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Jan. 30th, 2009 03:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsIt's long been know that I'm kinda easy sometimes, so when ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
turloughishere said I should write happy sex, well I gave it a try. Which is to say, I've just posted something else at the porn battle. Gerard/Bob, hamster. Right here
In an effort to keep all my stuff together, it's also posted below, along with the Mikey/Frank from yesterday.
"I was thinking...."
"Wait." Bob holds up a hand and then tugs at the crumpled sheet, settling it over his lap, because he knows Gerard and when he gets that look in his eye, that suppressed excitement in his voice, well, it's best to be covered, that's just the way it is. Sheet firmly in place, Bob says, "Go on."
"Right," Gerard says. "I was thinking, we have that book and we haven't tried any of it."
"What book?" Suspicious, Bob looks at Gerard, because when he starts talking about trying stuff it could be anything from cross-dressing to seeing if it's possible to make a hovercraft out of industrial fans and a plank of wood. A tip, you can't.
In answer Gerard leans over the side of the bed, exposing the line of his back and curve of his ass. Unable to resist, Bob reaches out and traces his fingers over the bumps of Gerard's spine, keeps going, lower, palm brushing over the fine hairs on Gerard's thighs. Which is when Gerard twists back in place, laughing as he sits on Bob's hand. He holds up a book, grinning wide.
"This one."
Bob scowls and pulls his hand from where it's jammed between mattress and skin. "I thought I threw that away."
"You did," Gerard says. "I got it out of the trash."
Which makes Bob just look, because he'd buried it at the bottom of the can, under coffee grinds and food scraps and the mysterious green substance they'd found in the back of the fridge.
"It's fine, see." Gerard holds up the book and holds it close to his nose, fingers over the green-tinged stain. "It smells a bit, but it's perfectly readable."
"Well as long as it's readable."
"Yeah, yeah. The first few pages are a bit blurred, but we've done that anyway... I think." Gerard frowns and turns the book upside down. "Does that look like someone fucking a plushie. I suppose it could be a goat."
"I have not fucked a goat!"
"You've fucked me dressed as sheep, that sort of counts."
Bob resists the urge to smother himself with his pillow, because what can he say? It's true.
"Oh, but hey. Mikey was telling me he'd marked a page for us. Let's see." Flicking through the pages, Gerard grins and shows a page to Bob, one with the title underlined with yellow and then surrounded by red-marker drawn stars. "Here we go, vorephilia. It's when you're turned on by the idea of being eaten. Cool."
It's almost too much. That Mikey -- Gerard's baby brother -- not only bought them a book of unusual sexual practices, but has gone through and noted which ones he thinks they should try, but also that Gerard actually wants to give them a go. Vorephilia. Fuck.
"If it helps, I'll let you eat me," Gerard says, so fucking earnest that Bob can't help loving him that little bit more; even if he is a garbage-raking flesh-eating freak.
"Too much for you, yeah?" Gerard says, when all Bob does is lie back and look. He pats Bob's shoulder, lingering a little, his fingers stroking along Bob's collarbone before returning to the book. Turning pages he stops, says, "Aha! How about this? All we need is a tube, some lube and a hamster. We can...."
Which is where Bob draws the line, because a rodent is not getting near his ass, no matter what Gerard or the stupid book might say. Which means there's only one thing to do. Rolling over and pushing himself onto his knees, Bob pounces, pushing Gerard onto the bed and straddling him in one easy move. His thighs tight against Gerard's sides, Bob holds him in the place and leans in, his hair falling forward, blond against black, so close he can feel Gerard breathe.
"Fuck the book."
Gerard smiles, the slightest curl of his lips. "I think I saw that in there, I could...."
Growling, Bob grabs the book out of Gerard's hand and sends it sailing across the room. Shifts his weight so he's lying along Gerard's body, trapping him against the bed and moves in for a kiss, tasting cigarettes and coffee, feeling the hitch in Gerard's breath. He pulls back slightly, says, "How about I fuck you?"
In reply Gerard pulls Bob closer, fingers digging into his back, bares his throat and says, "Yes."
He finds Mikey in the parking lot -- oily puddles and dark shadows, Mikey slouched in the doorway of their shit-heap of a van. Frank kicks at the gravel, sends an empty can clattering against a wall, smiles, mean and angry and fucking annoyed when Mikey looks up, squinting as he tries to see.
