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! Alexander Skarsgard (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} skarsgard) wrote,@ 2012-05-23 18:11:00 |
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Alex Skarsgard gives an assignment to his boy Luke Evans
[backdated to March, 2012; Alex is working in Los Angeles while Luke works in New Zealand]
Alex has been promising - okay, threatening - to send Luke assignments. Things to help them both get through this long separation, and to keep his lover's attention fixed where Alex feels it firmly belongs: right on him. Wellington is nineteen hours ahead of Los Angeles, and so Alex sends the text when they break for lunch, so his lover will find it in the morning.
at exactly 3 pm make an excuse and hit your trailer.
wank for me and send me an after pic.
Luke never used to bother checking his phone until he was seated downstairs, having breakfast, or on his way to the set, but now it's the very first thing he does, every morning, without fail. Even before he takes a piss. His alarm goes off and he scrambles for his watch on the nightstand, blindly pushing buttons until it shuts up, then reaches for his phone and turns it on, yawning as he turns it one way and then the other so he can read his texts without having to turn on the light. And sure enough, there's one from Alex, a fact which makes his whole day before it even starts. Until he reads it. God. 3 pm. On the dot. And he's to send Alex a picture. Instantly and almost painfully hard, he sets the phone down and heads for the bathroom, his mind already working on excuses.
On set the next day, Alex can barely contain his excitement. It actually begins to irritate him that so many people comment on his good mood, and surely that's self-defeating -- for them, anyway. Three o'clock Luke's time will be eight in the evening his time, and he's kind of annoyed that he has to wait so long for Luke's return text. But his reckoning had been that he wanted Luke thinking on his assignment for most of his workday, and absolutely mad with distraction by three o'clock. And imagining that makes it all worth it.
Wearing the plug to set had been distracting, but this, this is eating away at Luke's brain and since he can't wear a watch on set, he's stuck guessing at the time, glancing at different crewmembers' wrists every time he gets a chance, especially from lunch on. But finally it's 3 pm - or close enough - and he tells PJ he needs a washroom break, something he ate, to buy himself enough time for his assignment. It'll net him a whole bunch of teasing for weeks but he's too focused and too hard to care.
He makes a beeline for his trailer, locking the door behind him, and sheds a few layers before sinking to his knees, his costume worked open, moaning like he's been gutted when he gets his hand on his cock. Fuck. He shoves his shirt up, makes sure he has his cellphone beside him and starts stroking his cock, fast and furious, thinking about that last day with Alex here, over the table, getting his ass plowed wide fucking open by his sir.
At home, Alex kicks back on the leather sofa in his living room, bare feet propped up on the coffee table and a glass of good single-malt in his hand. He's the very picture of dissipated calm. Except, that is, for the way he obsessively checks his phone every thirty seconds or so.
There's too much noise outside and he's alone this time, so as hard as Luke is, as good as the fantasy is, it's not working. Fuck. Until he imagines Alex pushing his fist inside him, forcing his hole open, right here, in the trailer. Until he imagines having to keep quiet through that, through Alex filling him so completely, the pain and pleasure overwhelming. And then he comes, so violently his vision goes white with it, his cock spraying hot over his fingers. Chest still heaving as he grabs up his phone with his free hand and takes a picture of himself, his mouth open, his cock hard, fingers dripping with white, and sends it without even thinking to attach a message.
"Dooooonuts," Homer Simpson drawls, like a man in a trance. It's the ringtone Alex has set for incoming text messages, and he snatches up his phone before Homer even finishes his pledge of undying love. Fuck. It's 8:04. Just a few minutes after three o'clock, Wellington time, and there's Luke, looking like a man right out of a low-budget porn flick -- the kind with the real sex, not just all the choreographed stuff.
"Fuck. Me." Alex's cock swells full in mere seconds, and still he's staring at his phone. Then - ignoring how his hand trembles slightly - he speed-dials Luke.
"Yes, sir?" Luke answers right away, his hand still wet, his mind still reeling.
"Good boy." The praise is immediate, automatic. "You are so fucking hot. I wish I were there to lick your fingers clean, one by one."
Oh god. Luke's cock gives a rough throb at the words and he swallows hard before responding. "Thank you, sir. I wish you were here too."
"What excuse did you give your director?" Alex asks.
Luke blushes hard, finally moving to clean his hand and his cock with a tissue. "I said I had to use the washroom. Blamed it on something I ate." Great. Now he'll have to deal with his sir mocking him too.
"Good boy," Alex murmurs. "I'm proud of you. And I won't keep you," he says, "because you did such a good job with your assignment."
The praise feels good and having Alex not make fun of him feels even better. "Thank you, sir. It was... fun. It was like you were here with me in a way," he says softly, tucking himself back into his trousers and starting to layer back on his leathers.
Alex smiles faintly, his heart clutching at the wistful tone of Luke's voice. "I'm going to go jack off to this hot picture of my boy," he says. "And I bet I'll sleep well tonight." For once. Fuck, sleeping alone after getting used to sleeping with Luke... it's been more difficult than he ever would have thought.
Luke grins at that. "Yes, sir. I bet you will. Love you," he says.
