Both are rated R - disclaimers and such under the cut. (Also - vid links under the cut! As a refresher for those who may need it. Hee! )
#1 - Jeff
Title: "It's All Very Confusing, But Quite Familiar"
Fandom: Couplings, UK version
Summary: Takes place during Series 3, Episode: Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps. Spoilers for that Ep. Takes place before this clip, in fact. Steve has to take a fertility test and needs his Porn Buddy to come to his rescue. Best mates have their privileges.
Rating: R (Adult)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I like making things up. Like this. And most importantly, not getting paid. Harrumph.
"It's All Very Confusing, But Quite Familiar."
Jeff raced to Steve's apartment, and headed straight for the Box that Susan May or May Not Know About, hidden under the bed.
"Lesbonic Inferno - no, we watched that Saturday, Who Want's a Spankin? - ooh, I might just take that one home for a bit, hmm..."
Jeff rifled through Steve's porn stash looking for the right one to help his best friend masturbate into a cup and prove his bits all worked properly. Jeff didn't like to think there was a problem with Steve's bits, because what would that say about Jeff's? Jeff would steal glances at his friend when they watched a new video together. Steve looked cool when he got off. His eyes glazed over a bit, he looked right fierce, actually. Like Connery would have look if those Bond movies had ever gotten gratuitous, instead of always being a vicious tease.
He certainly looked like things worked out fine in the end, to the point where Jeff could relax, forget about his mother walking in and shouting about not wrapping up his todger in a sock, or his mother's stockings, but the stockings were so silky, and true, they didn't hold much and were a bit messy, but the silk! Oh, and he liked the black ones. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he knew without a doubt that the fishnets were absolute rubbish at-
Right. Porn. For Steve. His best friend. Susan just sent him right on in without knowing that he'd need his own porn. Oh, sure they had a porn menu at the clinic, but not a proper one. Ladies that weren't in sexy nurses uniforms marching in with a single photo of a pair of breasts and a cup? How are you supposed to get intimate with a pair of tits without a wisp of hair on the shoulder or a pair of lips calling out, "Oh, Jeffrey. You're so manly and I find a nervous stammer to be fetching. My breasts come off and you can take them home, if you'd like to keep-"
In the bottom of the box was it. The Golden Calf of pornography. The Holy Grail of masturbation. Religious imagery and tits made him nervous, because he didn't like to think about the Virgin Mary having tits, which of course was the first thing he thought about. That's like someone saying, "Don't think about your penis and count to ten." Well, then he couldn't even count to ten, because all he could think about was his penis, and how it was stiffening, and if his mother would only NOT use the sexy Virgin Mary candles when they prayed, and did they have to draw such a low-cut dress on the Mother of our Lord and that was when his mother would pull out the paddle, and he would get very, very confused.
He clutched the magazine to his chest, stood and took a few deep breaths. What else would Steve need? His pillow, of course. Steve liked to lay back on his bed and have a wank with the familiar smells of his pillow, naturally. Jeff liked that pillow. It was long, so there was enough room to share when Jeff inevitably got too pissed to drive home and would crash at Steve's place. It wasn't Jeff's fault that their favorite pub was closer to Steve's. And he didn't think Steve minded, anyway. Jeff was very still when he slept, and only cuddled a little.
Jeff held the pillow to his face, breathing the scent in to clear his head and think properly. Lotion. What kind of wanking clinic didn't have proper lubricants? That's like sending people out to sea without life-rafts. Better check. Jeff pulled out his mobile and rang him up.
"Oh, well, yeah, but not the good kind."
Jeff paused a beat, then broke out in a smile. "The aloe? Isn't it under your sink?"
Magazine under arm, lube jammed in back pocket, pillow pressed to face, breathing in. Satisfied he had thought of everything Steve would need to successful pop one off, Jeff raced to the clinic, up the stairs to cubicle eight, ignoring the shocked expressions on the nurses' faces at the check-in, and tapped on the door.
Steve opened the door with a hint of fear on his face. Jeff broke into a smile and jammed his packages into his friend's arms. "Lube, pillow, and magazine."
Jeff crossed to the small examination table, hopped up on one end, and pulled the pillow into his lap. Steve looked at the cover, his face breaking into a relaxed smile. "Thanks, mate."
"Patrick should be here shortly. He's stopping off at the pub - he's going to try and sneak in a few pints for us."