He's fully dressed, pants buttoned and t-shirt pulled down and straight -- yet somehow he still manages to look obscene. Mouth and chin wet, glistening in the low light of the street lamp that shines overhead. Eye make-up smudged, shadow and liner smeared, darkening the sockets like a bruise. Glasses set inside Ray's shoe, surrounded by chip packets and candy wrappers and one lone discarded condom, stretched out like a deflated balloon.
Frank takes it all in. Each detail -- the dark patches on Mikey's knees. Each painful thing that sets the scene -- the hickey on Mikey's neck, spreading, painfully dark against the pale of his skin. A claim left where none belongs.
"Frank, hi," Mikey eventually says. He watches, unmoving, as Frank comes close. Stays still and silent, knowing and Frank wants to touch that stillness, let loose his anger and fear in one raging rush.
"Why?" Frank stands over Mikey, pushes himself between his spread legs, lines his thumbs along Mikey's jaw. "Why do you always need more?"
Mikey begins to reply, and Frank takes in the answer, presses his mouth against Mikey's and feels his words. They tickle over Frank's lips, his teeth, the roof of his mouth -- tasting of mint and spunk and the sweet sickly cocktails they're serving inside. Frank's repulsed, enticed, addicted. He tightens his grip, digs in his thumbs, licks across Mikey's mouth, his tongue, tasting those that have been there before.
He pushes back, jamming Mikey's legs against the edge of the van, his back against the first seat, and Mikey lets him, body uncoiling, relaxing under Frank's touch.
"You're a slut," Frank hisses, angry, keeps pushing until Mikey eases himself back, wedged between seats, his head next to a pile of damp clothes. Frank crawls up then, knees either side of Mikey's hips, working himself into a space that shouldn't fit, but somehow does. Hands to the side of Mikey's head -- right hand in something sticky, gooey, warm -- Frank looks down, balances himself so he can run one dirty thumb across Mikey's mouth, says, quieter now. "You're a slut."
"Yeah," Mikey says. He keeps looking up, never apologising, never needing to.
Frank loves him so much it hurts.
turloughishere said I should write happy sex, well I gave it a try. Which is to say, I've just posted something else at the porn battle. Gerard/Bob, hamster. Right hereIn an effort to keep all my stuff together, it's also posted below, along with the Mikey/Frank from yesterday.
"I was thinking...."
"Wait." Bob holds up a hand and then tugs at the crumpled sheet, settling it over his lap, because he knows Gerard and when he gets that look in his eye, that suppressed excitement in his voice, well, it's best to be covered, that's just the way it is. Sheet firmly in place, Bob says, "Go on."
"Right," Gerard says. "I was thinking, we have that book and we haven't tried any of it."
"What book?" Suspicious, Bob looks at Gerard, because when he starts talking about trying stuff it could be anything from cross-dressing to seeing if it's possible to make a hovercraft out of industrial fans and a plank of wood. A tip, you can't.
In answer Gerard leans over the side of the bed, exposing the line of his back and curve of his ass. Unable to resist, Bob reaches out and traces his fingers over the bumps of Gerard's spine, keeps going, lower, palm brushing over the fine hairs on Gerard's thighs. Which is when Gerard twists back in place, laughing as he sits on Bob's hand. He holds up a book, grinning wide.
"This one."
Bob scowls and pulls his hand from where it's jammed between mattress and skin. "I thought I threw that away."
"You did," Gerard says. "I got it out of the trash."
Which makes Bob just look, because he'd buried it at the bottom of the can, under coffee grinds and food scraps and the mysterious green substance they'd found in the back of the fridge.
"It's fine, see." Gerard holds up the book and holds it close to his nose, fingers over the green-tinged stain. "It smells a bit, but it's perfectly readable."
"Well as long as it's readable."
"Yeah, yeah. The first few pages are a bit blurred, but we've done that anyway... I think." Gerard frowns and turns the book upside down. "Does that look like someone fucking a plushie. I suppose it could be a goat."
"I have not fucked a goat!"
"You've fucked me dressed as sheep, that sort of counts."
Bob resists the urge to smother himself with his pillow, because what can he say? It's true.
