(no subject)

[turps]

Corey and James are going off to do scout stuff tonight, so I can play along.

Taken from themoononastick where I've already asked for something, because I'm greedy like that.

Comment Porn Day!


The idea is a simple one

1. Give me a pairing (or character, or the name of a show or band) and a prompt (a word, a phrase, a situation, an emotion, a few lines from a song or, hell, even an entire song) and I will do my best to write you a snippet based on your request.

2. Post to your own little corner of LJ offering to write snippets for people, thus spreading the joys of comment porn.

3. Sit back, relax and enjoy the porny goodness. \o/

You should know what my fandoms are. So ask away

* You don’t have to offer to write snippets for other people if you leave a request, but it would be fun if you do.

** Snippets don’t necessarily have to be porny, comment fic is just as much fun. As is a rambling stream of consciousness type thing about how character x and character y meet and why they would get on like a house on fire – whatever comes bouncing into your brain is a-okay.

*** If you’re one of those people who have a big old ‘friend of’ list then you might want to put a limit on the number of requests you’re willing to write.

Adding in my own comment. I'm not a good porn writer, but I will try. But don't be surprised if I throw my hands in the air and give you hand holding instead. Hand holding is hot! Really it is.

ETA: Got plenty, thank you :)

Comments

[pierson.livejournal.com]

Hmm. How about the Supernatural boys hunting a wary, wily Kevin Richardson--he could be vampire or fey or shapechanger--something preternatural.

Why yes, I *am* evil. :-)

[turps33.livejournal.com]

You are evil! Though this is light in porn, I gave it a go.

~*~*~*~

Dean crouches low – one knee pressed into the damp grass, moisture seeping through the denim of his jeans. He’s still -- so very still -- and he breathes slowly, shallowly, a hunter in the still of the night.

He listens to the creak of the trees, the scrape of branches, looks up sharply when he hears the muffled sigh.

“I don’t think he’s coming,” Sam says suddenly, softly, frustration apparent despite his hushed words. He shifts slightly and pulls his hands into the warmth of his coat sleeves, his bangs tangling in his face as he leans against the gnarled trunk of the old tree.

“He’s coming,” Dean says, and he takes a moment to look at Sam, trying to convey how sure he is, that Kevin is out there. Dean can feel him.

“It’s nearly dawn, he never hunts this late,” Sam says, dubious, but he’s already settling back into place, alert and scanning the surrounding woods.

“That was before, he’s changing.” Dean shivers slightly, disguises the involuntary reaction by moving position, all too aware that Sam’s watching, assessing.

“Dean…”

“Not now, Sam.” Dean cuts Sam off, before the questions or the suggestions that they leave, because Dean needs to be here.

Sam frowns. “Listen.”

Dean does, and hears the wind, leaves rustling, then faintly; footsteps. They’re coming closer, and Dean stands, heart hammering, his expression set as Kevin appears.

He’s wearing black pants, a green shirt, silver bangles that wrap around his wrist. His hair is loose and he’s smiling, deliberately showing fang.

Dean wants him more than anything he’s wanted in his life.

“Dean,” Sam says, moving to intercept as Dean takes a step forward. Then Kevin casually moves his arm, and Sam is flying through the air, landing tangled in a thorny bush.

“Bastard,” Dean hisses, anger helping to weaken the intense rush of pure need. “If you’ve hurt him.”

Kevin laughs. “You’ll what? Kill me?”

Dean’s fingers twitch, he hates Kevin. Hates what he is, who he is, but that hate is bound with lust. Despite himself Dean is walking forward, and he thought he was ready for this, but all the charms, the spells mean nothing, swept away on a tide of want.

Kevin waits, smiles as Dean moves. Then, in one flash of movement, his hand is wrapped around Dean’s arm, and he’s pulling Dean close, their bodies pressed together, and Dean despises himself for grinding against Kevin’s hip, for opening his mouth willingly when Kevin presses his fingers against Dean’s jaw and tilts back his head.

