I'm not sure how kinky this is. I mean, it has riding, and I do love riding, but aside from that it's pretty tame. I just thought the prompt sounded cute and cracky.
Prompt was: James really wants to take a nap but Carlos won't stop singing 'Be a Man' from Mulan. Watching Carlos dance around gets James horny but he's tired and he wants to fuck slow. Carlos doesn't. So Carlos gets really into the song and rides James like a proper vaquero.
James/Carlos
James just wants to take a nap.
It becomes very obvious, however, that he's not going to get what he wants, possibly ever. He was almost asleep, blissfully unaware of the world, when Carlos burst in, singing at the top of his lungs, his iPod ear buds in. Carlos had effectively ruined any chance of sleep, so now he's lying on his bed, face buried in his pillow, while Carlos listens to Be a Man on repeat.
If Carlos was only singing it wouldn't be such a problem. James is used to sleeping with background noise, he can handle that, hell, music helps him sleep at night. What makes this particularly horrible is that Carlos isn't just singing, he's dancing too, choreographing his own routine to the song, and getting really, really, disturbingly into it. Carlos has his helmet buckled, fastened securely under his chin, and he's trying out several different moves as the stanzas change.
"How could I, make a man, out of you?" Carlos belts, twirling his hockey stick like a bow staff. It's an accident waiting to happen, that does, in fact, happen, as Carlos fails to catch it after he tosses it up into the air and it smacks him in the face. Rubbing his nose, Carlos chucks the stick aside, changing his facial expression to match the implied tones of the lyrics. He's angry, he's condescending, he's confidant, switching back and forth, exaggerating everything, kicking and spinning in a sad imitation of kung fu. He falls twice, trips over the edge of his bed once, accidentally kicks so hard his shoe flies off and hits James in the hip. It's ridiculous and Carlos looks ridiculous and somehow he can't help but watch. Carlos is keeping him awake with his little one man show; he might as well have an audience.
The song starts over and Carlos strips off his shirt, purses his lips as he goes into 'serious' mode. He's exhausted as ever but he likes watching Carlos tumble around half naked, pantomiming every action described in the song. It's kind of cute to watch him pretend to swim or try to act like a raging fire. Carlos is definitely motivated, he'll give him that. There are few renditions of Be a Man that are this entertaining.
Sure enough, he starts to really like watching Carlos dance around without his shirt on, getting worked up and sweaty, flustered each time he tries something new and fails at it. If he had the energy he'd get up and do something about it himself, grab Carlos by the straps of his helmet and tug him onto the bed, make him shut up and let James sleep. He knows from personal experience that if he fucks Carlos hard enough he'll fall asleep and if Carlos is asleep, then that means the room will be quiet, and James can finally nap.
"Carlos, come here." Carlos doesn't hear him and he's too distracted spreading his hands out, away from his chest in an attempt to demonstrate his fire within. "Carlos!"
"Hm?" Carlos won't talk; he's too busy singing, so he hums a little questioning sound when the instrumentals of the song flare up.
"Take your pants off and get over here." Carlos hears him and even if he doesn't, James is kicking his jeans away, and that's enough of a clue. "I'm tired of watching you flaunt your ass around."
Carlos stares at him for a moment, utterly still, no longer singing, and he looks from his iPod to James, back and forth, over and over, like he's trying to make a decision. He is trying to choose, James realizes in horror, Carlos can't decide if he'd rather fuck or go on dancing. After almost a full two minutes, Carlos rips his ear buds out, pulls down his jeans and boxers, and darts over to his bed to put his iPod down. James scoots up further on the bed, smugly pleased, and wants to cry when instead of setting the iPod down; Carlos plugs it into the speakers, Be a Man flooding the room. "Dude, no."
"Please." Carlos says, making his eyes huge, round and wide and begging. He can't say no to that face, especially not when they're both naked. He'll sacrifice some ambiance if it means he can still get laid.
"Just get over here." Carlos beams, starts the song over from the beginning, and runs to James' side of the room, hops onto the foot of the bed.
Carlos starts to crawl to him and he deludes himself into thinking this is going to work out okay. About ten seconds in, Carlos makes it abundantly clear that this is not going to be okay. Carlos crawls to him, low on the bed, trying to be sultry, mouthing the lyrics so passionately and intensely, with such seriousness James doesn't know whether to laugh or look away. His dick would probably be more interested if he looked away, because the sight isn't pretty or sexy or anything other than weird. "Stop it." His warning would be more effective if he wasn't already half hard.
The beginning sequence of the song starts up again, drums steady and soft. Carlos gets to him and he's obviously planned this out, because the words begin and Carlos stands on his knees and, puffing out his chest, trying to appear intimidating and in charge, he sings let's get down to business. He wants to tell Carlos no, that the deal is off, he can go dance for Kendall or Logan, except they're naked and he's hard and he's not going to pass up the opportunity to fuck at three in the afternoon.