"Excellent." Steve turned the dimmer switch down to create a "mood for wanking," he explained, and hopped on the table, head settled onto the pillow, still laying on Jeff's lap. Jeff took the magazine, flipped the pages a bit and found a particularly frisky one with two girls done up like naughty nuns, not at all like the old cows who taught him at his school and spanked his pants' front when he used a bit of foil on his shoe to look up the skirt of-
"Jeff? Do you mind?"
Steve had his pants down around his knees, a good handful of lotion in his palm, and gave Jeff the instructions to "give him a pump if I start to look dry." Jeff blinked for a moment, nodded, and held the magazine over Steve's face so All Hands Could Be On Deck. A few moments of a squelchy sound, coupled with Steve's head moving side to side in an altogether firm manner, was all that was needed to make Jeff's hands shake while holding the magazine.
"Nope. No good."
"I'm sorry. It's all just very sexy and confusing and you look like Connery and-"
"What are you talking about? I need to you flip the page, you git."
Jeff turned a few until he found a new picture with a girl bent over a table - ooh, that's nice - with a big bastard with dark hair giving her the business. "Um. This good?"
Steve looked at the page appraisingly. "That'll do. Heh. He looks a bit like me. Aside from the brawn, of course. Say, aren't you taking this seriously?"
Jeff had leaned back against the wall, his eyes half-lidded - it did look like Steve, and he wasn't thinking about nuns or his mother or punishment and-
"Seriously? Oh, yeah! Sure, sure, seriously!"
Steve looked down at himself and his hands. "Aren't you going to give me a pump? I said to watch for any chances of drying out. I have to concentrate on filling that buggering cup."
Jeff swallowed, happy to have a task and not think about how very, very confused he felt and how he had that fluttering feeling of panic and promise like when a girl accidentally dropped something at the copier and he could look down their tops at their breasts and it was free! And they were just bobbing right there without all the chatting up at a pub, which he wasn't good at, and no one knew he was looking at the free breasts, and it was a secret like his mother's stockings, but-
Jeff squirted a dollop onto his friend's hands, but in his nervousness, squeezed too hard and a bit was running down his friend's side, about to be wasted into Steve's curls and without thinking, he dropped the lube, reached over, used two fingers to scoop it up before it could be lost, rubbed his thumb against it and slid his hand in a tight O down Steve's erection. Steve gave a strangled gasp and relaxed his hands around his cock. Jeff, still not thinking, tightened his grip - all fingers involved with the task now - and began to move up and down with a bit of a twist and palming over the head, the picture still held out for both of them to look at.
"That's ... not something I've done for a while."
"Yeah, you usually just stick to the up and down, I don't know why you stopped - maybe you only use this for Brit Eckland films and-"
Jeff realized what he was doing. He started to let go when Steve held his hands over Jeff's keeping them there.
"No- or rather, it's fine. Do that twisty thing again?"
"Sure, Steve. Sure."
Jeff bit his lip and moved his hand up and down, with the Brit Eckland palm-twist at the top while Steve held on to his hand. After a moment or two when he realized he wasn't breathing, he gave a sideways glance to his friend, who was relaxed on his pillow with a small smile. Jeff began to feel very squelchy inside when he saw Steve's tongue peek out and wet his lips - was he supposed to give him a snog? Why did he want to? Well, Steve was a good looking bloke, to be sure, and there were times when he slept over and woke up with his lips on Steve's neck, yeah, but they didn't talk about it - just best mates falling asleep and having a bit of a cuddle, right? And Jeff thought about how hard it was to chat up girls, and how long it had been since he'd pulled a girl and was leaning over and wetting his own lips - still moving his hand the way Steve liked, because if there was one thing Jeffrey was good at, it was multitasking a wank with anything else - when the door shushed open and he heard the nurse hide a gasp behind her hand, then quickly leave with a titter.
"But I'm his porn buddy! He needs me!"
Later, Steve always thought - but never articulated - that to Jeff's credit, he never once stopped the Brit Eckland treatment, which was how Steve always thought of that particular move when he showered and had a tug before Susan got home from work. The magazine had fallen to the floor at some point. An extra application of lube was taken care of eventually, and Jeff's other hand came into play. Steve had always been nervous about touching that patch of skin behind his "boys."
"No, no, they're essential. If you don't have two wing men in play, the striker can't always get the ball in the net."
Steve's breath had shuddered at that point, and he felt the need to bite into the pillow, his forehead resting against Jeff's chest.
