Story: PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
Author: FancyFigures (email@example.com)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, wish I did, just enjoy writing about 'em for free etc
Warnings: Yaoi, lime
Notes: It always seems so easy in the movies…
Feedback: If you liked it, PLEASE let me know!
For trixie – happy early birthday!!! * whee *
“Take your clothes off,” I said, the menace in my voice barely masked. I stood with arms folded, the silk of my shirt tight against my broad chest. My jodhpurs clung to my well-defined legs; my expensive leather boot tapped an impatient tattoo on the bare stone flooring of the stable. A slim riding crop balanced precariously between my gloved fingers.
The boy in front of me flinched – his arms moved instinctively to the hem of his shirt.
“Please…” he whimpered.
I stood back a little way – I let the hint of a cynical smile tease at the edges of my mouth. “Get on with it. I want to see you stripped. Will you disobey me even now?”
The wide blue eyes flashed with the erotic mixture of excitement, misery and fear. My proud expression was reflected in his pupils. I let the crop drop slightly in my grip, and the end brushed at my thigh.
“Now! Or you’ll feel the weight of this against your back until you scream for me to take you!”
The boy gasped, his eyes wide with terror and the anguished anticipation of what was to happen to him. He peeled the shirt up over his head with shaking fingers. His chest was smooth and pale, as befitted his youth. I let my eyes run up and down the lines of his ribs; the erect nubs of his nut-brown nipples.
“And the pants, boy. You’ll not need them for what I want of you this night –“
He let his lids droop, briefly, as if to shield himself from the hunger in my expression. He put slim, ragged wrists to his waistband, and tugged half-heartedly at the ties that held up his poorly patched britches.
There was a sudden pause.
“For God’s sake, Duo…” came a plaintive cry from behind me. “Are you crying?”
“No!” snapped the boy. He stood up suddenly, showing a slender, muscled body that was as tall as mine, and now looking a lot less juvenile; a lot less submissive.
I sighed. “He is, Trowa. I must have scared him.”
“For Christ’s sake,” growled Duo, glaring at me. “Humiliate me, won’t ya? It’s just the lights in my eyes –“
“Cut!” called Trowa’s voice, and there was a communal sigh from behind the cameras. “So it seems that’s not going to work. Back to your trailers, everyone – we’ll try the scene again later. Duo – Heero – script review in ten. OK?”
I glared at Duo, shivering now without his shirt.
He glared back at me.
But we both answered promptly enough – you didn’t upset your Director without good reason. Not when you were $1.2m over budget, and three weeks behind schedule, and Brad Pitt had just opened in ‘Troy’.
“Take your clothes off,” My voice was still imperious – though it was sultry now with the hint of repressed passion, and a fascination with the rebellious boy who lay at my feet on the floor of the stable.
“No!” he replied, bravely enough. “You’ve no right to treat me like one of your damned horses – I don’t have to do what you say –“
I laughed; a harsh sound that echoed in the bare stable, and covered a core of pure steel. “Oh but I think that you do, boy! I own this stables – this estate. I own you – and you forget it at your peril. You have a family, I believe – a young sister; an invalid mother. Dare you refuse me what I want? Dare you put your own family’s well-being at risk by presuming to challenge me?”
I saw his body shake; his face pale further. There was still the light of resistance in his eyes – the flash of hatred and disgust. It was a look that inflamed me; that inspired me to take him tonight – and to take him hard!
“Take off your clothes,” I repeated, and could barely hide my triumph as he started to pull his meagre shirt over his head.
“All of them!” I snapped. “Now! Or you’ll feel the weight of my crop across your haunches –“
There was a sudden pause.
“Dammit!” came Trowa’s voice in the background again. “He’s laughing!”
I stared at the boy on the floor, who was now rolling on his side, convulsed not with fear of his master – but with roaring laughter.
“Haunches -!” he gasped between hiccuping. “Haunches -! What am I, a pig?”
“Duo – Heero!” came the cry. We could tell that Trowa was speaking through gritted teeth. The camera crew exchanged weary glances. There was going to be no ‘wrapping’ tonight. Like – was it my fault?
“Thanks for the vote of confidence in my performance, Duo,” I hissed. “If you can’t act professionally –“
“Trailers!” yelled Trowa. “Script review! Now!”
“Take your clothes off,” I said. My voice was quiet – firm. It had an edge of desire to it that leaked from my mouth like melted chocolate. There was a hint of desperation – I would never beg, that was obvious; but my body would plead for his in every ache of its nerves.
He knelt before me, his eyes shadowed under his fallen hair. His dark pink tongue slid out from inside his mouth, and licked swiftly at his plump lips.
I let the slightest of groans slip from my throat.
“All of them?” he murmured. His voice lapped around me like summer waves. His fingers played gently with the fastenings of his shirt; his gaze flickered almost greedily from my face to my lap, and back again. My pants felt impossibly tight.
“All of them,” I commanded.
I reached out and took a firm hold of the long, copper-coloured tresses that pooled around the boy’s neck and shoulders. He gasped as I pulled him towards me, none too gently.
I kissed him – firmly. Almost harshly. Several times. He kissed me back with as much enthusiasm.
“…off,” I moaned. Words were escaping me; words that should have been my livelihood.
He stretched like a feline – his eyes held mine with a gleam of awareness of his power. He smiled – a wide, generous, hungry smile. He lifted his shirt over his head, and I saw the ripple of muscle across his shoulders like the shudder of lust and love combined.
He leant forward, balanced as he was on the end of my bed, and the trailer rocked slightly underneath us. We never got the really good quality ones on location shoots. Particularly not when we’d just wasted another day’s filming and incurred the wrath of both Director and crew alike.
“You only had to ask, Heero,” he purred. He slipped a hand inside my own shirt, and pinched at my painfully erect nipple. I sucked in a desperate breath, and he laughed softly and deliciously cruelly.
“You only had to ask…”