hoopyfrood: (James Hunt [F1])
[personal profile] hoopyfrood
Title: Do It For Me
Pairing: Ronnie/James, implied Ronnie/Mario
Rating: R
Word count: 647
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, don’t own
Summary: Ronnie needs. James wants.
A/N: Written for a prompt on [livejournal.com profile] f1flashfic.

James cups his hand over the swell of Ronnie's backside. His shorts and underwear are hitched down to mid-thigh, and the Swede’s breathing is already heavy in anticipation.

He knows by now not to ask Ronnie if he's ready. It makes him flustered, annoyed even, and excuses start spilling out from between his lips before he’s hurrying out the door in a whirlwind of shame. James makes sure to tread lightly.

So, without warning, he brings the flat of his palm down sharply. The sound of the resulting slap reverberates throughout the room. Ronnie gasps and pushes his hips down against James' legs, hands clenched in the bed sheet.

James doesn't pretend to understand it; submission has never been something that’s ever interested him. He enjoys pinning someone's arms above their head and driving into them far too much to have ever entertained the thought. But how it makes Ronnie feel and sound and look, well, that's more than enough to convince him he’s doing something right.

That doing this is right.

Over the past month, he's perfected the almost-natural buildup of speed and severity. Each strike is harder than the last, and Ronnie’s pale skin is slowly stained an angry red. James makes sure to hit the same places over and over, purposely fitting his hand over the ghostly outline of fingers already branded onto Ronnie's buttocks. He's rewarded with half-sobs and whimpers for his precision. And a hard cock grinding into his leg.

“Mario,” Ronnie groans; reverently, lovingly. It’s a shock, it always is, and if James hits him a little harder than necessary, then that’s between him and his conscience. His conscience that is starting to, annoyingly, sound a lot like Mario himself.

Ronnie continues to rock against him, taking every painful smack with as much pleasure as if they were teasing caresses. James grits his teeth at the sight and shifts slightly in his spot. It almost feels wrong to be so turned on.

In his distraction, he strikes the tops of Ronnie’s legs. He’s about to apologise when Ronnie visibly tenses. James bites back a curse of arousal as he feels a damp warmth seep through his thin jeans.

After a few moments, Ronnie pulls himself up until he’s crouched over James, his long limbs caging the Brit against the bed. Like this, James can almost pretend; pretend that, in some small way, this is about him too. That he’s not just a loyal friend willing to keep his mouth shut. It’s a wonderful, if fleeting thought.

He catches Ronnie's chin, gently forcing him to look up. His cheeks are covered in pink blotches; partly from embarrassment, partly from lingering excitement. James brushes his thumb across Ronnie's bottom lip.

“At least give me a smile,” he says. All cocksure as usual, despite the churning in his stomach.

Ronnie manages a small quirk of his lips. A pale imitation of what James wants to see.

“Thank you,” Ronnie says sincerely, his blue eyes warm with gratitude.

“You really need to stop thanking me,” James adds.

This time he does smile, wide and bright under James’ fingers. “I don’t think there are enough thanks in the world,” he admits bashfully.

James doesn’t answer and lets him go. Because, after all, there’s really not much else he can do.

When Ronnie gently closes the door behind him, James immediately worms his hand down his jeans and into his underwear. He growls in relief as he grasps himself. His hand still tingles, a slight raw sting burning at his palm, but it only adds to overwhelming sensation of finally bringing himself to release.

He laughs hollowly, the sound so desperately pathetic even to his own ears, and knocks his head back against the wall in frustration.

Who knew that somewhere along the line, taking what he wanted would be eclipsed by giving someone what they needed.

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