sevenswells | [ONE-SHOT] Emit Remmus (Mark/Chris) (ENG)

Title: Emit Remmus

Author:

sevenswells

Beta: many thanks to

drgaellon for correcting all my mistakes!

Rating: NC-17 ,,,-___-,,,

Fandom/Pairing: Glee RPS, Mark Salling/Chris Colfer

Warnings: PWP and webcam sex. And an interesting experiment: pr0n written with my eyes looking away from the screen all the time.

Comments: Oh God, I'm going to a special level of hell, aren't I? I don't even know how this happened. Anyway,

berylia , you teased me about my food!kink, so here's clothes!kink for ya; pleasure's all mine. :D
The title comes from the song Emit Remmus by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, from the album Californication, the lyrics were particularly inspiring. I always associate the whole album with summer, and it felt good listening to it again, a bit like listening to Christmas carols at Christmas ^^

Word count: 2 693 w.

"Hey, baby," Mark said, when Chris' cheerful face appeared on his computer screen. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," Chris said, half a second out of sync with the movement of his lips. "What time is it there?"

Because of the screen's unbalanced contrast, Chris' lips appeared very red on his pale face, and his blue eyes could have almost been indistinct, if they hadn't been outlined by the thin dark rays of his eyelashes.

"Huh," Mark said. "Around 4 p.m., I think? I just came back from fishing."

"How did it go?"

The first time they'd Skyped like this after Chris had taken off to Europe for the summer break had been, Mark had to admit, a little bit awkward. He and Chris met on Glee; soon, they were nearly always found together, and before anyone realized it, they were going out, ninja-ing their way past the paparazzi and the prying cameras (bless Chris' intensive training in Shaolin temples). It happened just like that, smoothly; they hadn't had to think too much about it.

These past few months had been suffocating and crazy, with the filming and then the tour and the interviews, and they'd had no choice but to just go with the flow, still not having to think about anything other than ravishing each other's body whenever they could, and trying to keep it a secret.

So when the summer break arrived, they just weren't prepared to be separated. It came, stupidly enough, as a bit of a surprise to them, like the only remaining dancers in a night club who are too busy enjoying themselves to notice the janitors are about to close the place.

There was a silver lining to their being an entire ocean apart, though: Mark could now say he mastered the difficult art of Skype conferences. Not that it was much of a consolation, but he prided himself on being quite the optimist, so there you go. He was being mature by finding the best in the situation, instead of whining like a needy teenaged girl about how much he physically missed Chris, going on and on about how much he wanted to feel him near and smell him -- because Chris' smell was unique and intoxicating; Mark couldn't get enough of it, especially when he nuzzled him at the base of his neck, or behind his earlobe -- that little dip Mark couldn't resist prodding with his tongue whenever he got the chance. He wanted to suck on his boyfriend's full lips endlessly and fuck him silly, until both of them dropped, exhausted, with their bones liquefied.

This was ridiculous. He was almost thirty; he couldn't be infatuated with a younger man to the point of thinking about him every single fucking day -- what was next, keeping a diary?

"Terrific," he replied. "Caught a beautiful bass; we're having it for dinner. How was your day?"

"Amber and I went shopping," Chris said excitedly, his youth particularly obvious, as it was every time he got passionate about something. "You wouldn't believe the stuff I got..."

"I heard you and Amber went clubbing, too, last night," Mark suddenly said, interrupting him, their words overlapping. "How was it?"

Mark tried to sound casual, maybe a little too desperately. Chris made a face.

"Mark. Are you jealous?"

"Not at all. I just want to know how you're enjoying your stay in London. That's all."

"Want to know whether I've met someone else, younger, funnier, with a better body while I was at the club dancing, you mean? I told you, there is no such a person in the world." Chris paused, then added with a wicked grin, "Well, except for the 'younger' part, but..."

Mark winced at that, and Chris noticed. He laughed, a little sheepishly, knowing very well the age thing sometimes was an issue. "Oh, come on, you know I was kidding. You always seem to think every single person on this planet is lusting after me, but I can assure you, they're not. And you're the only one I'll ever want." Chris paused, his eyelids drooped a bit, causing his eyelashes to elongate in delicate, pencil-thin strokes. His lips parted, slightly hesitant to form words, and his pink tongue darted out to wet them quickly. Mark recognized the signs. Chris was turned on, very possibly crawling out of his skin because it was late in London and he was maybe a little tired from all the partying and shopping and flirting with strangers. Okay, that last part was uncalled for. "Let me prove it to you. Take off your shirt."

"Chris, no."