They kiss, Kevin’s tongue in Dean’s mouth, forceful, Dean’s bottom lip nicked by a fang and there’s a rush of pleasure – of no, this is wrong – of need, and Kevin’s hand is against Dean’s back, holding him steady as he licks at the blood that beads on Dean’s lip.

Kevin pulls back slightly, looks at Dean. “You’re mine, Dean Winchester.”

All Dean can do is agree.

[randomling]

Can I be really cheeky?

Pairing: Choey. Prompt: "That's not funny."

Porn is not strictly necessary, but, you know... [g]

[turps33.livejournal.com]

That's not cheeky at all, sadly again, the porn is sadly missing. woe.

~*~*~*~

Joey doesn’t say anything. How can he? It’s embarrassing, and he’s not about to visit his doctor and announce he’s going bald, and not on his head. Just the thought makes him blush, and then pull at the waist band of his shorts and look down, hopeful that in the last minute some miracle has occurred and his pubes have returned.

They haven’t. Joey wants to cry.

Instead he settles down at his computer, turns it on and taps at the desk, scratches at his chest as he waits for things to load. They do, and he clicks onto Google, peers at the blank search term, and then slowly types in ‘male baldness’.

There’s like, a million hits, and Joey sighs, feeling defeated and worried and he snatches another quick look – still nothing there – before refining his search. ‘male baldness, pubic hair’. The results are fewer this time, only 84,700 returns, and Joey clicks on the first one.

Hours later and he’s discovered nothing of interest. Well, unless you count the side track to the balding fetish sites, which Joey doesn’t, because damn. He’s never been into bald chicks, or guys, especially when they’ve got no hair at all. It all kinds of depressing and Joey slumps back in his chair, imagining himself completely bald.

For the second time today, Joey wants to cry.

Later, and Joey’s in his bedroom, a towel held loosely in his hand. Naked, he’s looking in the full length mirror, at the smooth expanse of his chest, at his legs, at his poor dick, looking pale and exposed without its surrounding bush of hair. It’s all kinds of tragic, and Joey shoulders slump as he wraps the towel around his waist and flops down onto his bed.

It’s then he hears the front door. Joey doesn’t move, because anyone with a key is someone he doesn’t have to greet. Plus, Joey is having a crisis, if anyone wants to see him, they’ll have to come upstairs.

They do, and Joey listens to the footsteps, sits up when he hears Chris yell, “Joey!”

For a moment Joey contemplates hiding in his bathroom, is half way to doing just that when he stops and slumps back onto the bed. Because Chris will find out, he’s wily like that. Steeling himself, Joey adjusts his towel, rubs at the hair on his head for reassurance, then waits.

“Joey! Where are you?” Approaching footsteps, then Joey’s bedroom door is flung open, and Chris is standing looking at him. Joey takes in each fleeting expression, surprise, a brief moment of warring with himself, then Chris is laughing, doubled over, his face bright red.

Gathering his dignity, Joey prepares to wait him out, then leans forward when he hears words hidden amongst the laughter didn’t think, oldest trick, bottle and Joey’s reminded of a bottle of shower gel he found in his shower, one he couldn’t remember putting there at all.

Of course he’d used it, time and distance combining to dull Joey’s ability to discover a prank.

“That's not funny. I thought I had a disease!” Joey jumps up, grabbing Chris and twisting him around so they both fall onto the bed. “I thought I was going to be completely bald. I was looking up pube wigs!”

Trapped, Chris wiggles, still laughing as he presses his hands against Joey’s back. “You still could, something heart shaped, maybe?”

Which is ridiculous and Joey hates Chris; a lot, except in the way he doesn’t at all and there’s a glimmer of laughter brimming because Joey can appreciate a good joke with the best of them. It also helps that Chris is looking up at him, eyes wide and crinkled, his hair dark against the bedspread, and Joey’s moving close, mouth brushing against Chris’ own.

“I hate you,” Joey says, even as he runs his hand along Chris’ hip, runs his tongue over Chris’ bottom lip and presses down, enjoying the scrape of fabric against his bare skin, the way Chris is still amused, mouth curled up into a smile as he says, I know.