Patrick had slipped in a bit later with a few beers completely unnoticed by them both, had toasted the two of them and almost polished off his entire Guinness - still Jeff didn't quit. Not until Steve had started and was trying to sit up after recognizing the sound of Susan's favorite heels on the hallway floor outside, and not until he had shoved Jeff back and pulled his trousers up did Jeff stop his relentless and - it must be said - fantastic job of wanking.
Susan was now standing outside the room and gave a brisk knock. Steve took a deep breath, motioned for everyone in the room to be silent, and opened the door.
#2 - Steve
Title: "The Power of Words"
Fandom: Couplings, UK version
Summary: IT DOESN'T COUNT IF YOU ARE UNCONSCIOUS. I mean, it didn't happen at all. You can't prove a thing. No real spoilers. Except that Santa isn't real.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I like making things up. Like this. And most importantly, not getting paid. And Jack Davenport and Richard Coyle should be in all the shows together.
"The Power Of Words"
If there was one thing that Steve believed in, aside from knowing without a shadow of a doubt that lesbians were a sure bet for a one-way ticket to Stiffy Land, and that he would never, ever be allowed to witness real live lesbians, it was that words had power.
Example. If he whinged about Susan's decorating habits, and later asked for sex, she would say No. And there would be no sex. When Patrick said "hello" to a girl, he would be getting sex. If only the right people had been in the store at the time of his Diatribe on the Evil of Sofa Parasites, a.k.a. Throw Pillows, he could have brought an entire industry to its knees, such were the power of words.
So, when he said nothing had happened, by god, that meant nothing had happened.
It was understood that Jeff would be allowed to sleep over whenever he had drank one too many. They didn't need to talk about those things - they'd been friends for too long to question it. Steve, no matter how drunk he was, always left the door unlocked after Jeff has said his goodbyes and staggered out to the walk, determined to locate his flat. Mostly because of the Doorbell Incident at 4 am that involved Police and Fingerprinting and the elderly woman who lived upstairs who claimed to have been violated by being witnessed in her nightgown.
But mostly because it was nice to have a warm bed. If he hadn't expected Jeffrey to stumble in, kick his shoes off and slip in under the duvet, why else did Steve unconsciously sleep on the far side of the bed, not the customary middle, and turn the corner of the duvet down on the opposite side? Just being a good friend, is all, and Jeff would do the same for him. If there were any decent pubs in Jeff's neighborhood. Which they never bothered to find out.
Susan and Jane both had the tendency to take over the bed while sleeping, which was why Steve liked to have sex at their flats. It kept his bed pure. Also, he was bad - smart, he told himself - about slipping out when they had finally fallen asleep. Jeff just lay on his side, breathing deeply and evenly all night and into the morning. Sometimes Steve would wake up, is all, he certainly wasn't watching Jeff sleep. It just happened that on occasion, his eyes would open and Jeff would be on his side, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other clutching at Steve's shirt, okay sometimes that was a bit odd, but it was Jeff. What about him wasn't?
One of them would wake up, leave the other to sleep and make a pot of coffee. Sometimes Steve would wake up to the smell of coffee but Jeff had already gone home. They certainly didn't need to talk about it; they weren't women. Now, the sock thing was something to talk about. But they were men and didn't mince words. Steve sipped his coffee, bumped Jeff's knee with his own and said, "Oi. Your socks itch. Kick 'em off next time before you climb in, 'right?"
Jeff, who hadn't yet made his cup of coffee, gave a grunt and rubbed his face, stood, scratched his arse and hunted about for his shoes. See? No big discussions, no Girl's Night Out to analyse what the grunt or scratching could have meant, and did the nod mean he really thought Steve was fat? "This means that," and done. Simple.
So when Steve had drunkenly climbed into bed one night, and well, he was hot, wasn't he? And boxers were far more comfortable than his jeans and jumper, and maybe Jeff really would find his way home tonight, and it didn't matter because bed and pillow and tiredness, and there was the familiar click of the building's front door. Steve sat up, eyes unfocused, and flipped the corner of the duvet down and flopped back onto the pillow - just the one pillow, really, because do we not all remember the Diatribe of the Throw Pillows? - and finally felt sleep creep up over him at the comforting Welsh voice stammering about cabs and hydrants and too many breasts for one man to handle and shoes and could Steve possibly scoot over a bit more, because he was hogging the pillow.
