Technicolor
Jan. 10th, 2011 06:54 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
sherlockelly.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
2minsforslashingTitle: Technicolor
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sherlockelly
Pairing: Cam Fowler / Himself, (Bobby Ryan); Anaheim Ducks
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Real people, fake story.
Summary: It's been four months since Cam has ... taken things into his own hands ...
Author's Note: I have no idea what I'm doing writing the Ducks. This came to me after watching these videos when I realized that Cam Fowler is the most adorably innocent thing ever, but really other than those videos I know nothing about him so forgive me that. Unedited because my beta refuses to indulge my obsession with this boy. :(
It was not something that Cam did often, not even back when he was in his own room in his own house, but it was going on four months now and Cam wasn’t made of steel by any means.
He was uneasy about this environment; this house that was not his, these sheets that his mother didn’t buy. It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable, the very idea of it. Cam was nervous, overwhelmingly so, and he’d been shrugging it off for weeks now, but the need thrumming in his veins had finally trumped his caution.
Maybe he was just a little too innocent, the way his friends had teased him in high school when he confessed, buzzed after two beers, that he didn’t really—well. He paused, swallowed, looked away—masturbate all that much. And no, he hadn’t slept with his girlfriend yet, but they were both waiting for the absolute right moment, and it wasn’t that he was opposed to it, and he wasn’t waiting for marriage or anything like that. He just thought it ought to be something special.
But four months, that was too long even for him. He’d been on absolute overload since coming to live with the Niedermayers: professionally, socially, and emotionally. And no, maybe not sexually per say, but Cam had never showered so much, so often, with so many well-built people—guys, men. Teammates. Something—before. It didn’t really matter.
Carefully, Cam checked the lock on his door. He turned the tab, carefully, and tested the knob, checking and double-checking. Just in case, just in case someone decided to check up on him. He tried to muffle all sound of the metal clanking together, which seemed deafening in the small room. He didn’t lock his door usually and he paused, afraid that someone would hear that sound and know.
He listened to the quiet, the anticipation building even more when he heard nothing but silence.
His preparation of the room continued; he still had the checklist in his mind after all this time. Cam flipped the picture of his draft day face down, the picture of him and his parents, the team photo, and finally, the collection of photographs of him and his girlfriend, face down against the cold wood of his nightstand.
He turned out the light and made his way over to the bed.
It was stupid that he should be this nervous, he told himself, again and again. No one will know; they couldn’t possibly look at him and be able to tell that he’d done anything. He wipes his palms on his flannel bottoms. It had been getting sort of cold at night.
He surveyed the room. Check. Check. Check. Okay, now.
For four months the feelings had been building up, piling on top of each other until he couldn’t take it. He was already hard and throbbing in his pajamas, tenting out in front of him obscenely. No one is here to see, he told himself.
Cam untied the drawstring, shimmied out of his bottoms before folding them neatly and placing them on the foot of his bed.
It was almost ritualistic, but it’s been way too long. His boxers followed the same path downward and he folded them up impossibly small, setting them carefully atop his pants.
It wasn’t until he was sitting on the comforter with nothing between him and the fabric that he started to doubt the decision. He could probably wait a little longer, he was sure. It wasn’t dire or anything. Yes it was, his body screamed back at him. He felt guilty, bare-assed on someone else’s bedspread; this was not his bed, this was not his room.
But—
But he’d been saving a lot of images for this moment and when his eyes shut, they all flash behind his lids in Technicolor.
Different images of the same thing. Okay, yes. This was dire.
His warm hand, still sweaty, closed around his length as he brought up the first memory. Cam’s head tipped back suddenly, almost banging against the headboard. Be careful. His hips leapt up into the gentle touch.
It was all right there behind his eyes like it happened yesterday.
Him, Bobby, standing back to the showers as he lathered up his hair, chewing on his bottom lip like bubble gum, like it took every ounce of his concentration to run his fingers through the red-brown waves.
