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Jul. 15th, 2011 09:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsI was up far too late reading were_duck and sassbandit's killjoys origin story last night. I do not regret that decision at all. ( It's been on my to-read list since they posted it but got pushed to the top of the list yesterday, because it seems my fic tastes are known and easily exploited ) I haven't actually finished it yet as it got to after midnight and I still had over half to go, so considering I had to get up in less than 6 hours I was an adult and went off to bed. I'm also being an adult now by not looking at the tab because if I do I'll get sucked in and will be sitting in my pjs still reading when Corey gets in from school. But tonight, oh yes it shall be mine. #wantstoreadnow
Today I intend to write more BBB, yet another Frank masturbating scene, I swear it's all the guy has been doing, and in fact the title of the story should be. Stroking One Out -- or how Frank Got a Clue.
I wrote another kiss yesterday, bringing my total to four. I think I'll repost them here after I answer the question for the meme that never ends.
Jumping topics completely, we picked a fabulous courgette yesterday. Eat your heart out, Jamia, our courgettes are amazing.
23 – When you post, where do you post to? Just your journal? Just an archive? Your own personal site?
I used to have a personal site but that's gone now. So I post to LJ/DW and then tell myself to post AO3. Then many months later I'll actually remember to do so
Okay, kisses. None are beta read so the read at your own risk warning applies.
Gerard/Mikey -- On school property
“My best memory is leaving this place,” Mikey says, and wraps his hands around the bars of the fence. Despite his thick mittens he can feel the cold of the metal, seeping relentless into his fingers. “The worst was the day you left first.”
Gerard takes a step closer and puts his hand on the bar next to Mikey’s. He holds on, his breath steaming white as he says, “I couldn’t stay, not even for you.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted you to.” Mikey looks at the school, and even now, when he’s older and wiser and most of all, successful, the memories hold tight. “I hated this place.”
“Fucking school.” Gerard laughs, abrupt and brittle. “I want them to ask us to speak, then I’d tell them to fuck off.”
“No you wouldn’t.” Mikey blinks against an icy wind and tucks his chin down close to his chest, when he breathes the fur surrounding his hood tickles his cheeks. “You’d come back to talk to the kids, to tell them that you’d made it.”
“We made it,” Gerard corrects, and then, “I want... come on.”
Mikey follows -- he always follows, his head down and hands tucked deep in his pockets. This late the sidewalk is empty, any after-school programmes long finished, and the main school itself is deserted, the windows dark shadows.
Mikey tracks those windows, counting five from the side entrance. And for a moment he’s travelling back years, heavier, his eyesight shitty and having to suffer through each day. It’s remembering a different time and a different life and Mikey says, “They said I’d end up with a job in the mall.”
“You were never meant for a mall.” Gerard sounds sure, certain in the way he always is about Mikey.
“Mr Sargent said that I was.” Mikey comes back to the present, watching as Gerard turns the corner and steps onto the grass, his feet breaking through frost at each step. “You want to go in?”
“No,” Gerard follows a trampled earth path that ends at the fence. Grabbing hold, he pulls at the loose bar, years of use meaning it easily swings up to one side.
Mikey eases himself through the gap, metal brushing against the front and back of his jacket. Inside he steps back, waiting for Gerard.
“At least I fit through now,” Gerard says, and momentarily he’s over-shadowed by the boy who continuously sucked in his stomach, his shoulders hunched and head held down. “Me and my fucking fat ass.”
“Don’t.” They're standing at the outskirts of the playing fields and while he can’t see them Mikey imagines he can feel countless cigarette butts under his feet, defiance littering the school grounds. “You’re not that person any more.”
“We got out.” Gerard looks past Mikey, his attention wholly on the school. “They didn’t know anything, they didnt know us.”
Mikey sniffs, and rubs the back of his hand under his nose. “They never knew us.”
Gerard turns then, looking at Mikey. “If they asked I’d say yes. I’d tell the kids to follow their dreams and shoot for the fucking stars, screw authority and what's supposed to happen.”
“You’d start a fucking riot,” Mikey says, and then, “Why here?”
“For this.” Gerard grabs hold of handfuls of Mikey’s coat, and pulls him forward, holding on tight as he presses his mouth against Mikey’s.
