TITLE: Whiskers AUTHOR: Makingamochrie PAIRING: Ryan/Colin RATING: NC-17 for mansmut DISCLAIMER: FICTION! Please don't sue me. Please? SUMMARY: An encounter in a trailer. It’s our first day of taping, and The Asshole has generously allowed us to have a break. Not that he has any choice, really, since the studio lighting’s fucked up, but if he had his way, he’d probably make us sit in our chairs whacking off in front of the audience just for his own sadistic pleasure. He’s a real bastard alright. Knowing myself as well as I do, I probably would have done it, too. And I know Greg, who’s taping with us, would have been up for it—pun intended. Col, who will do absolutely anything for a laugh—groping and kissing included—probably wouldn’t, though. I only say ‘probably’ because to this day, twenty some-odd years after we first met, the man still surprises me. But flogging the ol’ dog in front of a live studio audience is probably farther than even he would be willing to go. Shame, really. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s better that not everyone gets to spy the goods. I sometimes tend to get a little jealous. Ok, most times. Happy? Anyway, when The Asshole finally lets us off the damn stage, Greg and I immediately head for the studio doors, smokes in hand. Colin begs off, heading for his trailer instead. All thoughts of a nicotine high out the window, I offer to accompany him—hell, I haven’t seen him in four months and I almost fucking came just hugging him hello—but he just smiles and shakes his head, continuing on toward the lot. Greg gives me a look, but I’m not too worried. I know what Colin’s problem is, and it’s not me. It’s that fucking back-breaking schedule he keeps. He’s tired all the damn time. Not that I have cause to gloat. Between Whose Line and Drew Carey, sometimes I’ll be taping fourteen, sixteen hours a day seven days a week. I’ve pretty much forgotten what sleep feels like. But at least I don’t have to fly. Poor Col is suffering permanent jetlag. So Greg and I are outside, in a more private part of the studio grounds where we won’t be accosted by the fans, smoking away and ignoring the dirty looks cast our way by the self righteous non smokers who pass us by. Well, I’m ignoring them. Greg’s having fun blowing smoke at them as they pass. He’s a bastard, Greg is, and I love him for it. He’s been my friend for a very long time, too, and I don’t know what I’d do without him in my life. The Asshole peeps out the open door and tells us that the lighting’s been fixed and we have ten minutes. How very generous of him. Fucker. We finish our cigarettes and I send Greg back on his way to the studio while I detour to Colin’s trailer. Standing before it, I listen for any sounds. When I hear none, I guess that he’s asleep and I use the key he gave me to get inside. Stepping inside and closing the door behind me, I stop. I just have to smile. The place smells so much like him; slightly sweet, slightly musky, very fresh—like newly washed clothes hung out in the sun to dry—and something else that I’ve never been able to pin down. All I know is that when I smell it, I always think of home. Not the home I grew up in, or the one I now live in, but a broader concept of the word, I guess you could say. Just…home. The trailer’s really neat, not a book or a plate or anything out of place; more like a showroom model than a working space. His jacket, which obviously isn’t needed here, is hung neatly on the rack made for that purpose. His street clothes are no doubt folded carefully away in that tiny space they call a bedroom. Since he’s not in the general living area, it’s there that I head. Bracing myself in the doorway, I look in and grin. He’s there, on his cot, curled on his side like a young boy after a hard day’s play. That innocent look that he wears when he’s awake doesn’t disappear when he’s asleep. His taping clothes are carefully hung over the one chair in the room and he’s in bed clad in his black t-shirt and black boxers. The darkness of the cloth only serves to highlight the paleness of his skin. Looking up toward his face, tucked down slightly as it rests on his arm, I feel my grin broadening. For a guy going bald as quickly as he is, his face sure hairs up fast. And, because what remains on his head is colored, the near-black of his whiskers is another strange, but pleasing, contradiction. It’s not surprising, however, since the man himself is just one big walking, talking contradiction. Because of his heavy facial growth, he’s an absolute freak about being closely shaven, even though I’ve tried for years to get him to at least grow a moustache. He won’t hear of it, damn it all, so I don’t push so hard anymore. Still, I won’t deny that I love the feel of his unshaven cheeks as they rub up against my own, or against other, less seen, parts of my body. There’s just something about it…hell, I don’t know. I’m just a freak, I suppose. His breathing is soft and even, and with some of the tiredness washed away, he looks years younger. Which should please The Asshole no end. He’s been on Colin’s ass since day one, and for that alone, I hate the guy. How anyone, anywhere could hate Colin is simply beyond me. The guy is sweet, affable, charming, adorable, and funny as hell. Of course, I’m a bit prejudiced in that regard, but hell, I know many others who feel the same way, so it can’t just be the love talking. Yeah, I love him. And yeah, I’m in love with him. It’s no secret. At least, not around here. Even The Asshole knows it. He hates it, of course, but he can bite me for all I care. I check my watch, and, knowing that Colin will need to shave before he comes out for the next bit of taping, decide to go ahead and wake him, though I know he didn’t have nearly enough sleep. Walking into the tiny sleeping area, I reach out and gently shake his shoulder, saying, “Time to get up, Col. We need to get back on the set.” He murmurs something I can’t quite understand, and then his eyes flutter open. The look in them when he recognizes me make my knees weak and my heart fill. It is so sweet and filled with love that I would willingly drown in it with absolutely no regrets at all. His slow, soft smile mirrors exactly the look in his eyes, and I can no more resist bending down to kiss him than I can resist