn,” he says, amused, and a shiver runs down his spine when Brian shoots him a smirk that is more than wicked.
“I know,” is all he says, but it’s enough.
Game Over is nowhere in sight.
Fandom: Fake News (RPF)
Rating: R
Pairing: Brian Williams/Jon
Warning: Some D/s overtones. They were actually unintentional, believe it or not.
Summary: A new twist on an old cliché.
Word Count: 1,290
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Thank you for the beta, Abigail.
“Every time,” Brian says, voice half disbelief and half amusement. “Every single time, this happens. How do you do it, Jon?”
Jon smirks, tugging lightly on Brian’s tie. “You’re the one who has me pinned, you know,” he says, eyes sparkling like a mischievous teenager’s.
“Ah, yes, because that’s always stopped you from turning the tables before,” Brian replies, stilling Jon’s hand.
“Hey, dude, if the illusion of control gets you off, who am I to ruin that?” Jon shifts, just slightly, and is almost startled when he’s pressed even more tightly against the wall. When he realizes he can’t move, he licks his lips, and Brian raises a challenging eyebrow.
“Illusion, huh?”
“Yeah, you know, that helpful tool that lets you get through the day thinking you’ve made a difference.”
“Oh, potshots, is that the road we’re going down, Mr. Class Clown?”
Jon grins. “And who are you in this scenario, the student teacher? Plan on making me stand in the corner, wearing a dunce cap?”
“Maybe, or I might have you write lines.”
“’I will not throw spit balls from the back of the classroom’?”
“Something like that.”
Brian kisses him then, with purpose—always with purpose, because every single one of their encounters is purposeful. They banter, spar, make each other laugh, keep each other high on their toes—it’s an endless tug-of-war, a game neither wants to win because playing it is just so much damn fun.
And now it’s Jon’s move, because Brian is kissing him and while that is certainly distracting him, it’s also distracting Brian, giving him the perfect opportunity to push back, and keep pushing, until Brian’s the one pinned, this time against Jon’s desk.
“Especially rambunctious today, aren’t we, Mr. Leibowitz?” Brian asks breathlessly, breaking the kiss to do so. He smirks at Jon, punctuating it with a very deliberate grope of his ass.
Caught off guard, Jon ends up back against the wall with both his wrists trapped over his head. He swallows, glancing briefly upward, before settling his gaze on Brian’s face. “Only for you, sir,” he says, expression an imitation of the smug grin from his jackass younger days.
“Naturally,” says Brian. “You want my attention.”
“Of course I do, BriWi,” Jon says, smirking at the reaction the nickname gets from Brian. “Everyone does, after all. You’re so popular—all the girls draw your name in little hearts.” He watches as Brian struggles not to laugh, unable to keep from bursting into giggles himself.
“I like how I transitioned from the teacher to the high school quarterback.”
“It’s a fluctuating thing, my friend. You have to lay back and enjoy the ride.”
Brian just smirks at that, and then all of a sudden Jon’s being kissed again, this time with a passion and intensity that likely would have knocked him over were he not pinned to the wall. He groans into it, goes to move his arms around Brian, and is almost surprised to find they’re still pinned above his head. He thinks to say something about this until his legs are suddenly pushed apart by Brian’s knee and all his rational thought takes a jump out the window, free-falling toward the sidewalk below.
“Fuck, Brian,” he breathes when they break the kiss, grinding against the man’s leg.
Brian chuckles, a deep, low sound, right next to his ear, and Jon shivers. “In due time, Jon. Don’t worry.”
“Tease,” Jon accuses, moaning when he feels Brian’s free hand trailing down his stomach and resting not-so-innocently over his growing erection.
“Now, Jon,” Brian admonishes lightly. “Have you ever known me to do anything halfway?”
With the way Brian’s looking at him, Jon suddenly understands why he hasn’t let his hands free, yet; he’s pushing it, pushing everything: their game, their boundaries, they way they are in general. Jon knows he’s free to push back, to keep things balanced as precariously as they are, but he discovers that he doesn’t really want to. They invented the game, after all; they can change the rules.
“So what are you waiting for?” Jon pants, squirming against Brian as that hand squeezes just right.
“You’re so impatient, tonight,” Brian comments idly, as if he weren’t currently unzipping Jon’s pants and sliding a hand inside both them and his boxers. His tone suggests he could just as easily be reading a newspaper and reaching absently for a packet of sugar to put in his coffee, and for some reason, that turns Jon on even further.
“Have you ever known me to not be impatient?” Jon growls out, frustrated by the hand wrapped around his cock. Brian’s strokes are slight, tentative, and nothing short of maddening.
“Not this impatient,” he says, speeding up his hand, but only barely.
Jon lets out a groan. “In the past, I was usually able to touch you,” he points out, glancing pointedly above his head, where Brian’s other hand still has his wrists tightly pinned. He never knew the other man was so strong, but it doesn’t really surprise him.
“Want me to let go?” Brian asks, but Jon sees a different question in his eyes, one more along the lines of, Is this okay?
It’s hard to think with one of Brian’s hands squeezing his cock and the other gripping his wrists, but Jon manages, “No, I don’t.” The look he gives Brian adds, Keep pushing.
Brian smirks, looking at him speculatively. “I didn’t think so.”
“Well,” says Jon, trying to be as nonchalant as is possible when he’s this turned on, “you know I can’t resist a man in charge.”
“Of course,” Brian says, amused. “How many men, though, is the question?”
“Mostly just you,” Jon says. “And sometimes Clooney.” His grin falters when Brian’s hand gives a particularly evil twist. “Fuck,” he moans. “Never pegged you for the jealous type, Brian,” Jon manages, in between breaths.
“Not jealous,” Brain replies. “Just reminding you who has the upper hand.”
“Oh, I hadn’t forgotten.”
There’s something about the way that Brian’s looking at him that Jon really enjoys. He smirks, eyes plainly asking if they’re going to finish this anytime soon. Brian just raises an eyebrow at him before letting his hands free and taking a step back.
“We should move this somewhere else,” he says, and Jon nods.
He’s not entirely sure why things are different, this time, and why Brian wants to push things further, but he’s not about to complain. Complaining leads to pausing and pausing leads to thinking and thinking doesn’t lead to anything good, not in this game.
“Zip up your pants and follow me,” Brian tells him, and Jon obeys without even thinking about it—but it’s always been like that. Brian is good at being in charge, and Jon is more than happy to follow his lead—or not follow his lead, sometimes, in order to witness the reaction. Most people want to win too badly to worry about having fun during the actual play, and that’s the best part.
Anyway, he’s pretty sure that there’s no wrong way for him to go about things, here; after all, when one makes the rules, those sorts of decisions are left basically up to one’s discretion. Jon can’t let Brian be the only one having fun by testing boundaries, now can he?
They’re just about to leave the building when Jon pushes Brian against the wall and kisses him deeply. He grins as he steps back, pleased with the way the older man is affected. “Your turn,” he says, amused, and a shiver runs down his spine when Brian shoots him a smirk that is more than wicked.
“I know,” is all he says, but it’s enough.
Game Over is nowhere in sight.