FIC: Proof (EM/EB, NC-17), for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50kinkyways
Feb. 5th, 2007 02:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salixbabylonTitle: Proof
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
heartofslash
Fandom: RPS
Characters: Ewan McGregor/Eric Bana
Prompt: 46. Writer's Choice – Pee!
Word Count: 1442
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: "To pee or not to pee..."
Proof
Eric is not quite sure how they got here.
He was too far gone to pay attention to all the details, that's for sure. He'd been on his knees, he knows that – and Ewan had been close to giving him everything he wanted. Then the cuffs hit the floor and everything went pear shaped. Now he's looming over Ewan – he can tell he's looming because Ewan looks so small and he's almost cringing.
Next he said something along the lines of "you put me here; you can't leave me like this" and there was something else about "acting responsibly," which Eric is one hundred percent sure he didn't say, because responsibility went out the window once he started drooling around that ball gag. Then Ewan said that stupid thing about it being time to pull back. "You're at the edge," he said.
"The edge has moved!" Eric roared.
Eric had a point but so did Ewan, because how far can the edge move before you forget where you came from? How long can you keep pushing?
"It's a pisshole," Eric muttered. "Why shouldn't piss come out of it?"
Then, Eric can remember clearly, Ewan said the thing that really pissed him off.
"This isn't a game, Eric."
Fuck. What a dumbass thing to say. Of course it was a fucking game. Did Ewan actually think that Eric would crawl on the floor, naked bound and gagged, and take it fucking seriously?
It was all a game, a game of one-upmanship and risk, like any daredevil game of hovering on the edge. You race your bike, take the corners as fast as you can, lean so far you feel the earth scrape past your leathers. You feel the fingers clenched in your hair the same way you feel the wind, legs wrapped around you the way your legs grip the bike. Fingers stretching you open, teeth sinking into flesh, palm slapping against your ass, cuffs cutting into your wrists, cock growing until you think it might explode. The edge. That was the whole point of it.
Eric couldn't even respond to that. He wanted to. He wanted to say it was Ewan who didn't take things seriously enough. It was Ewan who hadn't been thinking about consequences, not Eric. But then Ewan put his hands on either side of Eric's face and was stroking him and looking into his eyes and saying Eric's name far too often. Lovers, he was saying. We're lovers; this isn't just a game; come down; come back to me.
"There are lines you don't cross," Ewan kept insisting and Eric would not accept that as an excuse for denying him what he wanted because what fucking line was Ewan talking about? Eric had been fucked, come on, bitten, bruised, spanked, beaten, humiliated... not once had the phrase "no pissing" ever passed anyone's lips, and was Ewan's piss really that much dirtier than his come, which he'd been seconds from spewing all over Eric's face anyway?
"What bloody line is that?" Eric spat out. "You mean the one you cross when you lose your virginity? The one you cross when you take it up the ass and you'll never be straight again? You think I'm going to change if you piss on me? Afraid I'll turn into a slutty, faggoty bottom?"
He pushed Ewan back on the bed and stared at him, nose to nose. "News flash, mate," he growled. "It's too late. And you love my slutty faggot ass, so what's your problem?" And he pushed his still-hard, still-aching cock against Ewan's still-leather-clad cock and Ewan moaned.
Maybe Ewan'd reached some kind of limit, but that hadn't done anything to weaken his desire. That didn't mean Ewan was comfortable with what he felt. In fact, he looked distinctly uncomfortable, in a horny sort of way. What an expressive face. Such communicative eyes. How considerate. Ewan was afraid to go too far with Eric, to push him off the edge.
"You're afraid," Eric whispered. Taunting. "You're afraid that if you piss on me I'll always want to bottom and you'll be stuck topping forever."
Ewan made a feeble attempt to get out from under Eric.
Eric was cooing by that point. "Afraid that if you piss on me, I'll never want to fuck your sweet ass again."
Ewan gurgled.
"Wrong again, love. I will always want your ass."
"Ahhhhhhhhh."
"There is no point of no return, Ewan. We can do whatever we want."
Ewan surged up. Fuck, he could be strong when he wanted. "Prove it," he'd demanded.
And so now here they are in the bathroom, ready to prove that pissing doesn't change a thing.
Eric is struck by the sudden fear that it does change everything, and that nothing will ever be the same after this night. Eric further fears that he's coming down, or maybe up, from that delicious plateau Ewan had pushed him to, the one where all his twisted logic made sense and pissing on someone was an act of liberation instead of a sick, sexual perversion.
But Ewan had insisted there was no way he could piss on Eric and someone had to prove the point so Eric is trying to will himself soft, or at least softer, because Ewan is on the floor of the shower, ready for his lesson in how getting pissed on is not a point of no return.