Gerard’s lips are cold and his tongue hot, Gerard putting on a show that lasts only for seconds, then slows, easing into something simple and real. His body pressed hard against Mikey’s, but buffered by padded jackets and hoodies and layers of denim.
Mikey wraps his arms around Gerard, holding him close, says against Gerard’s mouth. “That’s your answer?”
Gerard relaxes his hold, and uncurls his fingers. Sliding his hand between their body he cups Mikey’s cheek. Mikey turns his head and kisses the side of Gerard’s mitten, on the join between finger and thumb.
Gerard doesn’t smile, just says, “They didn’t know us back then.”
“No, they didn’t,” Mikey says in reply.
Gerard/Lindsey -- welcome home
Gerard’s lying between Lindsey’s spread legs, one hand on her thigh and his face wet as he works his tongue over her clit. Repeatedly he changes rhythm, making her gasp and squirm against him, swearing under her breath with each abrupt change.
Gerard loves hearing her, loves eating her out, the taste of her cunt and how responsive she is always, how her whole body tenses, her back arching when she gets close.
They’re moments Gerard revels in, knowing he could pull back and leave her panting, desperate for more, or push her over the edge with one last use of his tongue.
Tonight it’s hard and fast -- they both need it that way -- and Gerard takes in a breath through his nose as he slips two fingers into her cunt. They go in easily and he finger fucks her while using his tongue, matching the rhythm until she’s pulled tight, her legs trembling and making sounds that have no resemblance to actual words.
Gerard gives that last push, his fingers deep inside her and tongue pressing hard. In response Lindsey gasps, her cunt tightening and her thighs snap together, clamped around Gerard’s head. Sometimes he thinks he could die like this, his breath stolen and air replaced by hot heat, but Gerard doesn’t care.
He lies still, hard and fucking turned on, moving his fingers minutely as slowly, Lindsey relaxes, her legs falling open until finally, Gerard can take in a breath.
He pulls back, slides out his fingers and presses a kiss against her inner thigh as he props himself up on his arms, making no attempt to wipe at his mouth as he grins and says, “Just call me the king of eating you out.”
Lindsey’s hair has fallen into her face and her skirt is bunched up, crumpled around her waist, she grins as she uses her toes to poke at his calf. “Get up here already.”
Gerard goes, awkwardly crawling over Lindsey’’s body, his pants trailing behind him where they’re still caught on one boot. Kneeling over her stomach , he rests the flat of his hand against the hall wall, his legs spread wide as she runs her fingers over his thighs. It’s a movement that tickles, and Gerard’s desperate for more, his cock in her mouth or held in her hands, her fingers slid deep in his ass.
But not here. Not yet.
Gerard sits still, taking her in, her lipstick smeared mouth and flushed cheeks, how the ribbon in her hair has become untied and is loose against her shoulder. And as hard as he tries, through music or words or painted scenes, there’s no way he could ever say how much he loves her.
But that’s okay, somehow she knows.
Bob/Mikey -- double dog dare
Bob stares at the tar pool and simply says, “No.”
“If you think you can’t make it....” Mikey shrugs his shoulders and turns to the side, as if Bob’s some kind of idiot who can’t see through his tactics.
“I can make it,” and Bob can, it’s just he doesn’t see why he has to prove that. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s tradition.” Mikey takes a step forward, the toe of his boot against the black rim of tar. “Everyone does it.”
“Really?” Bob asks, and then, “Who?”
“Everyone,” Mikey repeats, watching the tar that seeps up close to his foot. “Frank’s jumped it two times.”
“Frank also climbed a bone tree and pierced his dick.” Bob steps close to Mikey, the thick steam swirling around them. “They’ll be back soon.”
“I know.” Mikey looks up and for a moment every fear is laid bare, the uncertainty that he mostly keeps hidden. “We should go and raid some pup.”
Bob waits a moment, fighting what’s sensible with what’s right.
“Not until we’ve jumped this.” Tar squelches, sucking at Bob’s boots as he gets close to the edge. “Who am I to fuck with tradition?”
“We,” Mikey says, sounding surprised. “The dare’s not for me.”
It’s not for Bob either, but sometimes he realises that you have to do something stupid, like jump a tar pool when the rest of your family are off on their own mission. But that doesn’t mean he’s jumping alone. “Double dog dare you.”