That was the cue to sleep on his side. He certainly didn't want to sleep with his head nestled with Jeff's, because then noses were too close and genitalia was exposed to the night air and it was just easier to turn to his side. And there wasn't anything to get your knickers in a twist about with the occasional incidents of cuddling, because Steve was sure Jeff was just dreaming about some girl, and then Steve thought about work and vacuuming because he didn't like the odd feeling at being the girl in that scenario. And what else was Jeff supposed to do with his hands? The man was asleep, for Christ's sake, and you can't be held accountable for twitching and such while you slept, because that's what it was, too right, that was twitching and meant nothing. That his fingers slid up and over Steve's belly on occasion was just happenstance. And it made sense for Jeff to tuck his knees up behind Steve's. For God's sake where else should his knees have gone with Steve ungraciously turning to his side to sleep and putting all sorts of unconscious thoughts in poor Jeff's head?
And so after years of friendship, the two had come to an understanding, and were quite comfortable with it. Somehow Patrick had known that he would take the sofa on the nights he got pissed with the boys, because let's face it, Steve may think about vacuuming to stem the flow of... thought, but that didn't mean he did it, and no one honestly thought Patrick would sleep on the floor. Which was why Patrick often found his way home.
Okay, yes. There were times when Steve woke up to a gentle sort of nibbling at his neck. When it first happened, Steve was still seeing Jane and had struck out blindly, only to find curly hair and stubble. Which for those who knew Jane, wouldn't have found it anything but comforting to realize she wasn't who was there in bed at the time. An elbow, a muffled "sorry," and back to his side and to sleep, albeit a bit more warily. Jeff still didn't take over the bed and leave mascara on the pillow, nor did he insist on baby-talk, so there was that in his favour.
Most times Steve slept through the nibbling. He certainly slept through the hands rucking up the front of his shirt and the nibbling. Without a doubt, when the hands tweaked a nipple and the nibbling moved to the spot behind his ear that caused Steve to - unconsciously! Whilst sleeping! - moan and push backwards into poor, sleeping Jeffrey's stiff body, Steve was one hundred percent asleep. Obviously that meant the time that Jeffrey had accidentally moaned out Steve's name - poor bloke was probably having a nightmare about saving him, good friend that he was, true blue - and had a NIGHTTIME EMISSION THAT ALL BOYS HAD WHILST SLEEPING AT SOME POINT, and his hand had crept around to Steve's front, and Steve had - in his sleep! My god, what is it with you people? - bucked into his tight hand and had a NIGHTTIME EMISSION THAT ALL BOYS HAD WHILST SLEEPING of his own, well. Is he supposed to govern his body's actions during unconsciousness? Because he'd really like to see someone try that. I mean, honestly.
It was easy to miss the point. The point was clearly that blokes cuddled on occasion. Sure, they don't like to talk about it, because they're blokes. But it happens. It just seemed to happen a lot with Steve and Jeff. One supposes. Because it wasn't like they were comparing with their other male friends. Or asking anyone. Or mentioning it. AT ALL. And why shouldn't Steve notice that Jeff's put on a new aftershave? He went to all the trouble of finding one, putting it on, and Steve shouldn't smile into his pillow at the new scent? Or later, when he's by himself watching the telly and clutching his pillow in front of him and sniffing it? Quite decent of Jeff to make the effort.
So when Steve happened to open his eyes one night - just to see if Jeff was asleep - maybe the blanket had been kicked off, you can never tell unless you check - and saw Jeffery lying there with his eyes open, and one hand happened to be rubbing himself - nighttime stiffness happens all the time, and Steve would be lying if he said otherwise - and then Jeffery had taken Steve's hand and made Steve rub... After a moment of shocked silence, Steve looked at Jeff who - ha ha! Eyes closed, he's sleeping, see? - muttered "Are we sleeping?"
Steve closed his eyes, pulled his hand back, and rested his lips just at Jeff's, rubbed his lower lip back and forth softly against Jeff's full lip, exhaled into a willing mouth and said, "We're sleeping. Nothing happened."
And that completely negated the kissing. And the tongues.
[ETA!] *puts on pimp hat* For those that may be curious as to why I am always going on and on about a_list_celebs, it's because it's fun and funny. Here's the weekly recap by Ron Burgundy. With a Mr. Microphone commercial! You remember Mr. Microphone, don't you? Sure you do. Also, we added a new player last night: VINCE VAUGHN, woot! I smell a Wes Mantooth/Ron Burgundy showdown on Sunday nights. *cracks up* DOROTHY MANTOOTH IS A SAINT!