by the Spike

08/00

Fandom: Malcolm In The Middle

Spoilers: No

Pairing: Stanley/Francis

Warning: I don't know -- these guys are of legal age in *my* story.

Rating: NC-17 for men having sex with each other, in a gay way

Thanks: Te and Deb -- lobes extraordinaire.

Archive: sure, just let me know

Feedback: yes, please. At: spike21@home.com

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"I can't let you do that, Francis." Hand on the soft, springy hair and Francis

on his knees is *just* exactly regulation height.

"And yet, here I am--" Francis words are muffled and buzz gently against

Stanley's brief-covered cock. Warm and humid and Stanley can almost taste those

sweet soft lips, can almost see them in the dark. "--doing it."

"You know what Spengler's going to..." and then Stanley has to suck wind because

Francis mouth opens and takes him in. Sucks on him through the cotton. Stanley

doesn't make a sound, but Francis does. Open mouth groan that shivers through

him and it makes Stanley's knees want to go weak on him. And this is the

thing. This is the thing that every time he thinks he has the upper hand, every

time he has the *reasonable* way to go...

Sucking on him, noisily. Slurping. Whimpering. Sounds that just break him.

Heat and wet and the rough rub of the cotton and tongue against the head of

Stanley's cock and he's got both hands fisted in Francis way-too-soft hair. Not

sure whether he's holding him close or away. See, that shouldn't have

happened. That's a loss of control, and he has nothing against losing control

under certain circumstances but getting a blowjob from a fellow cadet against

the door of your room is *not* one of them.

And Francis' fingers are in the waistband of his briefs and peeling. Releasing

him. He wants to sigh. To melt into the smooth heat he knows is coming for him

and his hips almost start to buck. And then the soft sweep of Francis' cheek

brushes him, Francis face buries itself in his pubes and he can feel the hot and

cold of breath as Francis rubs and rubs and breathes...

And it's -- it's so hot and it's so *wrong* and he has to pull Francis off him

before something gives.

"Oh *fuck*," Francis whispers. "Stanley. You smell so *good*."

What Stanley wants to say is "Shhh." What he wants to say is "Don't...". What

he wants to say is "Jesus, Francis you are so hot and beautiful and I love you

and I want to kiss you everywhere..." But none of those is allowed. Not here,

not now. And the closest thing to any of that is to take his cock in one hand

and hold Francis' head steady with the other. Rub himself against the soft face

until he finds the soft-wet of lips, rub himself there too. Feeling himself

gliding on his own his own slickness. Until those lips open for him, push the

wet glove of tongue and palate forward onto him. Taking him in gulps made jerky

by his hand in Francis' hair.

Francis' arms wrapped around his legs, stroking the cords of muscle and tendon

down the backs of his thighs, behind his knees. Making him want to move again,

gyrate his hips into a corkscrew rhythm and god help them if he does. Ass

against the door. Everyone and his brother would hear the noise.

Like the noises Francis is making now: deep, throaty croaks, muffled by cock.

The twin hooks of suction tugging at him and the wet swallows. Francis' rough

breathing. Air rushing in and out of his nostrils -- harsh panting ratcheting

up as Francis starts to writhe against him.

Hot naked smoothness of Francis skin. Soft wet brush of his cock against the

side of Stanley's knee. Brushing. Brushing.

Oh lord *god* he has to move. Has to, can feel the teasing tightness of Francis

throat catch at his dickhead and needs to drive himself down into it because

sometimes that alone makes Francis come and *oh* he wants to hear Francis come

like that. Muted and desperate and Stanley... can't. Won't. Will. Not.

Break.

See, Stanley has this dream. This dream of him and Francis in some light and

open place. Of watching Francis smoke his cigarette and watching him shoot pool

and kissing him and fondling his ass between shots. Of getting naked and

watching Francis take his clothes off -- not a strip tease but just the way he

takes his clothes off. Lying on his bunk and stroking himself hard while he

watches Francis strip and then getting up and molding his naked, hard self to

Francis' back and maybe the two of them watching themselves in the mirror. Of

seeing his dark brown and Francis pale peach together like some art photograph

and then looking down and seeing it for real. His hand, Francis' hip. Muscles

and naked skin and Francis' innocent smile that Stanley knows always tastes a

little like cuban tobacco and Irish whiskey.

And in this dream, this fantasy he guesses it is, although it feels more real

than anything he's ever called a 'fantasy' before -- but at some point, he's not

sure how they get there, but at some point he's got Francis on his hands and

knees and he's just fucking him. Just... just fucking Francis. Long, hard,

slow, fast... Sometimes pulling back so he can see his cock go in and out of

that sweet, tight hole. Sometimes moving in and hunching over and just burying

his face in Francis' back and power punching Francis' sweet spot over and over.

Sometimes playing on Francis' cock so that Frances stiffens and... and wails.

Screams, 'cause when you can scream you can *let* it be that good because you

can let the sound of it come *out* and --

Francis fingers grip his iron ass, worm in between flesh and door and Stanley

can't help but jerk when he pushes forward and breaches. His cock tamped down

deep, plugged into hot, tight, throbbing slick. Too sweet. He makes his hands

on Francis head go gentle...

Dream of fucking Francis. Lifting up and levering up his legs to spread him,

plunge into him no holds barred and *god* and *god*,

Francis' soft little fingers along the crack of Stanley's ass and he's so close,

he can feel the burn start dissolving his backbone and he's twitching, jerking

from trying not to...

Dream Francis crying out. hoarse and broken and still too loud: "Stanley fuck

oh fuck I *oh*..."

And *OH* and oh and oh oh oh he is he is, spine crumbling like sand when a wave

hits and a wave hits and he is coming so *hard*. Pumping into Francis throat,

his hands gripping. Rigid and god he hopes he didn't *oh* and Francis coming

off. Wet heat of spilling come and Francis rolling back onto the floor, naked,

pale body-shaped smudge in the darkness and Stanley can see the flying blur of

his fist on that surprisingly large handful of cock and Francis is writhing and

moaning and legs spread too wide and oh so fucking gorgeous the way he arches

when he comes...

And Stanley stands there, breathing hard, white worms of light crawling across

his eyeballs while Francis unfolds himself, stretches out on the hard bare

floor.

"Jesus," Francis pants after a minute. "Stanley, you are a fucking *rock*."

"That's discipline, my boy," Stanley says. And he can hear more than see

Francis grin bloom in the dark.

"Undermining discipline's kind of a calling for me," Francis says and extends

his non-come-covered hand. Stanley grabs it, pulls him too his feet and maybe

to both their surprise into his arms where he holds him, rock hard. Brings his

lips down to Francis mouth. Sweet with his own come and Francis' almost sour

need. Kisses slowly until Francis writhes a bit against him and only lets it

break with the sounds start leaking out of Francis mouth again.

"You just keep up the good work then, Cadet," Stanley says. And he means it.

Because one day he's going to make that dream a real thing. And then, when he

comes, he's going to get to *roar*.

He's pretty sure Francis will like the *hell* out of that.

*