ÿþ<HTML> <HEAD> <Title>After the Last Bell Rings</title> <STYLE TYPE="text/css"> <!-- BODY { font-family:verdana; font-size:9pt; } Table { font-family:Verdana; font-size:9pt; color:6600cc } --> </style> </head> <BODY link="#0000ff" bgcolor="#6699ff" bgproperties="fixed" background="http://www.shapefive.com/matan4il/background.png" text="#663399" alink="#ff99ff" vlink="#cc99ff" > <br> <P> <center> <table width="760" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="10"> <tr> <td width="760" height="420" bgcolor="#A192FC" align="center" valign="middle"> <img src="http://www.shapefive.com/matan4il/fics/images/afterbell.jpg"> </td> </tr> <tr> <td width="760" bgcolor="#ccffff" align="left" valign="top" style="font-family:verdana; font-size:9pt"><font color="# C97DDF"> <b>Rating:</b> When I die, I want to be buried in NC-17 heaven, 'k? ;)<br> <b>Pairing: </b> Cake can has my brainz. Rly, they killed it anyhow.<br> <b>Summary: </b> Written for the 2008 Valentine's Day <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/cakeficexchange/">Cake fic exchange</a>, for Arielle who gave the prompts "a midnight diner run and speaking French".<br> <b>Warnings: </b> Does not actually reference Valentine's Day. *gulp*<br> <b>Beta: </b> The very lovely Ren, who makes being beta'd more fun than it probably should be. *hearts*<br> <b>Banner:</b> By the incredible Melissa. *squishes*<p> It's the things Blake asks him to do, especially the things Chris isn't into.<p> Such as waking up in the middle of the night to Blake's elbow firmly planted in his ribs, doing the occasional jerk, only to get Chris to fulfill yet another strange request.<p> "Chris!"<p> "Wha'?" <p> He doesn't sound convincingly awake, so it's little surprise when Blake's loud not-really-a-whisper-but-let's-pretend-it-is sounds again.<p> "Chrissssss!"<p> "What!?" More alert now and a little annoyed, Chris turns over to his side, facing Blake with eyes still shut.<p> "Chris, we need to go to that diner on the corner."<p> "Why, is it on fire?"<p> "No."<p> "Then why do we need to go there in the middle of the night?"<p> "I'm hungry." Chris cracks open one eye. Blake's looking back at him, dead serious. It had become crystal clear to him a long time ago that Blake is a mastermind at getting whatever he wants out of Chris, and not just get it, but he also managed to pick precisely the most efficient method for getting it every time.<p> On those days when Chris is just a breath away from agreeing, Blake doesn't even try too hard. He just slips into one of his characters and within seconds, he has Chris in a giggle fit and really, who can say no to his boyfriend when giggling?<p> On other days, when Chris is more adamant that there are more things between Heaven and Earth than pleasing Blake's every whim, he uses the puppy eyes. Those damn puppy eyes when Blake looks too adorable to be refused.<p> He never whines. Some people think he does, but no, he saves the whining for the girls, because God knows, it does work on them. But he somehow knows Chris would rather swallow a sword than give in to whining.<p> And when he's being woken up in the middle of a night and he's ready for Blake's tricks, he promises himself this time he's serious and he's saying no, when he's all but ready to put up a fight, for king, country and beauty sleep. Blake faces him with this earnest, serious stare that glides over the surface of the dreams Chris dares not name, like a wind softly flowing over a lake, so tenderly moving its waters that the motion remains unseen by any random spectator.<p> Chris sighs and Blake knows it s agreement. He hops out of bed, full of energy, and starts getting dressed. It's almost surprising he doesn't yell out, "yyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaay, we're going, we're going!" just like Jackson does whenever they're getting ready to go to the zoo. Chris looks at Blake wriggling that ass of his into a pair of pants, going commando as usual, before sighing again. He never really stood a chance.<p> <center>***</center><p> It's the crazy things that Chris has no idea how Blake comes up with, it's all those little, crazy things that Blake does that lets Chris know he's fallen in love with a free man.<p> He told Blake once, "I don't think I know anyone that cares about his freedom as much as you, B."<p> "Freedom?" Blake chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean, you can't create music without your freedom, right?"<p> And maybe neither of them acknowledges the question left unasked.<p> <center>***</center><p> It's a sleepy little diner and Blake is ordering some junk food he really doesn't need, especially not when they could have ordered room service and let Chris sleep on in peace.<p> They're sitting at a small booth, as far away from the counter as possible, or at least Chris is. Blake is bouncy and joyful, as joyful as if the sun was out and shining out of his ass, Chris thinks miserably. He's too tired and it's too goddamn cold in this place, he can't help but grumble at Blake when the discovery of a jukebox is made. <p> "Great," he replies as Blake shuffles over to it and his excited exclamations of how great the jukebox is die down a little.