"Oh, but hey. Mikey was telling me he'd marked a page for us. Let's see." Flicking through the pages, Gerard grins and shows a page to Bob, one with the title underlined with yellow and then surrounded by red-marker drawn stars. "Here we go, vorephilia. It's when you're turned on by the idea of being eaten. Cool."
It's almost too much. That Mikey -- Gerard's baby brother -- not only bought them a book of unusual sexual practices, but has gone through and noted which ones he thinks they should try, but also that Gerard actually wants to give them a go. Vorephilia. Fuck.
"If it helps, I'll let you eat me," Gerard says, so fucking earnest that Bob can't help loving him that little bit more; even if he is a garbage-raking flesh-eating freak.
"Too much for you, yeah?" Gerard says, when all Bob does is lie back and look. He pats Bob's shoulder, lingering a little, his fingers stroking along Bob's collarbone before returning to the book. Turning pages he stops, says, "Aha! How about this? All we need is a tube, some lube and a hamster. We can...."
Which is where Bob draws the line, because a rodent is not getting near his ass, no matter what Gerard or the stupid book might say. Which means there's only one thing to do. Rolling over and pushing himself onto his knees, Bob pounces, pushing Gerard onto the bed and straddling him in one easy move. His thighs tight against Gerard's sides, Bob holds him in the place and leans in, his hair falling forward, blond against black, so close he can feel Gerard breathe.
"Fuck the book."
Gerard smiles, the slightest curl of his lips. "I think I saw that in there, I could...."
Growling, Bob grabs the book out of Gerard's hand and sends it sailing across the room. Shifts his weight so he's lying along Gerard's body, trapping him against the bed and moves in for a kiss, tasting cigarettes and coffee, feeling the hitch in Gerard's breath. He pulls back slightly, says, "How about I fuck you?"
In reply Gerard pulls Bob closer, fingers digging into his back, bares his throat and says, "Yes."
He finds Mikey in the parking lot -- oily puddles and dark shadows, Mikey slouched in the doorway of their shit-heap of a van. Frank kicks at the gravel, sends an empty can clattering against a wall, smiles, mean and angry and fucking annoyed when Mikey looks up, squinting as he tries to see.
He's fully dressed, pants buttoned and t-shirt pulled down and straight -- yet somehow he still manages to look obscene. Mouth and chin wet, glistening in the low light of the street lamp that shines overhead. Eye make-up smudged, shadow and liner smeared, darkening the sockets like a bruise. Glasses set inside Ray's shoe, surrounded by chip packets and candy wrappers and one lone discarded condom, stretched out like a deflated balloon.
Frank takes it all in. Each detail -- the dark patches on Mikey's knees. Each painful thing that sets the scene -- the hickey on Mikey's neck, spreading, painfully dark against the pale of his skin. A claim left where none belongs.
"Frank, hi," Mikey eventually says. He watches, unmoving, as Frank comes close. Stays still and silent, knowing and Frank wants to touch that stillness, let loose his anger and fear in one raging rush.
"Why?" Frank stands over Mikey, pushes himself between his spread legs, lines his thumbs along Mikey's jaw. "Why do you always need more?"
Mikey begins to reply, and Frank takes in the answer, presses his mouth against Mikey's and feels his words. They tickle over Frank's lips, his teeth, the roof of his mouth -- tasting of mint and spunk and the sweet sickly cocktails they're serving inside. Frank's repulsed, enticed, addicted. He tightens his grip, digs in his thumbs, licks across Mikey's mouth, his tongue, tasting those that have been there before.
He pushes back, jamming Mikey's legs against the edge of the van, his back against the first seat, and Mikey lets him, body uncoiling, relaxing under Frank's touch.
"You're a slut," Frank hisses, angry, keeps pushing until Mikey eases himself back, wedged between seats, his head next to a pile of damp clothes. Frank crawls up then, knees either side of Mikey's hips, working himself into a space that shouldn't fit, but somehow does. Hands to the side of Mikey's head -- right hand in something sticky, gooey, warm -- Frank looks down, balances himself so he can run one dirty thumb across Mikey's mouth, says, quieter now. "You're a slut."
"Yeah," Mikey says. He keeps looking up, never apologising, never needing to.
Frank loves him so much it hurts.