Then Ewan spreads his legs and the leather stretches tight over his thighs. The outline of his cock, black and shiny, seems to be throbbing. He should have taken the leather off. Eric fears he can't piss on leather any more than Ewan can piss on Eric. Ewan brushes his lips across the head of Eric's cock. He closes his eyes and leans back further, and his chest tightens and his head tilts back and he moans.
Because he wants it.
He's wanted it all along.
Maybe that's why he didn't want to do it to Eric. Too close. A little shameful. Ashamed to admit he wants it.
And when Ewan gets ashamed, he gets hot.
Eric pushes his cock down so it points at Ewan's chest and lets go. He has to do it; Ewan told him to. It's all jumbled in his head but he knows it happened because he can still feel the heat of the leather on his thighs from when Ewan straddled him and whispered "Yes, Eric," against his lips. And "Please, Eric."
Eric lets go and it feels like the piss is taking forever to burn its way out of his stiff cock. It's going to spray all over the place, but that's why they're in the shower. Ewan gets his hand between his legs, cupping his cock through the leather, rubbing it with the heel of his hand, and when the hot piss hits his skin he cries out and jerks his hips. He's soaked in an instant but the piss keeps coming. Ah, fuck, the blood rushing back to Eric's cock is going to choke off the piss midstream. Eric strokes his cock in desperation, knowing it's the absolutely wrong thing to do.
"Oh, fuck, yes," Ewan hisses and then he's got his hand on Eric's cock too, so the piss streams over his fingers and splashes up on his face and he licks his lips and Eric falls over, which is good because then Ewan is on him and the last few drops are clinging to his cock stubbornly but Ewan's so far past the pissing part it's not funny. He's peeling the wet leather down his hips and pushing Eric on his stomach and Ewan's never been that big before, not that Eric's ever felt.
Getting pissed on does not turn Ewan into a permanent bottom any more than it would have turned Eric into a permanent bottom. Eric's got proof of that. He's got a great big hard cock up his ass and Ewan is on top of him, climbing him, pushing him down, trapping Eric's cock between his wet belly and the cold tiles while he rams his cock so far up Eric's ass Eric can't even remember that brief time in his life when he thought he might be straight.
Fingers tighten in Eric's hair and teeth sink into his shoulder. Hips slap against his ass and he's stretched. His cock is so hard it's leaking on the tiles and it might explode.
He's found the edge again. He's balanced on it high above the safe, solid ground, and he's tipping over but he's not scared. Ewan will catch him. That's what lovers do for each other.
~end~
Author:
heartofslashFandom: RPS
Characters: Ewan McGregor/Eric Bana
Prompt: 46. Writer's Choice – Pee!
Word Count: 1442
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: "To pee or not to pee..."
Eric is not quite sure how they got here.
He was too far gone to pay attention to all the details, that's for sure. He'd been on his knees, he knows that – and Ewan had been close to giving him everything he wanted. Then the cuffs hit the floor and everything went pear shaped. Now he's looming over Ewan – he can tell he's looming because Ewan looks so small and he's almost cringing.
Next he said something along the lines of "you put me here; you can't leave me like this" and there was something else about "acting responsibly," which Eric is one hundred percent sure he didn't say, because responsibility went out the window once he started drooling around that ball gag. Then Ewan said that stupid thing about it being time to pull back. "You're at the edge," he said.
"The edge has moved!" Eric roared.
Eric had a point but so did Ewan, because how far can the edge move before you forget where you came from? How long can you keep pushing?
"It's a pisshole," Eric muttered. "Why shouldn't piss come out of it?"
Then, Eric can remember clearly, Ewan said the thing that really pissed him off.
"This isn't a game, Eric."
Fuck. What a dumbass thing to say. Of course it was a fucking game. Did Ewan actually think that Eric would crawl on the floor, naked bound and gagged, and take it fucking seriously?
It was all a game, a game of one-upmanship and risk, like any daredevil game of hovering on the edge. You race your bike, take the corners as fast as you can, lean so far you feel the earth scrape past your leathers. You feel the fingers clenched in your hair the same way you feel the wind, legs wrapped around you the way your legs grip the bike. Fingers stretching you open, teeth sinking into flesh, palm slapping against your ass, cuffs cutting into your wrists, cock growing until you think it might explode. The edge. That was the whole point of it.
Eric couldn't even respond to that. He wanted to. He wanted to say it was Ewan who didn't take things seriously enough. It was Ewan who hadn't been thinking about consequences, not Eric. But then Ewan put his hands on either side of Eric's face and was stroking him and looking into his eyes and saying Eric's name far too often. Lovers, he was saying. We're lovers; this isn't just a game; come down; come back to me.
