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Fic: Commute
Title: Commute
Pairing or main characters: Malcolm/Jamie
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2477
Warnings: language, lust, backseat shenanigans
Summary: Malcolm's body rarely betrayed him
Notes: first proper pr0n for multiple eyes :)

Throughout the history of their shared morning commute, Malcolm had always insisted that Jamie's car arrive to pick him up last.  This meant he didn't spend half his time waiting for Jamie to crawl out of bed at the last possible instance, but it also gave Malcolm more time to center himself in preparation for the ride.  Although he'd never admit it, Jamie had a tendency to throw Malcolm off kilter faster than anyone else had ever been able.  When Malcolm got to the car, Jamie could be scowling at an editorial or initiating a fierce argument over something from the first stack of dailies.  One morning Jamie had been in hysterical laughter for the entire twenty minute ride; two days later he had merely stared out of Malcolm's side window, eyes not even snapping to the traffic poles.  There was certainly never a pattern to the mornings, apart from the fact of them, but he and Jamie could read each other better than anyone he'd ever worked with, anyone he'd ever even met, and it unnerved him. 

It was with these thoughts that, upon waking, Malcolm realized he was fucked.

Malcolm didn't dream.  He got far less than enough sleep each night so there was never time to build any fantasies or escapes, because four hours later he would need every last ounce of mental acuity for the day ahead.  He'd long since resigned himself to dreamless sleep and it allowed him to pour his creativity into the only facet of his life.  It's the über zen of the monk who reaches nirvana through denial of lesser, more menial instincts.  Baser instincts.  Base.  Fuck.  Malcolm was fucked because Malcolm didn't dream because when he dreamed the first fucking dream he'd remembered in almost fifteen years, he dreamt of Jamie.  Second in command, beautifully mental, intimidatingly glorious, proud and strong Jamie.  Jamie.  Who in their right fucking mind dreams of Satan's rentboy. Malcolm's body rarely betrayed him, far too intimidated by the control stem up top, but sometimes the id threw a massive hissy fit and demanded an audience with the form that would carry out its every whim. 

Malcolm's eyes opened at 6:15am with two distinct thoughts.

1) Need to come.  Hard.  NOW.
2) Jamie

Number 1 happened immediately upon identifying number 2 in his mind.  Malcolm rolled onto his stomach, held his breath and thrust four times, finding purchase in nothing but the bunched and sweaty sheets but it was enough.  He groaned Jamie's name into his pillow, took a deep breath back in, and could taste the flavor of his own desperation.  Oh yes, Malcolm was well and truly fucked.  He stripped the bed in disgust and headed for the penance of a very cold shower.


The horn honking at 7:40 was the second indication of how fucked he was.  They'd never had to honk before, ever.  A quick text from Jamie, "Oi," and Malcolm was out the door fifteen seconds later.  This was ten minutes.  Ten whole minutes lost, spent trying to control himself.  Malcolm left home with no clarity of mind whatsoever.  He was nobody's rock.  He needed...he didn't precisely know what he needed, just that he needed, and now he was walking towards a car carrying the one man who had infiltrated Malcolm's defenses to the point where he literally had no control, a point he hadn't seen for well over a decade.  Fuck.  With a deep breath, he opened the car door, sat down, slammed the door and said, "Go."

"Mornin', Malc," Jamie said, an initial hint of sunshine in his voice swiftly changing to curiosity once he really looked at Malcolm.  Something was up and Jamie only had twenty minutes to solve the puzzle.

"Yeah," and a quick wipe of the face Malcolm's only response.

"What's...hey, what's happ'nin? Something's up. The dandy PM fucker get his cock up something new?"

Malcolm continued to stare out of his window, willing the car ride to pass in blessed silence, wishing this was one of those days Jamie had his own window out of which to stare.



Jamie reached over to shake Malcolm's shoulder and this broke the spell.  Malcolm's head whipped around and his right hand grabbed Jamie's, forceably removing it before immediately turning back to his window.

"Fuck off."

"Fuck off? What'te fuck, Malc, what's going on?"

Finally, Malcolm turned to look properly at Jamie.  Malcolm saw clear eyes with more than a hint of concern.  He saw curly chestnut hair long in need of a trim and he saw red lips parted in surprise at the fury and pain being reflected back.  And he lost himself.  Malcolm's mask fell and Jamie could see everything: exhaustion (a constant), confusion (itself confusing), and desire.  Rampant fucking NEED, and it was wholly aimed at Jamie, and it floored him.