"Did they send me daughters, when I asked for sons?" Carlos flutters his eyelashes, does his best to feign being a girl. Carlos is a shitty actor; it's a good thing he can dance and sing.
"Oh my god, shut up." He grabs Carlos' wrist and pulls him forward, gets the lube and slicks up his fingers, narrowing his eyes to show that he is not pleased, not in the slightest.
"Once you find your center, you are sure, to wiiiiinnn." Carlos' voice breaks when James slips a finger in, his free hand on Carlos' hip, holding him steady. Carlos moves around too much, still dancing, wriggling in a way that has nothing to do with pleasure. Frankly he's sort of offended. "I'm never gonna catch my breath." Carlos mimics the character's voice, rocking a little on his knees that are on either side of James' hips.
He succeeds in getting Carlos to stop dancing the instant he finds his prostate. Carlos shudders, lyrics dying in his throat, and presses down with all his weight, beads of sweat trickling down from his collarbone, gleaming bright in the afternoon sun.
He works Carlos open slowly, because he's tired, because Carlos' singing is distracting, because he'd almost rather be napping, almost. He's perfectly content where he is, three fingers deep in Carlos, making him tremble and twist, entire lines of the song dissolving into moans. It's good, it's great, it's really fucking hot, and he's ready to tell Carlos to roll over and hope pounding his face into the mattress will get him to stop singing.
"Assume the position." He says, stroking the soft skin on the inside of Carlos' thighs.
Carlos shakes his head, pushes James lightly until he's flat on his back, staring up as Be a Man begins yet again.
"Mister, I'll—" Carlos sinks down, a lightning quick snap, sudden weight and heat on James' dick. Carlos looks surprised for a second, like he can't believe what he's done, and honestly James can't either. Carlos has never done this before, not that James hasn't thought about it, not that he hasn't wanted to lie back and let Carlos do all the work, watch the muscles in his thighs quiver as he works himself up and down, the prettiest cowboy California or Minnesota has ever seen.
Carlos points at him, squeezes his inner muscles, experimenting, adjusting to the difference in being on top, his cheeks flushed pink from the heat. "Make a man, out of you." Clichéd lines aside, he's not going to mind Carlos making a man out of him if he keeps doing what he's doing.
Carlos starts slow, obviously trying to figure out the logistics of the thing, trying to see what feels good and what doesn't. He settles for putting most of his weight on his knees and leaning forward a bit, a hand on James' chest for balance, right over his heart. He just kind of bounces at first, shallow movements and James notices, more horrified than ever, that he's doing it to the drumbeat of the song. It shouldn't work, but it does, but just barely. He focuses on the clinging heat, the way Carlos' rhythm falters when he moves a certain way, the breathy pants Carlos lets out in-between groaning along with the lyrics. "You're a spineless, pale, pathetic lot." Carlos glances at James' chest as he sings the word pale, and fuck that, he used to be a kickass shade of mangerine, not pale at all.
"Can't you be quiet?" At this point it isn't going to make much of a difference. James is going to come regardless, pretty soon in fact, all he has to do is let Carlos, literally, ride it out.
Carlos answers by grinding down extra hard to the line with all the strength of a raging fire. "Fuck." He hisses and seriously, his dick hurts a little. That's not cool; he and Carlos are going to have to talk about that.
"Heed my every order, and you might, survive." Carlos is way too into this for it to be normal.
The crescendo of the song builds, the music at its loudest, Carlos' voice barely functional, too fucked out and used out and strained. "Mysterious as—" Carlos removes his hand from James' chest, he's perfected his technique enough that he can move using just his thighs, and extends his hands in his best kung-fu pose, hands flat, fingers together like he's making paper in a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. "the dark side of the mooooooooon."
It should bother him more that Carlos comes then, messy and thick, losing his ability to sing completely, sitting flush on James' lap, speared so full of dick he can't move. It's best that he can't move, though, 'cause if he did that would be a tragedy, and it only takes James one or two small thrusts up to finish.
"I don't think I can look at you anymore." He closes his eyes and moves his hands to Carlos' waist, touches him gently, his fingers sliding where they're both sweat and come slick. "That is burned into my brain, dude."
"You liked it." Carlos croaks and God, James can't believe he didn't see that Carlos had his helmet on the entire time too. Carlos sounds fucked out and exhausted and it's sort of turning him on.
The battery of Carlos' iPod runs out suddenly and the room is blessedly quiet.
"Sure." He rolls Carlos off him, onto the bed, and waits while Carlos unbuckles his helmet and sets it on the nightstand. "I'm going to sleep now, you can join me if you want, but either way, I am taking my goddamn nap."
Carlos snuggles up against him, like James knew he would, and James is almost asleep when Carlos sings, whisper silent.
"Tranquil as a forest—".
James sighs, rests his chin on the top of Carlos' head and chimes in.
"But on fire within."