mercyrobot: (ju dirty eyebrows)
[personal profile] mercyrobot
Title: Living Conditions (lame title is lame)
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1459
Summary: Jones has nipple rings. Filth ensues.
Notes: This is brought to you by [livejournal.com profile] ftw302's awesome shirtless Jones with piercings. Noodle cartoons really should not do these things to my brain. XD (Also bonus Jones who I'm totally defying.)



If there's one thing Dan's learnt in the past week, it's that Jones is never still if he's awake, constantly making music or noise or art or all three at once. He seems to vibrate with impatience when he has to stop to tend to minor annoyances like eating. Dan's sort of known this already, from seeing him fiddling with some dismantled toy when they've watched films, or doodling on matchbooks and beer mats (and occasionally Dan's arm) when they've gone to the pub, but living here he's realised just how much Jones is always on.

It's no surprise, then, to find him sat on the floor at four in the morning hacking the sleeves off a striped t-shirt, apparently one he's just taken off. But it does make Dan stop dead in his tracks. He's seen Jones with his shirt off more than a few times now, but he's fairly sure there's never been a little bead ring through each of Jones's nipples.

Jones looks up. "Alright, Dan? You been at work all this time?" he calls over the blaring music. One of his own mixes. Dan envies that a bit; he can't look at any of his old articles without cringing, never mind anything else he tries to write.

"Deadline. When did you get..." Dan indicates his chest.

Jones gets to his feet and quiets the speakers to a dull roar. "What, these?" He flicks one of the rings with his finger, which shouldn't make Dan feel suddenly very warm, but it does. "Couple years ago. Don't always wear 'em now. Tend to end up with my tits out at gigs and some people seem to think they're some kinda toy. Never the ones I'd want thinking it, neither."

"Who would you want thinking it?" Oh, he shouldn't have nicked that wine off Jonatton's desk.

"There was this bloke last week who stood in the back all by himself tryin' not to smile at me. Wouldn't've minded him." For all Jones's sheepish head-ducking, that grin is fucking calculated, because that bloke was Dan and they both know it.

Now he wonders if the invitation to stay here was calculated too, and finds that he doesn't really mind if it was. It's not like he's never thought about it. "You planning on chucking me out once you've had your way with me?"

"Only if you're rubbish in bed."

Dan drops the hand that was starting to reach out towards Jones. "I probably would be," he mumbles.

"Aw, c'mon, Dan, you know I'm just takin' the piss." Jones steps up close enough that Dan can smell his sweat and the fruity greasiness of his hair. It should be off-putting, but it's really, really not. "I meant it, stay as long as you want. Even if you say no. But I ain't spent this much time wanking since I was about sixteen."

"Shit," Dan says, and he's not sure if he's saying it because of the image that's just entered his mind or because he can feel Jones hard against his leg. Both, really.

"'S what I said when I saw you asleep with a big fuckin' hard-on," Jones says, looking Dan dead in the eyes and pressing more deliberately up against him, squeezing Dan's cock through his jeans.

"This is a bad idea." Dan says it with absolutely no conviction and barely voiced, a token protest to call back to later when, surely, this will prove to have been one.

But his hand goes to Jones's chest anyway. He gives one of the rings a gentle tug, and Jones makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp, cheeks gone pink and his eyes half-closing. "Do that again."

Dan does, rolling Jones's nipple under his fingertip and letting the ring catch on it. Jones bites his own lip, then Dan's when he pulls Dan's head down for a rough, sloppy kiss that tastes like sugared coffee, which turns out is what Dan's always more or less imagined. "I see why you take them out for gigs," Dan says with Jones breathing raggedly against his mouth.

Jones laughs a bit as he starts undoing Dan's belt. "Sort of, yeah. 'S mostly 'cause it's you, though."

"I shouldn't worry about you going deaf-- you're going blind. I look like a tramp."

"Yeah, but you're my tramp."

The words and the tone and Jones's hand down his pants cause a nauseous sort of warm falling feeling deep in Dan's gut, and he kisses Jones again to stop either of them saying anything else. Jones's hand on his cock feels hotter than what seems like all Dan's blood filling it, and even the little drops of precome Jones teases out with his thumb feel cool in comparison. It's when Jones takes his hand away, though, that Dan thinks he might just come in his pants, because Jones pushes them apart and makes Dan watch as he spreads the fluid over the nipple Dan hasn't been rubbing, with an I-dare-you grin.

There's definitely something wrong with tongueing what amounts to your own spunk off your new flatmate's nipple, but Dan bends his head down and takes the dare, slipping the tip of his tongue in and out of the ring and feeling the metal clack against his teeth. Jones claws at his scalp and says, "Fuck, Dan," as Dan fumbles Jones's jeans open and pulls his cock out over the waistband of his pants. He imagines sucking it (he finds he really wants to) and swirls his tongue around Jones's nipple the way he would around the head of his cock if he were.

Jones touches the back of his hand. "Fuck, slow down or I'll come," he says, and it's hoarse and gorgeous.

"I want you to." Dan keeps stroking him purposefully, harder and more slowly than what he'd do to himself, but Jones seems to like it that way, seems to like it even more when Dan cups his balls with the other hand and pulls at the nipple ring as hard as his tongue can manage. When he feels warm slick liquid bead up between his fingertips, he reaches up and smears it down the other side of Jones's chest, then licks it off with a hard swipe of his tongue. It tastes different, sweeter, and makes him want to touch himself, but touching Jones is more important. Addictive, actually, from the sounds he's making and the way he's pulling Dan's hair. The angle's wrong and Jones is too much shorter for him to be able do anything else.

"Dan, seriously."

It's weak and not very serious at all, though, and Dan knows Jones could stop him if he wanted to. If he's made to stop, he's not honestly sure he'll be able to start again. If he stops, he'll think about it, think too much. It's not thought but temptation that makes him drop to his knees and kiss his way down Jones's stomach, licking wet paths through the line of hairs on his lower abdomen.

"Oh, you fucking bastard," Jones groans when Dan's lips close over the tip of his cock. But he's stroking Dan's hair and shallowly fucking his mouth with more control than Dan wants him to be able to manage. He pulls one of Dan's hands off his arse and places it on his wet nipple, and Dan pinches it and pulls at the ring and tries not to choke as he takes Jones in deeper. It's been a long time since he's done this, and those times are drunk and hazy and half-remembered, but he's pretty sure none of them (all two of them) felt like they mattered this much.

Jones yanks Dan's head back by his hair and says, "Look at me." Dan opens his eyes and they lock with Jones's as he hisses out something between his teeth and comes. His hips jerk and his knees buckle and Dan catches him and holds him up, trying to swallow but not managing entirely.

"Don't," Jones says when Dan goes to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sinks down to the floor and licks the stray drops away, a sandpaper noise over Dan's unshaven face, then kisses him, still breathing hard and hot and shuddering. "I wanted to do that in the bed for about three hours with no clothes on, you tit," he says when he pulls back.

Dan has to think now, but with Jones's lips red and swollen and his eyes dark and his own cock still throbbing, he's not sure what part of him is actually doing the thinking. Maybe the wiser part. He swallows. "We...still can."

Jones's smile feels like being swept up into the sky.
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