Jamie read Malcolm's body language, still twisted and hidden towards the car door, read his face still looking openly back at him, and made to speak again until he caught Malcolm's eyes dragging to his own mouth.  Saw Malcolm's eyelids get heavy.  Jamie purposely licked his lips and watched Malcolm's pupils blow out.  Malcolm raised that gaze back to Jamie's eyes and he was done.  Jamie didn't know what god he'd not fucked over to be looked at like that, and especially by Malcolm, but he accepted it without question.  Malcolm had been breathing shallowly since first sitting down but now, with his lips parted, deeper breaths brought Jamie's essense closer.  He thought it was as close as they could conceivably get in a civil service vehicle, swapping breath from two feet away on their way to work, fucking important work, but none of this mattered in the least when Malcolm was still looking at him like that.  Real governmental work could wait out the fifteen minutes left of this journey. 

Keeping the driver's ears in mind and Malcolm's eyes in sight, Jamie startled even himself when he put his phone to his ear and started shouting to nobody, easily drowning out the morning news radio.  Jamie knew how to create a diversion so any half-arse attention the driver might be paying towards the backseat was now directed at the bile issuing forth from Jamie's mouth, and not the unconventionally silent and dazed Malcolm.  Jamie also knew the driver was unable to see his right hand, which had moved fully into the space next to Malcolm's coiled body.  Malcolm watched that hand intentionally moving closer, and looked to Jamie in a bit of a panic.  Jamie was still in full-on bollocking mode but he kept Malcolm's eye and between them passed a promise of if-we-only-weren't-in-this-fucking-car, and that was enough for Malcolm. Jamie turned around to shout towards the window and Malcolm tentatively touched the hand between them, felt the warmth and strength in the fingers, the calluses at the top of Jamie's palm, and immediately had the desire to bring Jamie's hand to his mouth. Malcolm squeezed Jamie's hand to help control his impulse and was surprised to find it steady when his own hand was shaking so. He felt Jamie intertwine their fingers with a return squeeze of reassurance, and it gave Malcolm the confidence to bring Jamie's hand firmly to his leg and release it, just needing someone else's touch on him. A touch he couldn't control, from someone he wanted. Malcolm couldn't remember when he'd last wanted so hard and it incapacitated any further action beyond fisting his own hands against the sides of his thighs and trying to breath.

Jamie, still shouting at no one, turned to watch Malcolm. He could read Malcolm's inability to decide exactly what he needed, so Jamie made the choice for him and slowly began sliding his hand up Malcolm's thigh. Giving plenty of time for Malcolm to stop him, knowing he wouldn't but certainly not expecting Malcolm's legs to fall open so quickly. Malcolm knew precisely where he needed Jamie's hand but he was no longer able to cross that line for himself.  Thank god he'd picked Jamie, someone who had no problem crossing any damn line, and Jamie turned towards him to gain an even further reach.  When Jamie cupped him Malcolm dropped his eyes to watch, only to immediately slam them shut with his next swift inhale.  He was already too close to the edge and even through the blood haze of lust he'd be fucking goddamned if he'd come in his pants in the backseat of his morning commute.  He felt a slight squeeze and turned to look at Jamie in a mass of consternation, only to find a filthy choirboy squeezing Malcolm's bollocks and running a finger up to explore the ridge of flesh clearly delineated in Malcolm's trousers.  Malcolm had been hard since getting into the car and he desperately wanted to touch Jamie, wanted to tackle him out of the moving car and mount him in 5 seconds flat, but he settled for closing his eyes, not trusting himself any further.  He didn't know why Jamie was doing this, why he was still doing this, and to avoid any misintepretation he needed Jamie to make all the moves. Malcolm was beyond hiding any reaction.

Jamie fiercely stabbed the end of his not-call and turned to face Malcolm.

"So guess who that was."

"No fuckin' clue," huffed Malcolm in a half breath as watched himself slowly fuck his hips against Jamie's open palm.

Jamie sighed and raised his hand slightly, breaking the caress and Malcolm's patience. "Why can't some poor fucker just say the words and tell me what he needs me to do?"

Malcolm fell immediately into the natural rhythm of arguing with Jamie, but with an ear towards the driver. "Maybe...Jesus, Jamie, maybe he just couldn't talk right then."

"Christ, Malc, so how'm I s'posed to know what he wants?"

Malcolm raised one eyebrow. "Oh please. You know exactly what he wants and you'll fuckin' give it to him because you're not stupid and you're not that big a prick."

"Au contraire," said Jamie with a leer and a lowering of his hand back towards Malcolm.

"Yeah, well...we can deal with that later" said Malcolm, with a pained half grin and a breath of relief.

"And what happens later?"

"Fuckin' quid pro quo, Jamie." Malcolm's body language remained profanely elegant, graceful but with increasingly erratic thrusts into Jamie's teasing hand.

And with that, negotiations ceased and Jamie had his answer.

