A/N: Raunchy time! The world tried so hard to get me to not post this, but I love you guys too much to give up.
Prompt: Carlos and James play strip pool.
EDIT:// People are telling me there's another fic on here that involves Carlos and James on a pool table. I apologize to that author, I honestly had no idea. But I'd like to point out that the prompt was "play strip pool," and that I wrote this for the LJ kink meme, not FF. I really just put things on here for archiving. 8/
Disclaimer: Never gonna happen. Ever.
Make Your Move
"I didn't know Gustavo had a pool table," Carlos exclaims excitedly when he and James poke their heads into one of the many unexplored rooms of Gustavo's mansion. Gustavo's off in Paraguay or Uruguay or something-Guay and it's their turn to watch the mansion. After... last time, Gustavo is never, ever letting all four of them in the house at the same time. Though, what makes him think letting James and Carlos in the mansion by themselves is any safer, none of them will ever figure out.
James looks down at his friend, contemplating. "Wanna play a game?"
Carlos grins up at him. "You're on. But you wanna make it interesting?"
A shrug. "Sure. How?"
Carlos wiggles his eyebrows. "How about a game of strip pool? My brother taught me. It's basic."
"Huh." James thinks about it for a second. Because, really, what could go wrong? "Yeah, why not?"
"Rules," Carlos says confidently, grinning. "You score a point, your opponent takes off something."
"For every ball in the pocket, you have to take off that amount of clothing," James adds. "Each sock counts as one."
Carlos nods. "Rock paper scissors calls first shot."
A fist pound and James taking down Carlos' rock with his paper later, they're both standing on opposite sides of the pool table, cue sticks in hand as James leans down to break the set. He flicks the stick between his fingers twice before letting it snap neatly against the cue ball. The rest of the balls clatter against the sides of the table, and James grins in triumph when one of his tucks itself into one of the pockets.
"Score one already, buddy."
Carlos blinks. "Um. Wow. Okay."
James shrugs. "I know I'm awesome. Strip."
Carlos laughs and places his stick on the table, pulling his hoodie off. "Alright. Lucky shot. My turn."
Watching as Carlos lines up his shot, James unashamedly tries to sneak a peek through the collar of Carlos' shirt. A clatter snaps him out of it, followed by Carlos' disappointed groan.
"Damn. Your shot."
"Try again next time," James winks smugly, eying the table to figure out what he should do. After a moment, he leans down and feels Carlos' eyes on his ass. Ha. He's not the only one staring, then. He sinks his shot, giddy in the most manly way possible.
"Wow," Carlos sounds surprised. "You're good at this."
James twirls the stick, a grin tugging at his mouth. He twitches an eyebrow expectantly, and Carlos gives him a smirking glance before pulling his undershirt off from the hem and tossing it to the floor. He then picks up his own cue stick and leans down, lining up his shot. He watches the muscles ripple across Carlos' bare stomach, his biceps flexing, and James swallows hard. Jesus. This was a good idea.
Carlos pauses, tongue poking out from between his teeth, and with a sharp jerking motion clanks his own four ball into the pocket, straightening up with a self-satisfied "ha!"
James shrugs and pulls off the bandanna wrapped around his forehead.
"Dude!" Carlos snaps, looking irritated.
"What? It counts?" James tosses the bandanna at Carlos' face, grinning. Carlos peels it off his face and chucks it back at him.
"You just want to see me naked, perv."
James winks. "You know it."
Carlos shifts a little bit, glaring while he uses his cue stick as a way of holding himself up, the muscles in his arms bunching again.
James wiggles his eyebrows.
"You're going down, Garcia." He leans down and smacks not one, but two balls into the left corner pocket, and Carlos blinks in shock. When James looks at him expectantly, Carlos sort of flails his arms.
"You mind telling me how you're so good at this?"
James shrugs. "My dad owns a bar, dude. I've been playing since I was twelve."
"I hate you," Carlos complains as he reaches down to pull off his socks--their shoes are heaped into a pile by the door, per request (and or threat) of Gustavo. "You could've mentioned that." He throws them by his shirt and just falls short of getting another of his into the pocket. He groans, curses, and glowers at James as he sinks yet another point without fail.
"This was your idea," James reminds him as Carlos pops the button of his jeans.
"I know. And," he pauses, and the mischievous gleam in his eye suddenly makes James a little bit nervous, and even more turned on, "I plan on taking advantage of that fact."
"In what way?" James questions. He kind of likes where this is going, actually.
Carlos tilts his head, the grin matching the gleam. He pulls down the zipper slowly, never looking away from James' face. James swallows again, watching every movement. His own pants are starting to tighten just from this, and damn, he's still fully clothed. Carlos pulls the pants down slowly by his thumbs, an eyebrow quirked at the look on James' face.
"Like what you see?"
"Damn straight," James manages.
Carlos shrugs and kicks the jeans off to join the rest of his clothes, naked except for his boxers, and he picks up his cue stick.
James suddenly finds himself really, really wanting Carlos to score a point. Except that clearly his facial expression is saying this, because Carlos' next shot is just short of pathetic. Carlos shrugs.
"Two can play that game," he mutters, and sinks another ball. He straightens himself up and smiles innocently at Carlos.
