scribblinlenore | The RPS bug bit me, too

Since the third season started, I've been thinking about smooth, half-naked Clark and smooth, half-naked Lex. And yesterday, for whatever reason, I began thinking about what the actors must have needed to do to get all smooth like that. And then I had this idea. And it was RPS. I've never written RPS, but, hey, it seemed like the right time for my first trip to the Special Hell.

Then, today, I noticed that everybody on my friends list was writing RPS, too. And I had to smile. See what those boys do to us! *g*

***

Spa Day
By Lenore

The pretty blonde receptionist smiles at him from across the desk. "So we have you down for a waxing, Mr. Rosenbaum. Was that for your chest?"

Tom snickers behind him, and Mike thinks, not for the first, that letting him come along was not the brightest idea in the world.

"Um--" The costume for Lex's desert island stint is rather revealing. "Well, kind of the whole front. You know?" He can't believe he's going to blush. He hasn't been embarrassed about anything having to do with his body since-- well, ever.

At least, he'd talked Al and Miles out of putting Lex in that loincloth they had their hearts set on. If he had to wax his legs too, he'd seriously have to rethink his career options.

"And Mr. Welling, you're having the same?" the receptionist asks.

Tom nods. "Is it possible for us to be in the same room while we're having it done? Mike's a virgin." He smiles that wide-eyed, puppy smile of his. "When it comes to waxing, I mean."

Michael glares at him, which only makes Tom grin wider, and he tells the receptionist with a confidential little smile, "I've always been more of shaving man myself."

The receptionist nods, without even blinking. She's probably seen and heard it all by now. "If you'd like to have a seat, we'll be right with you both."

Tom sprawls onto one of the chairs, picks up a copy of Rolling Stone, flips through it absently, an old hand at this. The producers like Clark shirtless, but then, with a body like Tom's, who wouldn't? Michael has spent all summer working out just so he won't be completely mortified by the inevitable comparisons between them.

He picks up some magazine, not even noticing what it is. He's made his peace with the head shaving. He knew that was part of the deal going in. But he could kick himself for not insisting on a no-waxing clause in his contract. He's already sacrificed his hair for Lex. He'd like to keep his body his own.

Oh, well, he thinks, live and learn.

Tommy smiles at something he's reading, completely unconcerned. He's used to all this salon-going from his modeling days. It doesn't seem to make him feel silly the way it does Michael. But then, even if it did, he wouldn't complain. Tom's almost as good a boy as the one he plays. On the set, he's earnest and conscientious, studying his lines, asking advice from the veteran actors, working on his part like there's going to be a big test on it when he's done. After work, there are no beers at the local bar for him, no toking up with the crew in the parking lot before heading out, no quickies with any of the pretty fans who find him dreamy. Every night, he plays the good husband, going home to the wife he adores, enjoying his happy married life, without so much as a glance in anybody else's direction.

Tom's a good guy, and Michael loves that about him. Sometimes, though, he can't help hating it a little bit, too.

A salon employee dressed in a white jacket materializes in the doorway. "Mr. Rosenbaum? Mr. Welling? You can come on back now." The receptionist flashes them one last smile as they file past.

The technician shows them into a large room with two tables. She nods toward the doors along the wall. "Those are the dressing rooms. You'll find a cover-up inside. If you'll take off everything else and put that on, I'll be back in just a few minutes."

She leaves. Tommy winks at him, and Mike flips him the bird.

In the dressing room, he shucks his clothes. The so-called cover-up is a skimpy napkin he's supposed to tie low on his hips, a study in false advertising, because really, what is it covering up?

He stalls going back out for as long as he can until Tom finally calls to him, "Hey, Mike, you okay in there?"

He lets out his breath, musters all the sass he is rightfully known for, and sashays out of the dressing room, borrowing a page from Lex. He catwalks it up and down the room, swinging his hips. "This year's fashions are minimal and infantilizing. Note the innovative use of tissue paper on this diaper-style design."

Tom laughs out loud. "Very chic for a diaper. Of course, it doesn't hurt that the model fills it out so nicely."

Mike stops mid-sashay, and for the second time in one day, his cheeks threaten to turn pink. Tommy's expression is smiling and good-humored, and Michael can only assume he's kidding, not actually checking him out.

The technician returns, along with another woman in a white coat. "If you'd like to begin." She motions them toward the two tables set up side by side.

They both settle on their backs. In such close proximity, it's impossible for Michael not to notice what he was trying so hard to ignore before, that Tom is even more gorgeous with his clothes off. It's bad enough day in and day out on the set, carrying around this nagging crush, knowing the object of his affection is decidedly straight, blissfully married and totally off limits anyway as a co-star. Now here they are, both of them practically naked, and that's so not good.

The technician slathers his chest and lower abdomen with warm wax and places a strip of cotton cloth lengthwise along his skin.

"Don't worry, Mike. It doesn't really hurt," Tom assures him.