<p> "No, Chris, you don't get it! There's eighties music in here!"<p> Chris can't help his half-smile, but he's still not won over by this argument. "That's so corny, Blake."<p> "Well, I'm a corny guy!" Blake's diva-like tone is what makes it a comeback more than the words themselves as he goes back to checking out the songs list. "Maaaaaaaaaan!" He exclaims, excited as a kid again, "Fade to Grey! Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've listened to this song?"<p> "A long while?" Chris offers an uninterested guess and his hand dives automatically into his pocket, because sure enough, Blake's next request is for change.<p> Suddenly there's a hot breath tickling the top of his left ear. The familiar opening notes of "Fade to Grey" play out.<p> "You speak French, don't you?" He feels a tingle, a mouth is hovering over there, closer than before.<p> "Un peu," he says, not sure whether his tone still maintains that air of indifference or whether a hint of his excitement has snuck in.<p> Suddenly Blake's breath isn't there anymore and instead, there are footsteps and Blake coming into view, sliding into the booth next to Chris.<p> "You should eat your fries before they get cold," he says and sneaks out a long one, looking away and trying not to think about Blake's lips.<p> "How would I say that in French?" Blake asks and doesn't touch the stuff laid out on the table in front of them.<p> "This is what you dragged me out of bed for in the middle of the night? I thought you were hungry," Chris can't help raising his tone, despite himself.<p> "I am," Blake replies, hovering closer again and Chris feels a hand sliding between his thighs, grasping at his flesh. "Now, how would I say that in French?"<p> There's a part of Chris that says Blake is crazy and this shit is crazy, that all Blake's ideas are fucking insane, but his thought thread lingers on "fucking" and it's not that calculated part of his brain which ends up blurting out, "J'ai faim".<p> "J'ai faim de ton p&eacute;nis", Blake's right back in, closing on his personal space, tip of his nose almost, maybe& no, almost making contact, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? Ce soir? Alors, suivez-moi dans les toilettes." <p> <center>***</center><p> His head hits the wall a bit harder than he meant to, but Chris can't help it. When Blake's mouth closes around him, it's like every corny cliché even Blake would laugh at, but he loves that it's so.<p> His eyes open of their own accord as Blake moves his tongue along the vein underlining his cock as though it were a water ravine he's discovered in the middle of the desert.<p> Chris finds he's half dazed, leaning on the wall in front of a mirror, absent mindedly following the parting of his own lips in what must be moans that he can't hear over the pounding of his own heart, watching the movements of Blake's head up and down and back away from Chris. He feels a tongue lapping out at the tip, expertly slipping across his slit. He sees his body thrusting forward as a reaction and Blake meeting it head on, literally, welcoming him back in. The anticipation of sensation from the sights he's drinking in meets the beginning of motion he was feeling down through each patch of sensitive skin and tissue. Preceding each other, following, blending in, he can't tell vision and touch apart anymore, feeling possessed. Blake is playing with his balls using those nimble fingers of his, pumping Chris in and out at an ever increasing pace and there's a moment when Chris loses all visuals, when he's arching away from the wall, head tilted back and eyes shut, one hand tugging firmly on Blake's hair as he thrusts a few last times into his boyfriend's mouth.<p> A verse from <i>How Many Words</i> lingers in Chris' head as Blake draws back and lets the penis in his mouth fall out, an organ drained and seemingly lifeless. <p> It's hard to ask Blake for something; Chris knows, hard to ask for something crazy and just as hard to ask for something that's not. It's hard to ask for anything of someone who got that badly hurt before. So Chris has been asking for nothing, no matter what he's been craving, longing for.<p> Looking at himself in the mirror, it amazes Chris to realize, he doesn't have to. Another line, this one from <i>1000 Miles</i>, starts playing itself in his head.<p> It's Blake's insistence on sharing every one of those crazy little things of his with Chris that's reassuring as to how, for Blake, freedom is not just another word for fear. <p> </font> </td> </tr> <tr> <td width="760" bgcolor="#ccffff" align="center" valign="top" style="font-family:verdana; font-size:9pt"><font color="# C97DDF"> <a href="http://www.shapefive.com/matan4il/feedback/afterbell/afterbell.htm">This fic's feedback page</a><br> </td> </tr> </table> <script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-3647019-1"; urchinTracker(); </script> </body></html>