Cam bit his own lip, not nearly as full, a mirror of the scene in his head. The hand not currently gripped around his length reached up to tug a bit as his own blond curls. His toes curled into the comforter and with the heat on in his bedroom maybe he could just imagine standing in the shower beside him.
“Oh.”
It was quiet, smaller than a whisper, but Cam’s eyes shot open to the door. No light underneath, just as silent as before. His bedroom was on the other side of the house from everyone, rationally he knew that, he really did.
His rapid breathing was loud enough in the tiny space, but not enough that anyone could hear. His eyes shut and he finally, finally stroked himself, long and slow and easy, base to tip.
The second image glided like a slideshow into his sights as his mind started to fog. Bobby again, about two months ago, only the two of them left behind in the locker room. It was a casual wink, Cam was sure, especially since he’d been staring, and it was really nice of Bobby not to point that out. But he couldn’t have very well left after that without showering, which would have been worse, made it even more obvious that Cam had something—or nothing, maybe. Not really—to hide.
It had seemed like something then, though. The way Bobby faced outward into the room, smiling as he washed himself down, eyes shut against the pounding of the water.
Cam's hand still twisted in his hair dropped down to his chest and stomach, rubbing as it went, lower and lower. Remembering.
Cam’s other hand moved quicker as well. Four months was a long time. It wasn’t going to last.
“B—”
Just the first sound is all that escaped, and Cam was quiet, very, actually. He managed to squeeze in just the right way at just the right time to keep everything inside, including most of his noise.
His eyes shot open again, back to the door, still closed, still locked. His heels dug into the mattress and his head lolled back against the wall. Gently, no noises.
The position brought something else into view and he caught sight of himself in the flat glossy black of his new television, reflecting his own image back at himself like a muted mirror. Cam watched as his hips thrust up into his fist, lithe fingers curled loosely.
His face burned with embarrassment. It was too much; his eyes shut. Next time he’ll have to remember to toss a towel over that as well.
But—
But until next time, he opened his eyes up again, tight slits barely letting anything past his eyelashes, but he can still see. Cam bent his knee further; letting his legs fall open, head tipped back again to rest, relax. Breathe
He didn’t get to the third slide in his show; something more enticing was fluttering at the forefront of his mind. If Bobby were here, crouched over Cam, he could watch him in the reflection.
Cam wondered if Bobby would writhe, if his back would flex in the same way it did when he was in the shower, skin slick with perspiration instead of water, curls matted to the back of his neck.
Cam’s hips stuttered up into his fist. He didn’t get as far as imaging what Bobby would be doing on top of him, but maybe that was for the best.
Cam bit his lip as he came, mostly silent, against his shoulders, chest. Each ribbon striping slightly lower on his abdomen as he pushed up into his fist, eyes pinched shut.
When he opened them again, the glossy black version of himself, messy, stared back with blown pupils. Cam didn’t keep tissues by the bed, even when he was sick, always afraid that someone would see them and assume. So, instead, he grabbed his efficiently folded boxers shorts and wiped himself as clean as he could, tossing them across the room into the pile of dirty laundry. He could bury them near the bottom tomorrow morning, when he flipped the pictures back upright and unlocked the door.
Maybe he’d regret breaking this part of the ritual tomorrow.
He yawned. Or maybe not.
Cam shimmied back into his flannel bottoms and made it only barely under the sheets and comforter before falling into the most restful sleep he’d had in four long months.
Author:
sherlockellyPairing: Cam Fowler / Himself, (Bobby Ryan); Anaheim Ducks
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Real people, fake story.
Summary: It's been four months since Cam has ... taken things into his own hands ...
Author's Note: I have no idea what I'm doing writing the Ducks. This came to me after watching these videos when I realized that Cam Fowler is the most adorably innocent thing ever, but really other than those videos I know nothing about him so forgive me that. Unedited because my beta refuses to indulge my obsession with this boy. :(
It was not something that Cam did often, not even back when he was in his own room in his own house, but it was going on four months now and Cam wasn’t made of steel by any means.