"There are lines you don't cross," Ewan kept insisting and Eric would not accept that as an excuse for denying him what he wanted because what fucking line was Ewan talking about? Eric had been fucked, come on, bitten, bruised, spanked, beaten, humiliated... not once had the phrase "no pissing" ever passed anyone's lips, and was Ewan's piss really that much dirtier than his come, which he'd been seconds from spewing all over Eric's face anyway?
"What bloody line is that?" Eric spat out. "You mean the one you cross when you lose your virginity? The one you cross when you take it up the ass and you'll never be straight again? You think I'm going to change if you piss on me? Afraid I'll turn into a slutty, faggoty bottom?"
He pushed Ewan back on the bed and stared at him, nose to nose. "News flash, mate," he growled. "It's too late. And you love my slutty faggot ass, so what's your problem?" And he pushed his still-hard, still-aching cock against Ewan's still-leather-clad cock and Ewan moaned.
Maybe Ewan'd reached some kind of limit, but that hadn't done anything to weaken his desire. That didn't mean Ewan was comfortable with what he felt. In fact, he looked distinctly uncomfortable, in a horny sort of way. What an expressive face. Such communicative eyes. How considerate. Ewan was afraid to go too far with Eric, to push him off the edge.
"You're afraid," Eric whispered. Taunting. "You're afraid that if you piss on me I'll always want to bottom and you'll be stuck topping forever."
Ewan made a feeble attempt to get out from under Eric.
Eric was cooing by that point. "Afraid that if you piss on me, I'll never want to fuck your sweet ass again."
Ewan gurgled.
"Wrong again, love. I will always want your ass."
"Ahhhhhhhhh."
"There is no point of no return, Ewan. We can do whatever we want."
Ewan surged up. Fuck, he could be strong when he wanted. "Prove it," he'd demanded.
And so now here they are in the bathroom, ready to prove that pissing doesn't change a thing.
Eric is struck by the sudden fear that it does change everything, and that nothing will ever be the same after this night. Eric further fears that he's coming down, or maybe up, from that delicious plateau Ewan had pushed him to, the one where all his twisted logic made sense and pissing on someone was an act of liberation instead of a sick, sexual perversion.
But Ewan had insisted there was no way he could piss on Eric and someone had to prove the point so Eric is trying to will himself soft, or at least softer, because Ewan is on the floor of the shower, ready for his lesson in how getting pissed on is not a point of no return.
Then Ewan spreads his legs and the leather stretches tight over his thighs. The outline of his cock, black and shiny, seems to be throbbing. He should have taken the leather off. Eric fears he can't piss on leather any more than Ewan can piss on Eric. Ewan brushes his lips across the head of Eric's cock. He closes his eyes and leans back further, and his chest tightens and his head tilts back and he moans.
Because he wants it.
He's wanted it all along.
Maybe that's why he didn't want to do it to Eric. Too close. A little shameful. Ashamed to admit he wants it.
And when Ewan gets ashamed, he gets hot.
Eric pushes his cock down so it points at Ewan's chest and lets go. He has to do it; Ewan told him to. It's all jumbled in his head but he knows it happened because he can still feel the heat of the leather on his thighs from when Ewan straddled him and whispered "Yes, Eric," against his lips. And "Please, Eric."
Eric lets go and it feels like the piss is taking forever to burn its way out of his stiff cock. It's going to spray all over the place, but that's why they're in the shower. Ewan gets his hand between his legs, cupping his cock through the leather, rubbing it with the heel of his hand, and when the hot piss hits his skin he cries out and jerks his hips. He's soaked in an instant but the piss keeps coming. Ah, fuck, the blood rushing back to Eric's cock is going to choke off the piss midstream. Eric strokes his cock in desperation, knowing it's the absolutely wrong thing to do.
"Oh, fuck, yes," Ewan hisses and then he's got his hand on Eric's cock too, so the piss streams over his fingers and splashes up on his face and he licks his lips and Eric falls over, which is good because then Ewan is on him and the last few drops are clinging to his cock stubbornly but Ewan's so far past the pissing part it's not funny. He's peeling the wet leather down his hips and pushing Eric on his stomach and Ewan's never been that big before, not that Eric's ever felt.
Getting pissed on does not turn Ewan into a permanent bottom any more than it would have turned Eric into a permanent bottom. Eric's got proof of that. He's got a great big hard cock up his ass and Ewan is on top of him, climbing him, pushing him down, trapping Eric's cock between his wet belly and the cold tiles while he rams his cock so far up Eric's ass Eric can't even remember that brief time in his life when he thought he might be straight.
Fingers tighten in Eric's hair and teeth sink into his shoulder. Hips slap against his ass and he's stretched. His cock is so hard it's leaking on the tiles and it might explode.
He's found the edge again. He's balanced on it high above the safe, solid ground, and he's tipping over but he's not scared. Ewan will catch him. That's what lovers do for each other.