[turloughishere.livejournal.com]

I can't write fiction to save my life (honestly!) but I'm going to ask you for Waycest anyway, prompt is "hand holding is hot!" :-)

[turps33.livejournal.com]

It's okay, I won't demand that you write. But I have. I hope it hits some of what you wanted, because man, I'm not the person you should ask for porn from!

~*~*~*~

Gerard loves his bedroom. It’s familiar, full of treasured possessions he can reach out and touch. He likes that it’s dark, the small window covered, leaving a small beam of diffused light. One that’s full of dust motes that Gerard watches as he curls on his bed, motionless, the thoughts in his head blanketed by drugs.

“Gee.”

Gerard shifts his head, cheek against his drool damp pillow, watches as Mikey walks down the stairs. He’s bundled in his coat, the furry hood against his back, and his cheeks are wind swept, cheekbones stark and made red with cold. His glasses are balanced at the end of his nose, steamed up and almost useless and Mikey blinks as he unzips his coat, shrugs it off and drops it onto the floor.

The bed dips when Mikey sits, and Gerard can feel the cold. It’s seeping from Mikey’s body, cold wind and snow, trapped in the fabric of his jeans, tangled in his hair. Gerard rolls closer, rests his cheek against Mikey’s thigh, smiles a little at the feel of Mikey’s hand in his hair.

“You’re cold,” Gerard says, and Mikey shrugs a reply, watches when Gerard shifts onto his side, and takes Mikey’s hand in his own. Mikey’s fingers are red, the tips white, and Gerard brings them to his mouth, tasting the cold against his tongue.

He sucks, cheeks hollowing as he runs his thumb across Mikey’s palm, slow unhurried strokes that pull at the beat in Gerard’s head, the reality of the moment momentarily pushing through the drugs, letting the melodies break free.

Mikey sighs and tilts back his head, exposing the line of his neck, the way his throat moves as he swallows. Gerard can’t look away, keeps watching as he licks along Mikey’s fingers, over the calluses and chilled skin. Slow, always so slow, and Mikey’s mouth is slightly open, his eyes closed as Gerard stops licking and presses a kiss against Mikey’s palm.

Mikey smiles, then curls his hand, his fingers damp against Gerard’s cheek, the heel of his palm against Gerard’s chin. He pulls his hand down, stroking over Gerard’s jaw, his neck, his chest. Mikey’s stops then, his hand splayed and it takes seconds for Gerard to entwine their fingers once more, neither saying a word, just holding on.

[trumpeterofdoom.livejournal.com]

Letterboys. Hand holding, or anything else, is totally fine.

Me? Predictable? Why I never.

[turps33.livejournal.com]

You're so adorably predictable :)

~*~*~*~

AJ was surprised when JC barged onto the bus and threw himself down onto the couch, dislodging a pile of magazines and CDs so they cascaded to the floor. JC was supposed to be off doing judgey type things, whoring himself out for a little facetime on tv. A situation AJ tried not to dwell on, especially as the next time he saw her, he knew he’d have to stop himself planting one on the end of Little Miss Interruption’s nose.

Still, that was for later. Now he had an unexpected JC who looked suspiciously like he was pouting as he sat upright, a thin black scarf wound around his neck, his fingers tapping a furious beat against his knee as he looked up at AJ.

“So. It was a surprise, and they told me where you’d be and I was coming to meet you, for like, a few days, and then. Then I had an hour to wait for my flight so I got a coffee and muffin, you know, the bran ones that I like, with the chocolate topping and while I was there I decided to log on, because Chris told me Justin had been FUGed, not that I wanted to revel in that or anything, because Justin isn’t FUG at all. Or do you say, F. U. G? I don’t know.” JC shrugged, his fingers tapping even faster. “Anyway, I followed a link, and the said it looked like I’d been dressed in the dark. My scarf.”

“You shouldn’t read that shit,” AJ said, well versed in wearing awesome clothes that the rest of the world just didn’t get, but at the same time, he couldn’t help the disloyal thought that this was what JC was upset about? The man who had worn more bad clothes than all of AJ’s band put together, and did so with an adorable crinkly-eyed smile.