He was uneasy about this environment; this house that was not his, these sheets that his mother didn’t buy. It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable, the very idea of it. Cam was nervous, overwhelmingly so, and he’d been shrugging it off for weeks now, but the need thrumming in his veins had finally trumped his caution.
Maybe he was just a little too innocent, the way his friends had teased him in high school when he confessed, buzzed after two beers, that he didn’t really—well. He paused, swallowed, looked away—masturbate all that much. And no, he hadn’t slept with his girlfriend yet, but they were both waiting for the absolute right moment, and it wasn’t that he was opposed to it, and he wasn’t waiting for marriage or anything like that. He just thought it ought to be something special.
But four months, that was too long even for him. He’d been on absolute overload since coming to live with the Niedermayers: professionally, socially, and emotionally. And no, maybe not sexually per say, but Cam had never showered so much, so often, with so many well-built people—guys, men. Teammates. Something—before. It didn’t really matter.
Carefully, Cam checked the lock on his door. He turned the tab, carefully, and tested the knob, checking and double-checking. Just in case, just in case someone decided to check up on him. He tried to muffle all sound of the metal clanking together, which seemed deafening in the small room. He didn’t lock his door usually and he paused, afraid that someone would hear that sound and know.
He listened to the quiet, the anticipation building even more when he heard nothing but silence.
His preparation of the room continued; he still had the checklist in his mind after all this time. Cam flipped the picture of his draft day face down, the picture of him and his parents, the team photo, and finally, the collection of photographs of him and his girlfriend, face down against the cold wood of his nightstand.
He turned out the light and made his way over to the bed.
It was stupid that he should be this nervous, he told himself, again and again. No one will know; they couldn’t possibly look at him and be able to tell that he’d done anything. He wipes his palms on his flannel bottoms. It had been getting sort of cold at night.
He surveyed the room. Check. Check. Check. Okay, now.
For four months the feelings had been building up, piling on top of each other until he couldn’t take it. He was already hard and throbbing in his pajamas, tenting out in front of him obscenely. No one is here to see, he told himself.
Cam untied the drawstring, shimmied out of his bottoms before folding them neatly and placing them on the foot of his bed.
It was almost ritualistic, but it’s been way too long. His boxers followed the same path downward and he folded them up impossibly small, setting them carefully atop his pants.
It wasn’t until he was sitting on the comforter with nothing between him and the fabric that he started to doubt the decision. He could probably wait a little longer, he was sure. It wasn’t dire or anything. Yes it was, his body screamed back at him. He felt guilty, bare-assed on someone else’s bedspread; this was not his bed, this was not his room.
But—
But he’d been saving a lot of images for this moment and when his eyes shut, they all flash behind his lids in Technicolor.
Different images of the same thing. Okay, yes. This was dire.
His warm hand, still sweaty, closed around his length as he brought up the first memory. Cam’s head tipped back suddenly, almost banging against the headboard. Be careful. His hips leapt up into the gentle touch.
It was all right there behind his eyes like it happened yesterday.
Him, Bobby, standing back to the showers as he lathered up his hair, chewing on his bottom lip like bubble gum, like it took every ounce of his concentration to run his fingers through the red-brown waves.
Cam bit his own lip, not nearly as full, a mirror of the scene in his head. The hand not currently gripped around his length reached up to tug a bit as his own blond curls. His toes curled into the comforter and with the heat on in his bedroom maybe he could just imagine standing in the shower beside him.
“Oh.”
It was quiet, smaller than a whisper, but Cam’s eyes shot open to the door. No light underneath, just as silent as before. His bedroom was on the other side of the house from everyone, rationally he knew that, he really did.
His rapid breathing was loud enough in the tiny space, but not enough that anyone could hear. His eyes shut and he finally, finally stroked himself, long and slow and easy, base to tip.