When Jamie lowered Malcolm's zip, Malcolm stopped moving entirely.  He grasped Jamie's wrist and glared at him, at the nerve to have gone even as far as they already had in broad daylight on their way to work.  Jamie didn't care, because A) he knew Malcolm was too far gone to stop him, B) leaving Malcolm in his current state meant a trail of victims throughout the day, and C) Jamie wanted this just as much as Malcolm.  He wanted to see Malcolm completely helpless and needy and beyond himself, and he needed to be the one responsible.  Malcolm was torn between ending this madness and showing Jamie exactly how hard and fast to move.  Still unable to choose, Malcolm slowly let go of Jamie's wrist, leaned back, and watched to see what Jamie would do next.

Jamie smiled and leaned forward towards the driver. "Hey mate, y'wouldn't mind turning the radio up, would ya? I've a bet on how often he says cockup."

Jamie leaned back and continued into Malcolm's flies to explore skin on skin.  He released Malcolm's erection from his pants and then removed his hand to simply look at him.  Malcolm's fingers flexing against the leather of the car seat, a thin sheen of sweat on his face, breathing sharply through his nose, eyes all but closed.  Full work armor but with a raging erection laying back against his belt buckle.  Jamie bubbled a soft joyful laugh and Malcolm unconsciously twitched towards him.  Jamie stopped laughing and his eyes flashed as he grasped Malcolm firmly, giving him one strong stroke. Malcolm's head hit the back of his seat and Jamie could feel him grow in his hand. As he rested his hand at the base, he could feel Malcolm's stomach trembling, trying to resist thrusting. This became a futile attempt when Jamie squeezed him yet again.  Malcolm took a deep breath and pulled as far out of Jamie's grip as he could, then canted his hips forward, his legs as far apart as they could go, his feet pressing together.

Jamie took a moment to quickly wipe his hand across his face, discretely licking his palm.  He reached back towards Malcolm, placed his wet hand on Malcolm's head, and began palming soft circles to Malcolm's gasps.

"Quid pro when?"
"Now, fucking NOW."

Without thinking twice, Jamie leaned over Malcolm's lap and took him fully in his mouth.  Hollowing his cheeks and moving nothing but his tongue against the underside of Malcolm's head, Jamie could feel Malcolm's trembling stomach even stronger, could almost hear him straining, and when Malcolm grabbed Jamie's hair and helplessly jerked backwards Jamie stayed with him.  Malcolm bit his lip and silently surged forward one last time, offered three more shallow thrusts, and collapsed bonelessly back into the seat, his hand in Jamie's hair now resting and trying to repair the damage his grip had done.  Jamie swallowed and sat fully upright, holding a file pulled from his bag and a smug grin.

Malcolm was boneless, still untucked, and absolutely uncaring of anything but the man sitting next to him. A million questions were tripping through his mind but the only answer he could really understand was a single word. Yes...yes, over and over. The word became YES when he chanced a glance back to Jamie, eyes smiling beatifically bright back at him.

Malcolm started to rouse himself back to reality once he finally noticed the file in Jamie's hand.  "Those're the health numbers, yeah?"

Momentarily surprised to be drawn into thinking about something other than the noises he wanted to drag out of Malcolm as soon as possible, Jamie responded with an honest, ", these're polling reports from Crouch End."

Malcolm tucked himself back into his pants and slowly closed his trousers, all while raking his eyes across Jamie. "Fucking hell, Jamie, now we've got to head all the way back to yours? Glad we found out before we got to the office, you'dve been eaten alive."

Malcolm took in Jamie's damp brow, saw the pinched tension behind his still genuine grin, and watched the way Jamie's hands kept fisting restlessly against his own bouncing legs.  Malcolm leaned forward towards the driver.

"Mate, we've gotta head back to fucknut's here, any chance we could get there double fast?"
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Perfect start to a wednesday morning.

Ooh Lovely :D

I agree with the above comment. What a great way to start the day!

I'd like to join the chorus of "what a wonderful way to start the day".

There will be a sequel, yes? Surely? What can I bribe you with to get you to write a sequel?

Jamie didn't know what god he'd not fucked over to be looked at like that, and especially by Malcolm, but he accepted it without question.

I love this line. And Jamie just texting "oi" made me giggle. And the rest, of course. Mhmmm.

Do you mind if I friend you? :)

hells yeah! glad to get everyone's day started on the right foot (the time difference in america pays off for once).

i didn't start thinking sequel until i was about halfway through, but now i think yes. sequel. eeee. if only because i want to read it too.

Hee! Brilliantly sexy. Poor Malcolm.

Having run out of Malcolm/Jamie on AO3 and FFnet, I am now desperately trawling the net for MORE!!! And this did not disappoint! Shame it seems you never wrote that sequel...

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