Title: SAME CHANNEL (1/1)
Author: Josan
Beta: RJ
Date: posted May, 2000
Summary: In response to the Sk/K challenge of doing a web-cam story. This is as close as I can get to that concept!
Pairing: Up to you....
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes, to Basement, Ratlover, SKSA. Anyone else, please ask.
Comments: jmann@mondenet.com
OR, if you're getting bounced due to the anti-spam filter my server has added, try jmann@spam.mondenet.com

 

DISCLAIMER: These are the property of CC, Fox and
1013, I think.

DEDICATION: To RJ, who swore she couldn't beta....and
who, to no one's surprise but herself, was wrong!

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He changed into a pair of old sweats, grabbed a beer and made himself comfortable on his couch.

Twisted the cap off the bottle, tossed it towards the wastebasket at the other side of the room.

Missed.

Picked up the remote, hit the power button and settled down to an evening of "entertainment".

The scene that appeared on the screen was one that he watched often these past months. A bedroom. In some motel room.

He checked his watch for both time and date. Yep. 9:45 p.m. And it was definitely Tuesday. The door should be opening about now.

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The door to the motel room opened and a tall man with a certain bearing entered, tossing the keys onto the nearest of the two queen-sized beds.

He was humming something under his breath as he went and pulled down the covers on the other bed. He shrugged out of his suit jacket, went to the near-by closet, pulled out a hanger and hung it up. He emptied his pants pockets onto the top of the dresser, undid his belt. The sound of a zipper vied with his humming. He shed the pants, hung those up as well. The shirt followed, to hang next to the jacket. Toed off his shoes, took off his socks and placed each one in its shoe.

Wearing only his white jockeys, the man went into the bathroom. There was the sound of liquid hitting water in a constant stream. Then the sound of the shower. Out of the open bathroom door a cloud of steam invaded the bedroom.

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He had made himself very comfortable: the beer bottle was at hand, as was a tube of his favourite lube, a box of tissues.

One hand was still holding the remote as the other found its way under the t-shirt he was wearing.

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The motel door opened and a second man walked in. Even the sensitive mikes that had picked up the undertoned humming did not relay any sound. He stood watching the steam coming out of the bathroom as he slowly undressed.

He tossed the leather jacket onto the second bed. A sweater then a t-shirt followed. He stepped out of his boots, shimmied out of his jeans and shorts, tossed those on top of his other clothes. He toed off his socks, left them on the floor. Lastly, he removed his left arm, placing the prothesis on the bed with greater care.

Then he disappeared into the steam.

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He took a swallow of beer, finishing the bottle. This was the part he liked the least, knowing that it was that fucking bastard who was in that motel room.

With one hand, he punished himself by pinching his nipples to the point of pain. With the other, he picked up the remote and hit a different number.

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It was not easy to make out what was going on behind the shower curtain. Obviously the first man had voiced no objections to the presence of the second. Oh, there were sounds, just not sounds of protest.

The light from the ceiling managed to cast enough light behind the curtain so that shadowy figures could be distinguished -- if one tried hard enough and had a sufficiently graphic imagination.

The mikes picked up the grunts, the groans, the muttered "Fuck me!" and the encouragements "Yeah, like that!"

The undeniable sounds of first one male voice grunting its completion were followed soon after by a second.

The sound of falling water ceased. The shower curtain parted, releasing a last puff of steam. The room cleared just in time for the cameras to show the fine view of two prime pieces of ass leaving the room.

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He was still playing with his nipples, stroking his chest, arousing himself so had to pull one hand out from under his shirt to grab the remote and change channels again. He pulled the t-shirt up over his head and flipped it towards his desk.

He didn't remove his eyes from the TV screen.

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The men were kissing.

The ceiling cam gave a good view of the work their tongues were doing in each other's mouths. There wasn't much difference in height between the two of them. Which meant every thing was within easy reach. Asses were at the right height to grab, groins to rub against.

When they separated, it was to allow their mouths to roam over each other's bodies, sucking up stray drops of water, nipping at skin, savouring the flavour of each other.

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With a muttered curse, he changed channels again, played along his stomach with the tips of his nails, the pads of his finger tips.

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The one-armed man pushed the first down onto the cleared bed so that he lay on his back. Then he dropped to his knees on the floor to settle between the man's legs. There was the beginning of an erection waiting for his attentions. He bent, took the man's cock into his mouth, sucked him hard.

The man on the bed groaned, his hips jerking.

The man sucking cock released it enough to look up at the man who now protested the loss of that mouth.

"Jesus Christ! Get on with it!"

The one-armed man's smile was not kind, but his head dropped and the man on the bed threw his head back, his hips bucking in reaction to the blow job he was getting.

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His hand slipped under the waistband of his sweatpants.

His own hips rose to push his filling cock hard against the callused palm rubbing against it.

His hand kept rhythm with the head bobbing up and down on the screen.

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The man on the bed grabbed hold of the head between his legs, held it fixed in place as he raised his hips, held them and, with a hoarse shout, came in the man's mouth.

The cock sucker kept up the pressure on the man's cock until, with a loud sigh, he released the grip he had on the one-armed man's head. When the man lifted his head, the camera caught the creamy whiteness that slicked his lips.

As the man on the bed recovered, the other stood, hand on his own cock, jerking it to full erection. He turned around and came back into camera range holding a couple of foiled packets which he dropped onto the chest of the sated man.

That one raised himself up onto his elbows, opened both foils. Shifting his weight to one side, he reached over and rolled the condom on the man's bludgeoning cock. Then, from the second packet, he rubbed lube over the latex, teasing the covered flesh, and then onto the two fingers the man held out.

At a gesture from the one-armed man, the man pulled down a couple of the pillows, slipped them under his hips. He scooted closer to the edge of the bed, and with practised ease, slung his legs over the standing man's shoulders.

He gave a hiss of pleasure when the lubed fingers disappeared under his raised hips.

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He reached for the tube he had placed within reach.

He spread some lube on his palm and replaced it on his throbbing cock, giving it a couple of slippery strokes.

On the screen he watched as the one-armed man directed his cock deep within the man lying open to him on the bed.

From the pillow under his head, he pulled out a large plastic cock, quickly passed his slicked hand along its length. He raised his hips, tugged down the sweats with one hand as he positioned the rigid tool at his anus.

With practised ease, he slipped it in.

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The one-armed man was pumping into the prone man's ass, his hips grinding away.

His breath had hoarsened, gasping in countermeasure to the other's mantra of "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

He stilled, head thrown back, face feral as his shot his cum deep within the man's ass. The only sound he made was a deep animal grunt that he tried to catch within his throat.

The man on the bed waited for some sign only he could see, pulled himself off and back.

The one-armed man sighed, turned and let himself fall backwards onto the bed, next to the man.

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Chanting, almost screaming "Ass, cock, ass, cock....", he twisted the plastic cock in one hand as he jerked himself off with the other.

He came with a loud shout, jism streaking his body.

The neighbour upstairs pounded on the floor.

As usual, he ignored the sound of the broom handle hitting the floor, the barely audible rumblings of the curses.

He closed his eyes and listened to his heart beat.

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The first man came off the bed, removed the condom off the other man, went into the bathroom and took a very quick shower. Within a couple of minutes he was back out again and getting dressed.

The one-armed man watched him through heavy lidded eyes. His one hand was slowly caressing his body.

At the door, before leaving, the man asked over his shoulder, "Next week?"

The one-armed man lazily answered, "Same time, same place."

He waited until the door closed to stare up into the ceiling cam.

"Same channel."

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