Carlos looks at him defiantly, in that way of his, and sheds his boxers. James feels like, despite the fact this was probably one of the greatest games of his life, seeing Carlos literally standing before him naked as the day he was born is doing horrible, horrible things to his hormones.
Carlos crosses his arms even as the blush is exploding in his cheeks. Apparently part of this backfired on him, because he definitely notices where James' eyes keep flicking.
And oh, Jesus. Apparently he approves of that.
James forces his eyes upwards. "So I guess I win."
"Nope," Carlos forces out, and holds up his left wrist, showing off his watch. "One left. And it's my turn."
"Then make your move," James tries to say smoothly. It comes out sort of strained. Carlos shrugs, and it'd be the most nonchalant movement in the world if not for the red tint of his cheeks that's starting to travel down his neck.
"I will." He picks up the cue stick and walks to James' side of the table, stopping right next to him and looking up from the corner of his eyes. "Do you want me to miss?"
"That's it." James has had it. He grabs the cue stick and tosses it, grabbing Carlos' face and pulling him up for a bone-crushing kiss. Carlos groans into it, hands scrabbling to find the fabric of James' shirt. James bends him backwards, grinding his hips down. Carlos' mouth drops open and every muscle tenses as James' clothed erection grinds up against his bare one.
"Fuck it," Carlos snarls and grabs one of the striped balls, rolling it into the pocket. "There, I scored a point. Take off your damn pants."
"Rules are rules," James agrees and pulls down both his jeans and boxers in the same movement. Any other day he would've continued on with the teasing, would've quipped about how Carlos still needs another point before they can get farther, but teasing be goddamned, he needs to get off rightthefucknow. Carlos grabs him by the collar and pulls him in for another kiss, crashing their lips together.
"Get on the table," James orders, and he feels Carlos' mouth twist into a smirk as he hops up onto the table and wraps his legs around James' waist, pulls him in even closer. James grinds up hard against Carlos again, pushes him back until he's lying flat on the felt service and James is mouthing at his neck.
Carlos lets out a less than dignified whine, canting his hips up so their dicks collide, and the friction is fucking amazing. James groans from deep in his gut.
"This was your best idea ever," he forces out. "We must discuss more ideas."
An agreeing sort of noise makes its way out of Carlos' throat, though whether it's from what James said or from the way James is rubbing at him, James isn't entirely sure. Whatever, not like it matters. James trails a hand up Carlos' chest and presses the tips of his fingers against his bottom lip until Carlos parts them and lets James slip two fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva. When in doubt, improvise.
He trails them back down, using one of the most sultry looks in his arsenal, and Carlos just barely manages to smirk back.
"Not so much for aah fuck foreplay, are we."
"Maybe another day we can be all romantic," James mummers against the soft skin of Carlos' neck, "but for now..." He traces a line down the length of Carlos' dick with his finger, leaving a light trail of moistness and smirking at the way Carlos bucks his hips, groans. "I'm totally okay with this."
"Agreed." Carlos groans again when James slowly works a finger into his entrance, followed up by a keening noise when he presses in all the way to his knuckle and pumps his cock with his free hand.
"What happened to no foreplay, asshole?" Carlos' voice is strained. "Jesus."
"Not foreplay." James pushes a second finger in, feeling the tight heat around his fingers, the way that Carlos presses back against him, and nearly cries out when Carlos' hand suddenly finds James' dick and returns the favor, a glint of his usual trickery in his eyes.
"Like that?" he mocks.
"You could do better."
Carlos squeezes both his hand and the muscles of his lower body and James groans.
"You did better."
"Shut up already, oh my god." Carlos arches his back. "Come on." James just barely manages to hold himself up and presses in a third finger. Carlos' body's been reduced to a mass of tensing muscles and moaning sighs. James presses his teeth against the soft spot of Carlos' collarbone, pulling his hand away and batting Carlos' hand away. He runs his lips up until he reaches the spot under Carlos' ear that reduces him to a shuddering mess. For all of Carlos' blind confidence, the kid positively melts the minute he's under James' hands.
James leads himself, and they both groan in unison. The tightness and the heat is fantastic, amazing, better than hand. He snaps his hips forward and Carlos cries out, his fingers digging into the flesh of James' waist. James grabs him by the wrists, pinning his hands above his head.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Carlos strains, "shit." He lets the word draw out, giving it multiple syllables and throwing his head back. James pants into his ear, canting his hips harder. "James, c'mon, please--"
"Nope," he manages. "Not touching you." He can hear all the balls clattering against the sides of the pool table, and that does nothing if not turn him on even more. "Oh shit."
Carlos' breathes are clipped and his voice is high as he pushes back into James' hips, back arching off the table again. It takes only another few thrusts from James before he cries out and throws his head back hard, striping his stomach with white. James moans, hips stuttering and a moment later he's coming too, face buried Carlos' neck. He mumbles curses into the skin there, and they lie there like that, panting.
"I've got felt burn," Carlos moans finally, staring at the outside of his forearms, rubbed red and raw. "Crap."
When James looks up, he realizes that their actions, so to speak, knocked one of the balls into the pocket, and he smirks, reaching out. Carlos watches his progress lazily as James wraps a hand around his left arm. James pops the red watch off Carlos' wrist and tosses it away, speaking against his lips.
"You already got your prize, Jimmy."
James scowls in return.
"I challenge you to a game of strip poker, then, Carlitos."