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There's really no excuse for it.
James eyes the jacket where it's sitting on the desk opposite his bed. He shouldn't do it. It was a gift. A very thoughtful, almost sickeningly sweet gift that he still can't believe someone actually got for him. Much less someone who'd only heard him talk about Batman Forever, like… one time.
He checked the prices, by the way. He'd been in such shock after he'd gotten it, Ryan just walking away like nothing happened, and he'd looked up Batman Forever crew jacket in some sort of fugue-state-daze.
And it was 300 fucking dollars.
Which is maybe chump change to someone like Ryan Gosling, who has done, like, two dozen movies and then some, whose name practically everybody on the planet knows. But 300 dollars is - it's mind-boggling. Baffling. Confounding, even. For a jacket. Who does that?
So he shouldn't. He shouldn't - dirty the jacket like that. It was a gift, a wholesome, friendly gift, albeit from objectively the hottest man on earth but still! It was a gift. A very expensive gift.
Ryan spent 300 dollars on him. He should respect the sanctity of those 300 dollars. His dick should not jump at the thought of Ryan buying him a 300 dollar jacket (or maybe more - 300 bucks was just the price on eBay. He doesn't know where Ryan got it.)
Oh, fuck's sake. He's already hard somehow. It's irritating, what Ryan does to him. But the thought of that jacket - of putting it on, pretending it was anything other than a too-kind wrap gift, of daring to touch himself in it -
Fucking whatever.
He pushes himself off his bed and snatches the jacket off his desk, dick aching in his boxers. He's not wearing a shirt - it's hot, sue him - so he just shucks it on, smooth and soft and almost sinfully comfortable. It's definitely a sin, whatever he's doing right now.
It smells like him. Which is an insane thought to have. James doesn't even know how or why he knows what Ryan smells like - maybe from running lines with him all the time, who knows - but it smells like his luxury cologne, whiskey, the snacks he'd always have stuffed away so he could chew on something in between scenes.
God, that mouth. James has to sit back on his bed with the way that thought knocks the wind out of his chest. His smile, for one, is intoxicating. James misses when he got to make it his week's mission to get Ryan to laugh as many times as he possibly could just to see that toothy grin.
He palms himself through his boxers. It's such a sappy thing to get turned on about, especially for him, he thinks. He's no stranger to bars and strangers and doing whatever so he can get off and move on with his life. He's a little bit of a stranger to the warmth that starts blooming in his chest when he thinks about Ryan.
Ryan, who he can smell on this jacket. Ryan who seemed to always need something in his mouth if he wanted to think better - he'd had candy on set nearly all the time, those gummy ropes and Twizzlers that James finds kind of disgusting. But anything and everything that Ryan could get his hands on, he'd put in his mouth.
James bites his lip. What would it be like, to have that mouth on his? To have those pretty pink lips trail down his body, to have them press kisses against his boxers, against his cock?
He exhales, shaky. Pulls down the waistband of his boxers and breathes in, pressing his nose against the jacket. It smells like him. Could make someone almost think that he was here in the room with him.
That it's his fingers that are taking James' boxers off, letting his cock spring out and hit the air. It's warm, but there's still a slight chill that hits him and he hisses against it.
Maybe it's Ryan's hands that take James in hand, his fingers wrapping around the top of his cock while precum's already starting to leak. He's barely even done anything. He can almost see the way Ryan'd react: a little bit awed, disbelieving, but a little bit smug, teasing. He can almost hear it: really, James?
Maybe he'd stroke him a few times, slow and steady rhythm, almost agonizingly slow. James groans at the pace, but he doesn't speed up at all. Thinks of Ryan's face under him, looking up through his eyelashes like it's a fucking porno. They've never done anything of the sort - they're coworkers, damn it, coworkers - but James is a little bit of a bad person in that he can still imagine what it'd look like, and it makes him feel more horny than guilty.
Maybe then Ryan would take him in his mouth, tentative and a little shy at first, 'cause it's certainly not his area of expertise. Oh, James is sure he's done it before - who hasn't, if you're in Hollywood - but not like this, not with James. With James, it's different. James lets him press kisses to the tip of his dick even when the sensation makes him wanna push into Ryan's mouth already. James lets him lick the underside of his dick, trying to build up the courage to just put it in his mouth, and he cradles Ryan's face, cards his finger through choppy blonde hair.
He thrusts up into his hand. He can almost imagine it's Ryan's mouth around him. 'Cause he can smell him in the room right now, whiskey and cologne and shitty candy ropes and 300 dollar jackets that nobody fucking asked him to buy, but he did anyways. And James has never gotten a gift like that, so thoughtful, never asked for, and he wonders if Ryan would've bought him more things if he'd just asked, and he nearly chokes on the moan he lets out.
Ryan on his knees, Ryan with his cock in his mouth, that's it. That's all James wants. Ryan can buy him whatever the hell he wants, but he wants Ryan's mouth around him, he wants to see Ryan's lips stretched out around it, bobbing up and down. Tears in his eyes, maybe, because James is… not average, but in the generally preferred sense. God, what he wouldn't give to see tears in Ryan's eyes, spilling over his perfect face, those perfect cheeks. The sounds he'd make. Whines, maybe, whimpers. Sobs, if there's tears in his eyes. Jesus.
James pumps himself faster now, heat building in his gut. Maybe Ryan would choke on it, have to pull himself off so he could cough, spit and precum dripping down his chin. Tears and spit and pre and leaky, leaky, leaky, he thinks hysterically, he thinks of Ryan's face covered in nearly every bodily fluid imaginable and then he thinks of Ryan's pretty face covered in him and his come and -
He shoots into his hand with a strangled shout. His eyes squeeze shut as he keeps his hand moving, body shaking and tensing up. It really shouldn't be as good as it is.
He comes down slowly, breathing hard and heavy. Swallows, because his mouth is suddenly dry and he feels uncomfortably warm.
Distantly, he thinks some of his come might've gotten on the cuff of the sleeve.