Still, AJ could sympathise, especially when JC was sitting looking utterly woeful, any attempt at shielding his real emotions stripped away. It made AJ’s heart ache, he knew he had to make JC feel better, in any way he could.

“I like your scarf,” AJ said, reinforcing his point by crawling onto JC’s lap. Legs braced, AJ settled himself, wiggling until he was firmly placed, JC moving his hands so they were pressed against AJ’s sides. “It looks great on you.” AJ picked up an end of the scarf, sliding the silky material through his fingers. Then slid the edge along JC’s mouth, causing him to react instantly, his lips parting as he looked at AJ through half closed eyes.

“It also means I can do this.” Winding the ends of the scarf around his hands, AJ carefully pulled, so that JC could either choke or move closer. He moved, swallowing audibly as AJ waited, and met him with a kiss.

It was a gentle kiss at first, a brush of lips, AJ gripping onto the scarf, always aware of how it pressed against JC’s neck. Then it became more, more forceful, AJ’s tongue in JC’s mouth, nipping at his lips as he ground against JC’s lap, feeling him meet each shallow thrust, any thoughts about his dress sense swept away.

[sperrywink]

How about Mikey/Pete with the prompt MIDNIGHT.
*g*

[turps33.livejournal.com]

I've given up even trying for porn *g*

~*~*~*~

It’s minutes after walking off stage and Mikey’s wringing out his hair. The strands cling to his hands, sticky with sweat and product and when he stands he runs his hand over his head, rubs his palms down his thighs.

He feels hot and gross, suffering that step between performing when the sweat is fresh, and later when it’s dried and he can forget how his clothes clung to his body, his hair plastered against his head.

Now his t-shirt is clammy against his skin, and his jeans chafe and if he could be bothered he’d find Frank and his little make shift shower. He can’t though, and instead grabs the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

“Mikeyway, is that you putting on a strip show for me?”

Which is just typical, and Mikey bundles the t-shirt up in his hand, crosses his arms across his bare chest and tries to show just how unconcerned he is that Pete Wentz is leering at him. Not that Mikey cares as such, he lives on a tour bus, he’s used to being seen semi-naked and Pete is just Pete, no one to get self conscious around. Still, Mikey wishes he’d left on his t-shirt. He’d feel less exposed as Pete walks closer, his smile bright like the sun.

“You were good today, really good.” Pete’s smile flickers, as if he’s suddenly unsure of what to say, and Mikey wants to help, smooth over the suddenly awkward silence, but he’s never been good with words and he manages a small smile, is about to go when Pete reaches out, his fingers warm against Mikey’s side, and says. “Wait.”

Mikey does, all too aware that Pete doesn’t move his hand, his fingers resting over the bump of ribs, and Mikey’s sure Pete will be able to feel his heart, the way it’s thundering in his chest.

“I thought, maybe later. We could hang out.”

Pete looks at Mikey through his lashes, has his foot turned on its side, and sounds more unsure than Mikey’s ever heard. It only makes Mikey like him even more.

“Sure, I mean. I’d like that.”

Pete’s answering smile is contagious, and Mikey finds himself smiling too, with teeth even, and he’s just glad there’s no one around but Pete to see.

“Good, great. I’ll come get you. Is midnight okay?”

“That’s fine,” Mikey says, and doesn’t think how he’ll have to sneak out of the bus, or the questions he’ll have to field.

“Awesome.” Pete’s still smiling, jumping on the balls of his feet, like the energy inside him is seeking escape. Then he’s shrugging off his jacket and hands it over, pushing it into Mikey’s hands.

“You’ll get cold with no top on.”

Which makes no sense, because it’s not cold at all. Still, Mikey pulls it on, the denim scraping against his skin, and when he fastens it all he can smell is Pete, and maybe it does make sense now. Pete seems to think so when he steps close and leans up, brushing a brief kiss against Mikey’s mouth.

“I’ll see you later, Mikeyway.”

Then disappears, leaving Mikey looking at his watch, counting the hours until twelve.

[ceci2176.livejournal.com]

JC/Chace scarf porn. Preferrably disabilityfic but if you want to write scarf porn without owies I can live with that.

