mickeym

Title: Cruisin'
Pairing: JC/Ricky Martin
Rating: NC17
Summary: It takes preparation, to get ready for a road trip.
Notes: This is for Maria, who deserves a little RickC after all her hard work. Well-done, finishing the novel and your paper :) *smooches* Hope you like this, honey.

*A/Uish. Follows Hot In The City, though you don't really have to have read that one.

Three rings, this time, before a sleepy voice answered. "What?"

"G'morning to you, grouch."

"JC?" A beat, then two, then, "the hell, dude, it's not even six in the morning! Somebody better be dead, for this."

JC smiles at the phone; when he looks back over his shoulder at Ricky studying the folded out map, the smile turns to a grin. "Nah, just need you do me a favor? I'm goin' outta town for a little while, can you bring my mail in and maybe take Rooster back to your place, so he doesn't get weird and lonely?"

There's a yawn into the phone that makes JC's jaw ache in sympathy, then Chris says, "Sure. How long you gonna be gone? Where you goin'?"

"Dunno, and dunno. Just take care of my cat and bring my mail in, please?"

"Yeah, yeah, but baby--be careful, okay?" Chris has called JC 'baby' since forever, and it's been at least five years since they were anything more than friends. It's comfortable, and comforting, and as excited as the idea of this road trip is making him, the comfortable feels really good right now. Familiar.

"I will. And I'll check in."

"Okay. Be good. And if your damn cat eats my fish, you're buying me new ones."

"Hah." JC laughs, then makes a kiss noise into the phone and laughs when Chris blows a raspberry back before hanging up.

"You have a cat named Rooster?" Ricky's hands are big, and warm, and JC feels their heat through the thin fabric of his t-shirt like it's not even there. "That's a pretty weird name."

"Nah, man, it really isn't. He looked kinda like a rooster when I got him. Fur all up in weird, funny clumps. I dunno, he just reminded me of one." JC shrugs and turns in the circle of Ricky's arms. "Coming from someone who told me to call him 'Keek', I don't think you got a lot of room to mock, here."

"Hmph." Ricky lowers his head, his mouth hovering just above JC's, curving up into a smile when JC presses in a little closer. "You smell like the ocean, Guapo," he mutters quietly, and JC swears he can feel each word press against his lips. "Salty, rich, wild. Me gusta."

If he smells like the ocean, Ricky tastes like it; like the wild and free of the waves. JC hears them, pounding in his head; he can feel them crashing over him when the kiss deepens, their mouths opening, pressing, seeking. Ricky's hands come up, frame JC's face, tilt his head back just a little. Just enough that Ricky's in charge of the kiss, his fingers pulling on strands of JC's hair, sending little zings of heat to prickle through him, chasing the bubbles the kisses leave behind.

"Not gonna get very far today like this," Ricky murmurs, mouth just a breath away from JC's and already too far. "You're like a drug, Guapo."

"Mmm." They fucked all night, and it's still not enough, and JC thinks Ricky might have a point about the drug thing. Addiction. He's picked one up hard, really fast. He leans up, closing the tiny distance, biting at Ricky's mouth until it opens for him. Such a range of textures, smooth and soft, hard and slick, ridged and unyielding. Hot, wet, giving--but taking too, though JC's not sure how something can be both. "I think you should fuck me again," JC pants, in between still more kisses.

"Wanna fuck you over my bike, actually." Ricky's voice has lost some of it's smooth; it's more growl, and raw, rough edge right now. JC nods, stomach tight with want. "Strip you down, push you over on your belly and spread you open. I'd lick you here," he presses against JC's ass, finger pushing down against the layer of denim, and JC shudders. "Get you all wet and open, get you begging. You're awful pretty, begging."

Heat sweeps through JC, a flash-fire of need, and he pushes up against Ricky, rubbing himself against Ricky's erection. Ricky laughs, low and dirty, the sound slithering into JC and coiling through him. He bites Ricky's throat, right where the pulse is throbbing, feels it leap beneath his teeth, his tongue, against his lips. They're not gonna make it to the bike, because Ricky's turning him as soon as his teeth are clear, hands rough against JC's hips, his groin, as he fumbles with the buttons on JC's jeans.