"I love you, älskling. And I'm so fucking proud of you," Alex murmurs. "Go back to work. I'll talk to you soon."
[backdated to March, 2012; Alex is working in Los Angeles while Luke works in New Zealand]
Alex has been promising - okay, threatening - to send Luke assignments. Things to help them both get through this long separation, and to keep his lover's attention fixed where Alex feels it firmly belongs: right on him. Wellington is nineteen hours ahead of Los Angeles, and so Alex sends the text when they break for lunch, so his lover will find it in the morning.
at exactly 3 pm make an excuse and hit your trailer.
wank for me and send me an after pic.
Luke never used to bother checking his phone until he was seated downstairs, having breakfast, or on his way to the set, but now it's the very first thing he does, every morning, without fail. Even before he takes a piss. His alarm goes off and he scrambles for his watch on the nightstand, blindly pushing buttons until it shuts up, then reaches for his phone and turns it on, yawning as he turns it one way and then the other so he can read his texts without having to turn on the light. And sure enough, there's one from Alex, a fact which makes his whole day before it even starts. Until he reads it. God. 3 pm. On the dot. And he's to send Alex a picture. Instantly and almost painfully hard, he sets the phone down and heads for the bathroom, his mind already working on excuses.
On set the next day, Alex can barely contain his excitement. It actually begins to irritate him that so many people comment on his good mood, and surely that's self-defeating -- for them, anyway. Three o'clock Luke's time will be eight in the evening his time, and he's kind of annoyed that he has to wait so long for Luke's return text. But his reckoning had been that he wanted Luke thinking on his assignment for most of his workday, and absolutely mad with distraction by three o'clock. And imagining that makes it all worth it.
Wearing the plug to set had been distracting, but this, this is eating away at Luke's brain and since he can't wear a watch on set, he's stuck guessing at the time, glancing at different crewmembers' wrists every time he gets a chance, especially from lunch on. But finally it's 3 pm - or close enough - and he tells PJ he needs a washroom break, something he ate, to buy himself enough time for his assignment. It'll net him a whole bunch of teasing for weeks but he's too focused and too hard to care.
He makes a beeline for his trailer, locking the door behind him, and sheds a few layers before sinking to his knees, his costume worked open, moaning like he's been gutted when he gets his hand on his cock. Fuck. He shoves his shirt up, makes sure he has his cellphone beside him and starts stroking his cock, fast and furious, thinking about that last day with Alex here, over the table, getting his ass plowed wide fucking open by his sir.
At home, Alex kicks back on the leather sofa in his living room, bare feet propped up on the coffee table and a glass of good single-malt in his hand. He's the very picture of dissipated calm. Except, that is, for the way he obsessively checks his phone every thirty seconds or so.
There's too much noise outside and he's alone this time, so as hard as Luke is, as good as the fantasy is, it's not working. Fuck. Until he imagines Alex pushing his fist inside him, forcing his hole open, right here, in the trailer. Until he imagines having to keep quiet through that, through Alex filling him so completely, the pain and pleasure overwhelming. And then he comes, so violently his vision goes white with it, his cock spraying hot over his fingers. Chest still heaving as he grabs up his phone with his free hand and takes a picture of himself, his mouth open, his cock hard, fingers dripping with white, and sends it without even thinking to attach a message.
"Dooooonuts," Homer Simpson drawls, like a man in a trance. It's the ringtone Alex has set for incoming text messages, and he snatches up his phone before Homer even finishes his pledge of undying love. Fuck. It's 8:04. Just a few minutes after three o'clock, Wellington time, and there's Luke, looking like a man right out of a low-budget porn flick -- the kind with the real sex, not just all the choreographed stuff.
"Fuck. Me." Alex's cock swells full in mere seconds, and still he's staring at his phone. Then - ignoring how his hand trembles slightly - he speed-dials Luke.
"Yes, sir?" Luke answers right away, his hand still wet, his mind still reeling.
"Good boy." The praise is immediate, automatic. "You are so fucking hot. I wish I were there to lick your fingers clean, one by one."
Oh god. Luke's cock gives a rough throb at the words and he swallows hard before responding. "Thank you, sir. I wish you were here too."
"What excuse did you give your director?" Alex asks.
Luke blushes hard, finally moving to clean his hand and his cock with a tissue. "I said I had to use the washroom. Blamed it on something I ate." Great. Now he'll have to deal with his sir mocking him too.
"Good boy," Alex murmurs. "I'm proud of you. And I won't keep you," he says, "because you did such a good job with your assignment."
The praise feels good and having Alex not make fun of him feels even better. "Thank you, sir. It was... fun. It was like you were here with me in a way," he says softly, tucking himself back into his trousers and starting to layer back on his leathers.
Alex smiles faintly, his heart clutching at the wistful tone of Luke's voice. "I'm going to go jack off to this hot picture of my boy," he says. "And I bet I'll sleep well tonight." For once. Fuck, sleeping alone after getting used to sleeping with Luke... it's been more difficult than he ever would have thought.
Luke grins at that. "Yes, sir. I bet you will. Love you," he says.
"I love you, älskling. And I'm so fucking proud of you," Alex murmurs. "Go back to work. I'll talk to you soon."
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