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The tape whirred to life, and even though many years had passed, the Crain house still looked as abandoned as ever. Home to a few dozen spiders, and a hideout for the two boys, it served well.
“Is it rollin’?” the blond one asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. He could fall off at any given moment, but restless energy scooted him back with a wiggle and a crooked smile. His voice rasped with the southern accent, slurring at the edges of his words.
“Yeah, it’s rolling.” The other voice sounded almost distorted behind the camera, even more choppy than the first.
“Hi.” the blond flirted, hands crossing under his arms, before switching direction mid-movement to laugh instead, giving up the act and cowering from the camera.
The other moved closer, a faint chuckle heard as he tipped the boy over. The ceiling light malfunctioned, a flicker disrupting the video, but nobody paid it any mind. They must’ve been used to it by now, for no one moved a finger at the awful buzz.
The boy stared up at the camera, hair falling over the sheets in chunky strands. He seemed happy, even pinned to the old shitty mattress that squeaked whenever one of them shifted.
“You not gonna introduce yourself first?” he asked once the other got to lifting his shirt, showcasing tan skin.
“I don’t need an introduction.”
“Rafe motherfucking Cameron, everybody.” He laughed again when a hand slipped all the way up to his pec. A faint bruise bloomed on the underside of his ribs, and Rafe ventured fingers against the sore, earning a sharp hiss from the boy below.
“Jesus, man. Thought we weren’t doin’ it like this,”
The camera fell to the mattress, leaving the screen black for the few seconds it took Rafe to open his boyfriend’s mouth and slip his tongue inside.
“Hey,” A wet sound, another kiss. “Stick to the plan, bro—”
“Shut up.”
“Oh my god, this is why we never get anything done.” He complained, picking up the camera himself with a smack. The focus shifted onto Rafe, who was currently straddling him, flushed cheeks and hair pushed back for the moment. “Look at this guy,”
“JJ, stop.” Rafe covered the camera with his palm.
“Hey, he’s blushing.” JJ laughed, trying to gain control over the device to no avail. Rafe had already managed to snatch it out of his hands and turn it. “Okay, okay—”
Rafe grabbed a handful of blond hair, the strands swooping around his fingers. The tug was hard enough for JJ to let out a tiny groan, but not out of discomfort.
“Brat.”
“Wow—That’s real Rafe of you, Rafe.” JJ’s chuckle was strained, even more so when Rafe’s hand swooped down to his crotch instead, cupping with a grip tight enough to hurt.
“Camera is impractical.” he drawled. The camera shook when it steadied on the bulge he was trying to free one-handed.
“Yeah, so I actually have two hands—”
“Go on, then.”
“I am going on, just let me—dude.” There was a shuffle, and the recorder fell back into the mattress face down, leaving everything black for the next thirty seconds.
When the focus adjusted again, JJ was bare, hand masking his crotch. “I’m shy,” he told the film, grinning.
Rafe shoved him back down for the second time. “Jesus Christ, JJ.” He hooked his free hand under JJ’s leg, placing it over his shoulder as to settle in the middle. “This was his idea, just sayin’..”
“You know what else is an idea? Like, really great idea?” He scooted, trying to settle with Rafe’s weight holding him in place. “We should have music.”
Rafe had already begun grumbling behind the camera, trying to find the lube he’d placed somewhere near while JJ sang along to the imaginary “blur” track playing in his head, imitating a very bad British accent.
While the tape both hacked and cut off at times throughout the prep, the recording caught enough of Rafe’s fingers to mark importance. Between the shuffling of keeping the face of his boyfriend in view more often than not, rather than making a show of fingering him, there was a lot of motion. JJ would occasionally twitch, or throw his head back into the sheets. But not once did he complain.
“Think you’re ready,” Rafe announced, knuckles slipping out with a slick sound. Still he kept a firm grip on JJ’s thigh, spreading him wider. “This is the only way to shut him up,”
JJ’s lips stayed apart for a few moments, watching Rafe line up, before remembering the camera pointed at him, now resting on his knee. He flashed a proud grin, dropping his gaze back down in interest.
The device fell the second Rafe groaned, slipping inside slowly. JJ followed with a huff, then a similar sound, fingers suddenly clenching the sheets. “Pick it up,” he almost whispered, and the other boy followed the command timely, lifting the focus on his own member sinking deeper into JJ. “See, I told you I should’ve topped, like, you’re —not a good cameraman.”
“How do we shut him up.” Rafe asked both himself and the audience, hovering over JJ, trying to find something to use. The boy yelped in the process, result of Rafe grabbing onto him, specifically his bruise, as he searched. It seemed to be a habit of his, perhaps not an unwelcome one.
JJ twisted and gasped softly under him. “Dude, you’re in me.”
“Oh no, how’d that happen?” He landed on a pillow, smothering his boyfriend’s face before the guy could think about a protest.
The camera steadied, and Rafe’s hand looped around JJ’s slightly lifted thigh to press him back against his pelvis. In and out, back and forth; he fucked him slowly. The creaks of the old bed were loud in the otherwise silent room, save for JJ’s faint moans. And when Rafe shoved hard enough to bruise around the boy’s thigh, it wasn’t quiet. JJ threw his head back again, revealing the prominent bulge of his Adam’s apple to the camera’s shitty quality.
It shook before lowering, catching the way Rafe’s slick cock pushed past the initial resistance, before sliding back out with ease. It went on like this for a few minutes, maybe only two: Rafe’s hand shaking enough to qualify as a tremble, JJ’s moans, the creaking springs, and the wet cadence of their movements filling up the room. Their pants were whorish, downright curses and sins of their own.
By the end of it, Rafe had lifted him, just by a tad, enough to keep him accessible. Even filming with only one hand liberated, he made a good show of it, shoving with a frequent drive that shook the headboard into the wall at every thrust.
“Fuck,” A curse could be heard as the camera dropped back into the mattress.
This time, it cut off completely, the screen staying black for a solid second before cutting back to another shaky view of the room. Rafe was standing, his breath uneven and blowing into the speaker. Meanwhile, JJ was spread out on the bed, and even with the shitty quality it was obvious he was drenched in sweat from head to toe.
“Signing out?” Rafe asked him, zooming in on JJ’s mouth.
“Signing out..” JJ confirmed with a groan, rolling so he could rest face-down in the dry part of the bed.
A static stuttered behind the camera, and Rafe’s fingers accidentally crossed the lens. “I’m keeping—”
The tape clicked shut.