"'S what you get for being a cocktease," JC laughs, pushing Ricky's hands aside to pull his jeans open.

"You're the fucking cocktease," Ricky says, and stuttered movement behind him, against him, makes the heat inside JC ratchet up a couple more notches. The sound of zipper teeth parting makes him shiver, and then he's pressed down against the yielding softness of his couch, Ricky thick and hot between his thighs while he shakes a condom out of his jeans' pocket.

Cool air slips between them then, and JC starts to turn to look over his shoulder. Ricky slides a hand up to the middle of his back to stop him, then there's more cool air, a shocking amount of it as JC's asscheeks are parted, spread, and Ricky leans in and licks him, tongue hot and wet and just--"GOD!" Explodes out of JC, the word not even coming close to what he's feeling.

Slick, and slippery, teasing over him and pressing against him, pushing just a little. Just enough for JC to tighten in response, then loosen again, pushing backward, wanting more. He leans further over the couch, ignores Ricky's soft laughter when he spreads himself a little wider. Ricky's words come back to him, about being spread out over the seat of his cycle and Ricky doing this, and JC's knees wobble at the thought.

JC groans when Ricky penetrates; he's tender from earlier, and it hurts, but it doesn't, the sensation skating right along the edge of pain, but never quite crossing over. Ricky's fucking huge, and this makes three times now, but Christ, he's already thinking of number four, anticipating it. The sudden sting of teeth into his neck pushes him over that line, but the heat slip-sliding in and out of him brings him back, makes him rear back against Ricky, driving him deeper into JC.

The bite is deep enough to sting, and every time Ricky sucks at it, or licks over it, the sensation burns through him. His neck is obviously hard-wired into his dick, too, because he's so fucking hard, and getting harder, and it's hard to decide what to focus on--his ass, his dick or his neck. Ricky reaches under JC's shirt and pulls at one nipple, hard, shocking JC's focus away from everything for a minute. It's too much, but it isn't, and God, he could stay just like this forever, with Ricky pounding into his ass.

"Fuck, you're so--" The words break off, distant, too soft to understand, but JC hears it, gets it. He matches Ricky stroke for stroke, sensation streaking through him fast and furious, burning whitehot and so good, and then he's coming, too much heat to hold in any longer.

"Jesus, I--don't stop--" He feels every beat of his heart in his dick, in each pulse of liquid heat against his fingers, and JC wants it to never stop. Ricky doesn't, fucking him until JC's wrung out, sagging against the couch, panting. Ricky comes with a groan, the groan turning to long, low moan when JC clamps down around him, shuddering when he can feel the pulses inside him, faint, through the condom.

Ricky's a heavy, sweaty weight against him and JC might protest, but that would mean moving, which--no. Not yet, anyway. He turns his head and mouths Ricky's throat, tasting the salt there. When he thinks he can manage that speaking thing he mutters, "So, that--that was a warm up for the bike, yeah?"

Ricky laughs and moves -- both to JC's disappointment and relief, since breathing is becoming a necessity -- and slaps JC on the ass once as he pulls out. "You're a smart-ass, Guapo. I'm up for it, soon as you are."

JC snorts. "I don't think either of us is gonna be up for anything for a little while. We should probably head out now, while we have the chance."

"You make us sound like addicts. Or teenagers." Ricky's got the whole clean-up thing down pat; toss the rubber in the trash and hike his jeans back up. JC makes a face at the mess he made, and decides he needs to wash up real quick.

"Well, y'know, the drug analogy maybe wasn't a bad one. Not that that's a bad thing." He grins at Ricky. "I 'just said no' all those years; maybe this is a reward for good behavior?"

"Maybe so." Ricky kisses his forehead. "I'm gonna brush my teeth while you--whatever." He gestures toward JC and the stained couch. "Think your friend will clean your couch for you?"

"No, that's probably pushing the boundaries of friendship too far. But give me five minutes, and I'll be good to go."

"Take ten, Guapo, I ain't goin' nowhere."

"At least not without me," JC says, stepping around the couch and over the cat -- who didn't bother to move, or even twitch during the whole event.

"Nope, not without you." And the smile Ricky gives him makes JC feel even warmer than the really fantastic sex of just a few minutes ago.

~fin~