Mark saw his boyfriend frown on screen, and recognized the oncoming Pout of Doom.

"Baby," Mark said placatingly, "I know, I miss you too, and it's making me crazy, but right now I can't. I told you, it's the middle of the afternoon here..."

"M-mh... your point?"

Uh-oh. Now Chris was on the verge of sulking for good. His youth showed at times like these, too.

"My point is," Mark said, lowering his voice to a murmur, "that I can't jack off in front of a webcam with you watching when there are still people around who might walk in on me. I just..."

"Oh, so that's what you had in mind," Chris replied, the amusement back in his voice, thank God. "I simply wanted to see you half naked, but what you say is interesting. Tell me more."

"Stop that, will you?"

"Buzzkill. Okay, then."

Mark almost stopped breathing when Chris started unbuttoning his own shirt in front of the webcam.

"Chris..." Mark warned.

Chris lifted his head, hair in disarray and cheeks flushed, eyes looking very wide and innocent, all eyelashes deployed.

"What?" Chris giggled. "Don't get excited."

He slipped off his shirt, carelessly letting it drop behind him. He stood up so all Mark could see on screen was the top of Chris' black trousers underlining his white stomach. He heard Chris' voice go on, unperturbed, as Chris moved away from the webcam, leaving only a shot of the ridiculously wide bed of his hotel suite. "I just want to show you the clothes I bought today. Lucky you, you get to see it in 3D: it's the latest trend, since Avatar."

Chris came back in front of the webcam, humming the first very recognizable notes of Roy Orbison’s Pretty Woman. Mark couldn't suppress a bark of laughter when he saw what his boyfriend was wearing.

"Like it?" Chris asked with a mischievious grin. "I bought it as an homage to your fabulous taste in t-shirts."

It was black, and the front depicted a giant airbrushed wolf's head with airbrushed sparkles and stars all around it. It looked utterly and wonderfully kitsch.

"Love it. You look good in it, babe," Mark answered with a smile. "You know you can't wear it in public, though..."

"I know, I know, dummy!" Chris huffed, rolling his eyes. "Now let's see, next..."

He was apparently struggling a bit trying to remove the t-shirt, and just his belly button occupied Mark's screen for several seconds, in close-up, from every angle, as Chris was wriggling out of the top. During those few seconds, Mark was reminded of the special attention he gladly lavished on that perfect jewel of a navel before he moved further down Chris' body to take him in his mouth. Trying to forget those thoughts, which were making his mouth water, he shifted a bit in his seat, waiting for the next t-shirt and trying to focus.

"Tetris?" he said in disbelief, as he saw a bright blue t-shirt with colorful and familiar shapes filling his screen.

"Yes, an homage again. I heard this is the video game old people like you used to play when they were young, like, in the 1900s. Or -- was it Pong? Anyway."

"Careful. You're trying your luck here, young man," Mark said, finally deciding he was more amused than irritated.

"Blah, blah, blah. What're you going to do about it, huh? Come and get me," said Chris, discarding his t-shirt.

Mark drew a sharp breath when Chris got up again and started removing his trousers, ending up in just his khaki boxers. Before Mark could say anything about keeping it to a minimum of decency or something equally ridiculous, which would earn him a bunch of acid comments, no doubt, Chris bent over to pick up something from the floor, the fabric of his boxers tightening over his firm round butt cheeks displayed in full view. Mark couldn't believe it. Chris was doing it on purpose. And even though Mark knew very well he was being manipulated within an inch of his life, he couldn't help getting hard, in front of his fucking computer screen, like a fucking teenager, at fucking 4 in the afternoon, at his fucking parents' house. But boy, did this bring back memories.

Chris thrust one leg then the other into a pair of skinny jeans made out of a shimmery material, wriggled a little again - still in front of the camera's eye, of course - to cover up his ass and button up the front, providing a running commentary all the while. "So these we purchased in Soho. Amber told me no way I could fit in them, I told her yes way. She said it was way too 'Kurt,' and it's not my usual style, you know, and I think she may be right, but sometimes I also think there's a little of Kurt that permea-"

"Chris," Mark interrupted, as patiently as he could. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's working, but let me just say it's cruel. I told you, baby, I can't do anything."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Chris said innocently. Then he unbuttoned and unzipped, hooked his thumbs into the waist of the jeans and pulled everything down. Everything, including his boxers. Mark couldn't even see Chris' face, but what he could see very well was his boyfriend's erect penis, at 1280x1024 resolution.

"And then," Chris babbled on, completely at ease, "we were walking in Covent Garden, because Amber wanted to get a pair of Doc Martens boots no matter what, but I saw this adorable shop in passing and fell in love with..."