[dark-sanction.livejournal.com]

....Hm.. well.... I'm a sucker for Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross but I don't want to threaten you with them lol.

So...uh how about some Bobard ( aka Bob/Gerard )?

*cough* This is the prompt I'm giving, it's all the lyrics to a song but you can do whatever you feel needed with it. I'm only choosing this cause I'm listening to it.

The city is at a war
Playtime for the young and rich
Ignore me if you see me 'cause I just don't give a shit
The city is at war
Bless the young and rich
With designer drugs and designer friends

The city is at a war
Playtime for the young and rich
Ignore me if you see me 'cause I just don't give a shit
The city is at war
Bless the young and rich
With designer drugs and designer friends

Here's how it goes
It's about who you know
If you got money you get in for free
Get on your knees if you wanna reach the top
The party never stops (never stops!)
Don't stop now (don't stop now!)

Come on!
Stick around and see how it ends
Get the money and run
And meet me at the parking lot
Bang bang! Shoot 'em up, yeah

The city is at war
Playtime for the young and rich
Ignore me if you see me 'cause I just don't give a shit
The city is at war
Bless the young and rich
With designer drugs and designer friends
This little girl was alone in the world
Until she found a way to get a fix for free
Oh pretty please
It breaks my heart to see another tragedy
She finally got her picture on TV

Come on!
Live it up while you can
We all lose in the end
No you don't get another shot
Bang bang! Shoot 'em up, yeah

The city is at a war
Playtime for the young and rich
Ignore me if you see me 'cause I just don't give a shit
The city is at war
Bless the young and rich
With designer drugs and designer friends

The city is at war,
the city is at war,
the city is at war (war, uh oh)

Bang bang! Shoot 'em up,
shoot 'em up, yeah
Bang bang! Shoot 'em up,
shoot 'em up, yeah (the city is at war)
Bang bang! Shoot 'em up,
shoot 'em up, yeah
Bang bang! Shoot 'em up,
shoot 'em up, yeah.

[turps33.livejournal.com]

No threat, I did another Panic prompt for this, so this can be my second one. But if you did want Bob/Gerard just say, I'll do two.

Also, I know you have specific ideas of what you like in fic. So I hope this hits the mark a little.

~*~*~*~

“I said no.” Ryan shifted, tucked up his leg, his heel caught on the edge of the couch. “You go, have fun.”

“I want you to come,” Brendon said, pleading, eyes wide and hopeful.

Ryan looked at him, looked away and dipped his head, his hair falling around his face, his attempt at hiding in plain sight. Brendon didn’t leave, just stood his ground, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. He was making the bus shift, just enough that Ryan leaned into the movement, pressed his hand onto the pile of papers at his side, scribbled lyrics and crossed out lines.

They were his excuse for staying in. Holed up on this too small bus and surrounded by things he’d looked at a thousand times. He should have been going stir crazy, but he wasn't. He didn’t care at all, could stay here forever, in this space where he knew everything and everyone.

“I think you need to come out,” Brendon said, and his smile faltered, his bouncing slowing down until he was perfectly still, his hands clasped together.

Ryan shot him a look and then looked away, stared at his notebooks through a curtain of hair. He didn’t need to go out. He’d been there, done that, gave himself to the fans, to the promoters, handing over a little of himself each day. Ryan could only stand to give so much, needed to keep more for himself, wrestle back some of the control he had to give up for this tour.

“Or we could go for a walk,” Brendon smiled again, wide and bright. “It’s nice outside, the moon’s out, perfect for walking. Not that I mean romantic walking in the moonlight, though that would be nice.”

Brendon hesitated, his smile slipping, and Ryan felt guilty because he’d do anything for Brendon; just not tonight. Uncapping his pen, he picked up his notebook, balanced it on his knee and tried to decipher the words the tumbled through his head. He expected to feel the bus move, the swish of the door as Brendon headed out for the company he craved.

Instead, he felt the couch dip, looked up to see Brendon settling next to him, shoes kicked off as he wormed into place, wiggling until his head was against Ryan’s shoulder, his hand resting on Ryan’s thigh.