The second image glided like a slideshow into his sights as his mind started to fog. Bobby again, about two months ago, only the two of them left behind in the locker room. It was a casual wink, Cam was sure, especially since he’d been staring, and it was really nice of Bobby not to point that out. But he couldn’t have very well left after that without showering, which would have been worse, made it even more obvious that Cam had something—or nothing, maybe. Not really—to hide.
It had seemed like something then, though. The way Bobby faced outward into the room, smiling as he washed himself down, eyes shut against the pounding of the water.
Cam's hand still twisted in his hair dropped down to his chest and stomach, rubbing as it went, lower and lower. Remembering.
Cam’s other hand moved quicker as well. Four months was a long time. It wasn’t going to last.
“B—”
Just the first sound is all that escaped, and Cam was quiet, very, actually. He managed to squeeze in just the right way at just the right time to keep everything inside, including most of his noise.
His eyes shot open again, back to the door, still closed, still locked. His heels dug into the mattress and his head lolled back against the wall. Gently, no noises.
The position brought something else into view and he caught sight of himself in the flat glossy black of his new television, reflecting his own image back at himself like a muted mirror. Cam watched as his hips thrust up into his fist, lithe fingers curled loosely.
His face burned with embarrassment. It was too much; his eyes shut. Next time he’ll have to remember to toss a towel over that as well.
But—
But until next time, he opened his eyes up again, tight slits barely letting anything past his eyelashes, but he can still see. Cam bent his knee further; letting his legs fall open, head tipped back again to rest, relax. Breathe
He didn’t get to the third slide in his show; something more enticing was fluttering at the forefront of his mind. If Bobby were here, crouched over Cam, he could watch him in the reflection.
Cam wondered if Bobby would writhe, if his back would flex in the same way it did when he was in the shower, skin slick with perspiration instead of water, curls matted to the back of his neck.
Cam’s hips stuttered up into his fist. He didn’t get as far as imaging what Bobby would be doing on top of him, but maybe that was for the best.
Cam bit his lip as he came, mostly silent, against his shoulders, chest. Each ribbon striping slightly lower on his abdomen as he pushed up into his fist, eyes pinched shut.
When he opened them again, the glossy black version of himself, messy, stared back with blown pupils. Cam didn’t keep tissues by the bed, even when he was sick, always afraid that someone would see them and assume. So, instead, he grabbed his efficiently folded boxers shorts and wiped himself as clean as he could, tossing them across the room into the pile of dirty laundry. He could bury them near the bottom tomorrow morning, when he flipped the pictures back upright and unlocked the door.
Maybe he’d regret breaking this part of the ritual tomorrow.
He yawned. Or maybe not.
Cam shimmied back into his flannel bottoms and made it only barely under the sheets and comforter before falling into the most restful sleep he’d had in four long months.
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Date: 2011-01-11 04:53 am (UTC)My first foray into the lives of not-my-team so this is very much appreciated!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 06:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 05:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 06:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 05:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 06:12 am (UTC)thank you!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 06:32 am (UTC)i love this, so much. cam fic!! i love how nervous and innocent he is, and all the rituals he does to go about even doing it. the imagery is beautiful, especially the bit about the reflection in his fancy new tv.
and then bonus bobby? and now picturing bobby with cam?
yeah. loved it so much.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 02:40 pm (UTC)Bobby totally snuck in there on me! I don't know how he of the ambiguous-hair-color managed that but Cam is apparently not THAT innocent after all!
Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 06:54 pm (UTC)bobby is sneaky like that, apparently! i can't say i blame cam.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 07:00 am (UTC)That was the most perfect combination of adorableness and sexy. It...I don't know, something with how you wrote it really screamed Cam to me?! Please tell me you're going to write more?
no subject
Date: 2011-01-26 02:18 pm (UTC)I'm in the middle of a minibang hockey story due in like, 5 days, so probably no Cam SOON, but I have such a massively massive crush on him that I do want to get into his 'innocence' more. Hopefully with a real person and maybe not someone one his team. I don't know. The ideas are there!