nsync in black and white

Fiction by Pen . . . . . not real, made up, purely intended for entertainment

Let Your Fingers Do The Walking

written for a fic_requests prompt involving the Pink song Fingers do the Walking

"There's fucking cameras everywhere in my house, and I can't use them," Chris grumbled, staring resentfully at the gigantic lens at the far end of his bedroom. It wasn't that he minded the cameras, exactly, they were a necessary part of the process and he had agreed to this. And he really didn't think they'd been left filming, especially since that one would be getting a fascinating several hours' worth of his floor. But. "No, I can't even turn them on. I'm afraid for my life. Yeah, there's this producer, she eats nails, I swear to God, she explained to me very nicely exactly how nobody was going to touch the cameras excepting the, you know, cameramen. She scares me, man, yeah, way worse than Lance, I could always bribe him with my fine ass if I had to, but from the way she looked at me I really don't think she'd be interested. No, I never did actually have to bribe Lance, but—" Chris winced as the voice on the phone detailed the retribution he would suffer. "Absolutely not. No way. Never."

After a few minutes, AJ relented and then, pleading pressure of bandmates and studio time, had to hang up.

Chris sighed. This sucked. Here he was, stuck in the spotlight, admittedly in his own house, but not private enough to sneak his man in past the hordes who seemed to manage to be around even when they weren't actually filming. And there was AJ, recording with the Boys, all of whom were feeling just a bit bereft and off-balance this time around, and clinging to each other more than any of them was prepared to admit. It had been a week already, and already Chris was sick of it.

There hadn't even been time to make this phone call... interesting.

Still. There was the DVD.

Just in case, Chris draped a large black T-shirt over the camera before he turned on the bedroom TV and turned out the lights. He stretched out on his bed, naked, the woven texture of his bedcover rough against his belly, and leaned up on his elbows to watch his own private showing.

It was pretty good for an amateur film. Tight focus on AJ's silver-clustered hand, a nail gleaming black as the finger beckoned. In the background, AJ's face was a blur, but his voice, that incredible voice, rich and rough and silky, like Drambuie over gravel, not that Chris was ever going to share that particular comparison, but when AJ used that voice on him, Chris had no resistance and no desire for any.

"This way," the voice was saying, and Chris watched AJ's finger glide up to AJ's mouth and press against his lips. AJ's face filled the TV, larger than life. Great soulful eyes with those luxuriant lashes that AJ used to torment him outrageously, flickering against the back of Chris's neck or just below his ears until he was almost insane with tingling sensation. Staring out of the screen at him, full of wicked promise. Then, AJ's tongue, licking languidly the length of his index finger.

The finger slid down over his jaw and neck, and the camera followed, blurring a little in and out of focus, but mostly good, good enough that Chris could see prickles of beard, and the black twinings of ink, and the way AJ's nipple crinkled as his saliva-wet finger traced around it. Then, jerky movement and more blurring, and refocus on two hands now, tweaking and twisting at both nipples, and the sleek planes of AJ's chest, and sparse crinkly hair.

"You like that, don't you?" AJ's voice, knowing. "You wish you could put your hands on me, don't you? But you can't. You just gotta watch." AJ's grin, audible in his voice. AJ had a beautiful smile.

AJ had beautiful hands. One of them inched downward now, across that skinny concave stomach, and traced the lines of ink around his navel. Chris had done that, with his tongue. Silver-ringed fingers walked alongside the sturdy column of AJ's erect cock, down into the coarse tangle of his pubic hair, stroked the soft, delicate skin at the top of his thighs, cupped his balls and tugged carefully. He loves that, Chris thought to himself, watching.

"Come up here," AJ ordered, and the camera followed obediently, up to his face, saw AJ's tongue slick a path across his own palm, stayed with the expression of sly bliss as the hand disappeared below the bottom of the screen. "Ah, yeah." His eyes narrowed with the rhythm of his hands, and little sounds, deep and breathy as a great cat's purr, escaped from his throat.

Chris's hips followed the rhythm of AJ's breathing, his cock dragging in tiny strokes against the bedcover's rough weave.

At last the camera pulled back and refocussed, a few seconds of disorienting blurs giving way to the sight of AJ stretched out against dark brown sheets, naked and spread, inked arms a V down his body as one hand covered his balls and the other curled around his cock and slid lazily up and down the shaft. Chris's hand slid under his belly to his own erection, then he thought better of it and got himself to his knees for easier access. God, but AJ looked like sex, the essence of sex, displayed for him like that and making those noises.

AJ's cock was leaking a little, and he smeared a finger through the glistening fluid, spread a little over his cock-head, then bent his legs into high arches, and Chris's breath caught as AJ's hand probed beneath his tight-wrinkled balls and AJ's slickened finger, god, found his opening and teased it, and the tip of his finger disappeared inside, and AJ's hips lifted a little from the bed, and he took more, and Chris heard his own enthralled sounds in harmony with his lover's moans, and his hand tightened around his cock as AJ started to pump himself in earnest.

They moved together, the fingers on the screen and the fingers on Chris's cock, a slow, deliberate stroke until AJ growled and his liquid hips rose and his hand gripped fiercely around his shaft and worked it ruthlessly until hoarse noises spilled out of his throat and pale streaks spurted out onto his chest and belly, and Chris was coming, too, hot and slippery over his hand, and one helpless moan.

AJ on the screen was boneless, sprawled on the bed with his own come still gleaming on his skin, and an entirely satisfied grin, and those wicked eyes looking straight into the camera. "I didn't think you could do it," he murmured. "Maybe you deserve a reward."

And the screen went black, because Chris had put down the camera and turned it off and gone to AJ for the shortest blowjob of his life, so hard he'd come almost the moment AJ had unzipped his straining jeans and settled his mouth over Chris's cock.

Thank God for home movies, he thought, reaching for a kleenex.



Back to Popslash Index
Back to Alternative Popslash Index