“I thought I’d stay in tonight,” Brendon said. He looked at Ryan through dark lashes, his mouth curled into a smile. “I could help with the lyrics. If you want.” He tilted his head, pressed his mouth against Ryan’s neck. Butterfly kisses and a reassuring presence, allowing Ryan time to regroup.

[milosflaca.livejournal.com]

howie /chris, sex manual :D

[brighton-girl.livejournal.com]

JuC - jealously

[themoononastick]

\o/

JC! Ryan! Scarves! ;p

RyanRoss - hand holding (because, yeah, hand holding is hot!) with anyone that springs to mind. :)

(Or I'll happily take MikeyWay with the same prompt, if that's easier.)

[turps33.livejournal.com]

My first time trying Panic ever. So I hope it doesn't suck.

~*~*~*~

This is stupid. Stupid and idiotic and, fuck!” Jon said, and he scowled, hands curled into tight fists. “We don’t owe them anything.”

“I know,” Ryan said, and tugged on the cuff of his sleeve, smoothed his hand down the front of his vest.

“Why do they even need to know?” Jon said, and turned toward Ryan. “We’re not made for the front page of the People; we’re not fucking Lance Bass.”

“Pity,” Ryan said, and dipped his head, hiding his smile when Jon froze in place, his mouth open slightly as he stared.

“You’re. I thought…Lance?” Jon blinked, looked at Ryan. “I thought you had a Backstreet thing. Nick whatever he’s called?”

Ryan adjusted his hat, looked at himself in the mirror to ensure it was at the correct jaunty angle. “Carter. His name’s Nick Carter.” Which was something Jon knew fine well, but Ryan was used to the teasing, and he smiled slightly, looking at Jon’s reflection in the mirror. “I’d do Lance.”

There was a silence, then Jon was smiling too, his hands uncurling, his shoulders relaxing as he moved to stand behind Ryan and said, fondly,

“You’re a slut, Ryan Ross.”

“For some things.” Ryan caught Jon’s gaze in the mirror, took a small step back so he was leaning against Jon’s chest, their bodies pressed close. “For you.”

“Good,” Jon said, and wrapped his arm around Ryan’s shoulder, his hand against Ryan’s chest.

Ryan kept looking in the mirror, brought his own hand up to Jon’s and entwined their fingers. Jon hand was warm, his fingers soft apart from the spots hardened by years of playing bass. Ryan squeezed, shifted their hands so they were pressed over his heart, and hoped Jon understood.

Jon turned his head, pressed a kiss against Ryan’s jaw, and his lips were warm, his beard scratching against Ryan’s skin, and he said. “I know.”

[bubbleforest.livejournal.com]

Lambs, please! Prompt: summertime.

Thank you for this! YAY for porn day! :D

[adelate]

Oooooh. Could I please have some JC/Lance? [waits for shocked gasps to stop] With the prompt 'piano'. And it doesn't have to be porny at all, in fact I think like the hand holding type of thing even more. :)

[babycakesin.livejournal.com]

character: Tony (yes, from NCIS)
prompt: peanut butter
*g*

[runzu.livejournal.com]

This seems to be going around. :)

Erm.

Future!Out-And-Proud!Chris/Justin :P

and I swear I'm writing something super-fucking-cool for you in my spare time. ;)

[crowgirl13.livejournal.com]

How about Mikey with a side of Bob?
Prompt/s: crosswords, too much summer, fortune cookie

And um...I hope you don't mind if I friend you?

[turps33.livejournal.com]

Friend away, and that's a fine prompt. Which I'll get to tomorrow now :)

[ariadnem.livejournal.com]

Would you like me to write one for you? (I'm pretty rusty now, you know; but I'll try)

[turps33.livejournal.com]

That would be amazingly awesome. Anyone, anything you'd like to try would give me glee.

[puszysty.livejournal.com]

I'm sad I missed out b/c of my stupid internet :(

[turps33.livejournal.com]

Oh, I'm sorry.

Stupid internet. It always stops when you want it.