The woman yanks the cloth away, taking an entire layer of skin with it, Michael is pretty sure. "Bastard!" he hisses, and Tommy laughs.

Michael turns his head, ready to make a few choice remarks, and finds that Tom is already watching him. There's a smile on his lips, but something darker and hotter in his eyes, his gaze traveling over Michael's skin like a caress. Michael swallows hard. It seems Tommy's still waters run deep.

Tom continues to stare, and Michael can't look away. The technician moves on to the more sensitive areas. Despite the fact that it hurts like a son of a bitch, all Michael's cock seems to register is the nearness of Tommy's beautiful, naked body, the bright spark of longing in his face. A part of him wants to kill Tom for getting him hot and hard while he's in this much pain, no doubt making the lady who's waxing him think he's a total pervert. Another part of him, though, feels as if he's just gotten the best, most unexpected gift of his life.

Eventually, the waxy torture comes to an end. "I've left some soothing balm over on the counter. I recommend using it before you get dressed. It helps relieve any stinging or discomfort you may feel," one of the technicians tells them, and both women leave.

Tom slips off the table. "It's a good idea to use the lotion." He picks up the bottle. "Here. Let me." He squirts some into his palm and presses his hand flat against Michael's chest, rubbing in slow circles. Michael holds his breath and tries not to tremble. "Mmm. You feel so good, Mike. So soft and smooth." His hand wanders lower over Michael's belly, and Michael can't help gasping out loud.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he asks in a shaky voice.

Tom smiles. "Why? Is it working?"

There has always been this playful, slightly raunchy teasing between them. Tommy may be straight, but he's certainly not uptight. They often play around while they're doing scenes together, give Clark and Lex a whole different sort of friendship, complete with big smacking kisses and sappy declarations of love. The show is so damned gay. Anyone can see that. Michael gets a kick out of playing that up. He enjoys a good laugh as much as the next person. But if that's all this is now, he's not going to find it the least bit funny.

"If you're teasing me, so help me--" Tom rips off Michael's flimsy cover-up with a quick flick of his wrist. "Fuck!" Michael's cock surges, painfully hard.

And then Tom is all over him, lotion-slicked hand pumping his cock, soft lips parting his, tongue slipping into his mouth.

"Tommy!"

He digs his fingers into Tom's shoulders and holds on and kisses back. Tom's cover-up soon flutters to the floor, as well. Whether he did that or Tom did, he can't be sure. No that it even matters. He's just glad it's gone. They press against each other, the full lengths of their bodies, thigh to thigh, chest to chest, cock to cock. This seems to light an even hotter spark in Tom. He maneuvers Michael back against the wall, driving his hips hard into Michael's body, both of them rutting like desperate animals, like it's the last sex they'll ever have in their entire lives.

Like it hasn't just been Michael who's been driven half-crazy imagining this for the past two years.

When Michael comes, Tom's face is pressed hotly against his neck, Tom's hands clutching at his waist, his own fingers tangled in Tom's soft hair. He thinks it can't possibly get any better than this until he feels the warmth of Tom's orgasm spreading over his belly, and then it is. God. So much better. Because he did that. He made Tommy come.

Tom collapses against him, the wall holding them both up, his labored breath hot against Michael's cheek. It's pretty much everything he's ever wanted, and he's kind of afraid of that. Who the hell ever gets what they really want? If it's awkward now, if it makes them act like strangers with each other, it won't have been worth it, no matter how good it was.

It's a moment that seems to demand words, but he has no idea what to say. "Um--" he flails uselessly.

Tom cups his face and kisses him a long, sweet time. "And to think you didn't want to come today." His lips quirk. "I told you it was going to be good." He runs a hand down the middle of Michael's chest, and Michael's cock makes a valiant bid to get hard again, despite the odds. "You just have to keep applying the lotion. Once isn't nearly enough." Tommy's voice is light, but his eyes simmer.

"Maybe you could help me with that," he says huskily.

"Maybe I could." Tom lays another sultry kiss on him and then pulls away. "Right now, though, we'd better get dressed. They're going to want this room back."

"Oh, yeah. Right." He's almost forgotten where they are.

Tom presses his lips to his neck. "See you soon," he whispers against Michael's skin, making him shiver.

Tom heads off to the dressing room, and Mike watches him go, leaning heavily against the wall. Nothing about this is even remotely what he's come to expect. He'd almost think he hallucinated the whole thing, but he can still taste Tommy in his mouth, still has his come all over his belly. He touches his fingers lightly to his lips. His skin buzzes from their frenzied kisses. And if he's interpreting that whole lotion exchange correctly, Tom has just promised him that there's a lot more where this came from.

It seems Clark Kent isn't the only one who's going to be unpredictable this season.

***

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

edie22.livejournal.com

OOOOohhh!!!!! I love this!! It's perfect!

I absolutely love the stories where Tom takes over. weee!!!

From:

Not a homecoming queen

The RPS bug bit me, too

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