breathing. God, his lips are so soft as I come down to meet them, and I willingly lose myself in the taste of them. His hands lift, briefly carding through my hair before moving slowly down my back to cup the cheeks of my ass. Our kiss deepens, and I’m completely lost inside it. A bomb could explode outside the trailer and I’d never even hear it. His hands, never still, continue their journey, the left one coming to rest directly between my legs, squeezing slightly. I grunt and pull away. “Col,” I say, breathing heavily, “Dan wants us back in ten minutes. Less now. We don’t have time.” His smile turns knowing as he gives me another squeeze. Now I’m as hard as a fucking rock. “Ten minutes is plenty of time.” “But Col! You….” His gently stroking, squeezing hand is causing all my well ordered thoughts to be scattered to the four winds, and it’s only with the greatest of effort that I gather at least a couple back in. “You need to shave…. He’ll freak if you don’t.” “Ten minutes is plenty of time for that, too,” he replies, his voice much deeper than normal and thrumming from me eardrums right down to my cock. And then he’s got me in his hand, and fuck if I didn’t even feel him unbuttoning or unzipping my pants! But I don’t really care, either, because the feel of that cool, smooth flesh against my raging need is all I suddenly know. Still, my mind, bastard that it is, is clamoring for attention. “Col…I’m still…god!...in my taping clothes.” “No problem,” he says sweetly, removing his hand from me. I can feel my cock straining for his touch. “Turn around.” “Huh?” “Turn around,” he repeats patiently. “Slide your slacks down and bring your lower half over here.” He gestured toward his own face. My eyes brighten as a little lightbulb goes on over my head. “You want to….?” “I believe the term is sixty-nine, eh?” Holy fuck. We haven’t used that position in years. In no time at all, I’m shucked down to my birthday suit and trying to figure out how I’m going to get my long body and bony knees on either side of his head. He makes it easy for me by turning fully on his back and sliding down so that his ass is almost hanging off the end of the cot. Now I have more than enough room, and I climb aboard, taking care not to tip the damn thing as I do. When my knees are nearly pressed against the top of his shoulders, I reach down and gently pull his glorious erection from the flap of his boxers. God, it’s beautiful. Long and fat and thick and making my mouth water just to look at it. I don’t have much more time to admire it when I feel the very tip of his tongue dart out and lay a lick across my slit. Groaning, I start seeing double. I bend carefully over him until my mouth is hovering just over the promised land. As I feel the heat of his mouth about to engulf me, I do the same to him. Sweet Jesus, it’s just like I remembered it, giving and taking at the same time. He tastes so damn sweet that I have to taste more, taste it all, and so I ease him fully into my mouth. His taste and scent combine to overwhelm me and I take him like some sort of ferocious animal dining on the prey of his dreams. His hips undulate under me, making my job that much easier. His mouth feels so good on my cock, hot and wet and tight, but I have to keep my mind on what I’m doing. Knowing we have very little time left, I get down to business, doing everything I know he loves; gentle and rough, hard and soft, a nibble here, a lick there. All too soon, he’s frozen on my cock and coming into my mouth, and I’m enjoying every bittersweet drop and begging for more. I hear myself yelp as he eases me out of his mouth, and I look over my shoulder at him through eyes as wide as saucers. “Off,” he grunts, pushing at my knees. “Why?” I’m still as hard as a fucking rock, and if I don’t come now, I’ll explode into little pieces all over the fucking place. “Off. We don’t have much time. I’ve got an easier way.” Trusting him—how could I not?—I ease off the cot and watch as he turns onto his belly, eases his boxers down and raises his ass in the air. “Come inside,” he invites. He certainly doesn’t have to ask twice. I’m around the cot in the time it takes to blink. He’s still at the very edge of the bed, but that’s perfect for me as his ass is just at the right hight. My dick is well-lubed from his saliva, and without doing much of anything else, I slip inside, gauging by his moans of pleasure that I’m not hurting him. It has been a long time, after all. But he’s right. Having him this way, particularly this way, does something to me that gets me off faster than a NASA rocket. Grabbing onto his hips, I withdraw, then press back in, quickly increasing my speed and force into the incredible tight heat surrounding me. He clamps his muscles down, giving me something even tighter to work with, and before two minutes have passed, I’m spurting into him like fucking Old Faithful. It must be all that backed up come, because I feel like I could come for fucking hours. Finally, I’m done, and I pull out and move to the side, crashing down beside him and nearly falling off the narrow bed. He catches and holds me easily, using that strength that practically no one but me sees to haul me back onto the bed and halfway over top of him. Giving in to my need, I rub my face along his bristly cheek, moaning in the pleasure that simple act gives me. “I know, I know, I need to shave.” “I wish you wouldn’t.” He sighs softly. “It’ll be back by the time taping’s over for tonight. You can have all sorts of fun with it then, alright?” Taking one more tour for good measure, I smile and nod. “You’ve got a deal.” He checks his watch. “Look. Three minutes to spare.” I catch his eyes with a look I know he can’t resist. “Can I shave you?” Rolling his eyes, he finally nods, just the hint of a smile on his lips. “As long as it’s only my face. I remember last time. I was itching for weeks.” I grin smugly. “Promise.” “Alright, Barber of Seville. But make it snappy. I don’t want Dan taking another chomp out of my buttocks.” “Don’t worry,” I reply. “The Asshole will be getting his soon enough.” “Just as long as ‘his’ does include this,” he says, patting my softened and very happy cock. Oooh. A touch of jealousy? I like. I like. “Don’t worry, my love,” I reply, hugging him tight. “That belongs exclusively to you.” FIN.