He slipped what looked like some sort of vest over his shoulders; it only covered the upper part of his body, leaving the lower half still very visible. As the dark fabric fell on Chris' skin, Mark saw Chris' cock twitch, as if the mere touch of it turned Chris on. His face still nowhere to be seen, Mark saw Chris' fingers lightly brush the underside of his shaft (was it because of the anonymity of the image? Mark felt he'd never seen something so dirty, and there wasn't even actual fondling involved or anything), and then his hand went to rest on his hip, which he cocked a little to the side, posing as he concluded, "...this."

It was a blue leather jacket, which fit Chris so well he could have been born with it. He looked breathtakingly gorgeous, and terribly fuckable, with his dick pointing out between the lapels of the jacket.

Mark's throat constricted.

"Touch yourself," he breathed, his voice strained.

Chris' face finally made an appearance onscreen, and the brat seemed all too pleased with himself. "I'm sorry, honey, what was that?"

"You know very well what it was. I give up. Just... I warn you though, I'm still not doing anything. Now just give me a second, I have to lock the door."

He put the headset down and walked to the door as fast as his current condition would allow. Once the door was locked, by the time he got back, the image had changed: Chris had arranged his lithe, elfin body, which looked so small on the giant bed, with cushions behind his back so he was half-sitting, legs spread wide open so Mark could enjoy the view. He still had the jacket on.

"Fuck," Mark said, out of breath, fumbling with the headset to put it back on as quick as possible, and sank down in his seat.

"Yeah," Chris sighed, slowly fondling his balls with one hand, eyes half-mast, tongue resting on his upper lip. His hair was covering the left side of his face, but he was obviously too caught up in what he was doing to care.

"God, you look like a whore. Come on, spread your cheeks, let me see."

Chris whined and gasped, "That's not fair. You know I like the sound of your voice; you're trying to use it against me."

Mark chuckled. "Hey, this may be unfair, but you're the one who's playing dirty here. Suck on your middle finger now. Coat it with spit."

Chris did as he was told, looking right into the camera with a smoldering stare, lips parted and trembling as he breathed heavily through his mouth.

"You should see yourself," Mark continued, and he made his voice go deeper, knowing exactly what kind of effect it would have on Chris. "You look so hot right now, I can't take it. Play with your hole. Don't let your finger penetrate, though, keep it superficial. Yeah. Like that."

Mark briefly wondered how long he could endure this sight without masturbating. His cock was aching inside his jeans, but he was the mature one, he reminded himself. He could stand being turned on and not relieving himself. He locked his hands behind his head, fingers entwined, just to keep them away from the general area of his crotch.

"Can I touch my cock now?" Chris pleaded, his cheeks redder than ever, hips rocking back and forth.

"Do it."

Chris fisted the head of his cock and dragged his hand slowly to the base, drawing back the foreskin which revealed a gleaming, bright pink glans. His index finger gently tapped the dripping slit, and he threw his head back against the cushions, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

"Show me, baby," Mark urged him on. "Oh, God, I want you so much. Show me how you fuck yourself."

Chris began pumping in earnest, sinking lower and lower on the cushions, offering an incredible porn star position to Mark's eyes. The lapels of the jacket scrunched and folded up around his head as Chris sped up and moved his hips in rhythm. Whipping his head to the side, he caught a bit of the fabric between his teeth, as if the only way to let up the intensity was to bite into the first thing that approached his mouth, which wasn't surprising: Mark's shoulders were testimonies of Chris' cannibalistic tendencies when he was close to orgasm, too. As a result, Chris' cries went higher and higher, his body thrashing and once again, Mark recognized the signs.

Mark saw Chris' orgasm before he heard it because of the delay in the connection; he saw Chris' hips buck and semen shoot from his arched cock, some of it sprinkling on the jacket. Only then did he hear Chris' shout and that just doubled Mark's excitement.

After a moment, while Mark tried to catch his breath, Chris abruptly got up and walked up to the webcam as if nothing had happened. He splayed his soiled hand over his chest and smeared his come across, from nipple to nipple, sighing, "Phew, that was good." Then he added, waggling his fingers, "Okay, thanks, bye now!"

And suddenly Mark found himself staring in astonishment at a blank computer screen with only the icon of a red phone that announced to him that the conversation was over. He had been left incredibly turned on, so much so that he reckoned it would be painful when he finally got up to fling himself into a cold shower. Still, he couldn't keep the fondness out of his voice when he said out loud, "That bitch."

This was likely going to be the longest summer in existence.

He just prayed he wouldn't end up keeping a diary.