Mikey frowns, stumbling back when a tar bubble pops close to his foot. “You’re double daring me, really?”
“If I jump you do too.” Bob holds out his hand, and this is something they don’t do often, but when Mikey takes hold it feels right. He looks at Mikey and says, “We jump on three.”
Mikey grins and holds up his thumb.
They don’t make it. Of course they don’t make it. Bob’s foot slips and Mikey jumps too soon and they’re dragging each other down, landing at the side of the pool.
Bob gasps, tar in his mouth and up his nose, coating his hair and skin. He feels like some kind of tar monster, and Mikey doesn’t look any better. He’s lying half submerged in the pool, his hair in clumps and his teeth a shock of white where he’s grinning.
“This is fucking disgusting.” Mikey’s still holding Bob’s hand and he squeezes his fingers, laughing for the first time in days. “At least it’s not boiling.”
“It could have been boiling?” If he could Bob would be frowning, instead he scoops up a handful of tar, flinging it at Mikey. “Of course it could have been boiling.”
“Most tar pools aren’t.” Mikey slithers forward, tar oozing around him. All the time he’s still smiling, and he brings up his hand, swiping it over Bob’s mouth. “Thank you.”
This kiss feels weird, Mikey’s lips coated, neither opening their mouths for fear of being poisoned.
Bob holding on as responsibilities and fears are dropped for a much needed moment.
Brendon/Spencer -- high school sweethearts
Brendon’s clutching his bag and nodding as Spencer talks about math class and how the meat they got served at lunch was probably horse and is Brendon staying for dinner because his mom’s cooking a pot roast.
Which is good -- it’s great -- Brendon likes listening to Spencer talk and watching how he moves so easily, grinning as he waves at his mom and dodges his sisters and yells, “Brendon’s staying for dinner,” as he runs up the stairs.
Brendon flashes a smile at Ginger and follows.
“I think. I’ve got... Yeah.” Spencer’s stretched out over his bed, his sneakers kicked off and his head close to the floor. He looks up and blows at his hair that’s fallen into his face. “Come in already.”
“You’ve got?” Brendon prompts, and takes a step into the room.
“I’ve got this.” Spencer rolls onto his back and then sits, showing a DVD of The Goonies. “It’s got a pirate ship.”
“Well in that case,” Brendon says. He looks at the bed, weighing contact against personal space and second-guessing as always. He steps over Spencer’s bag and sits close to the pillows. “Pirates are awesome.”
Spencer nods and slides off the bed. Kneeling he leans forward and puts the disc in the drive. Brendon swallows and takes off his glasses, using his sleeve to rub at the lenses. That way he can’t see how Spencer’s jeans are pulled tight at his ass, how his t-shirt has ridden up at the back.
Spencer presses play and looks over his shoulder. “Ryan likes Andy, I keep telling him she’s out of his league.”
Brendon polishes a lens once again, says, “Is he coming over?”
“Probably.” Spencer’s sitting back now, his shoulder against Brendon’s leg. “Mom always keeps him a plate.”
“Oh,” Brendon says, and he’s got no right to be disappointed, because this is Ryan’s space as much as it is Spencer’s -- a situation where family means more than a name. But Brendon is disappointed, and he slips on his glasses, blurred lines made sharp.
There’s a beep then, and Spencer hooks his bag with his foot, dragging it across the floor. Looking inside he pulls out his phone, reading a text before saying, “Brent’s coming too.”
“Awesome,” Brendon says, and even sounds like he means it.
“He does a great Sloth impersonation,” Spencer says, and yet again Brendon’s reminded that as friends go he’s part of the outside, distanced by circumstance and time. He stares at the screen, yelping when Spencer suddenly grabs his leg and pulls.
Brendon hits the ground with a thump. Scowling, he rubs at his back and says, “If you don’t want me on your bed just say so.”
Spencer rolls his eyes, which is rich considering he’s the one who’s hauling Brendon around. “I don’t want you on my bed.”
“Fine,” Brendon snaps, and he doesn’t even know why he keeps trying. “Ryan can have the bed.”
“He’s not having it either.” Spencer’s cheeks are flushed and in the background the movie plays unwatched. “It’s not that.”
“So what is it?” Brendon’s got every right to ask because Spencer asked him here and never said anything about the others and now he’s glaring as if somehow it’s Brendon at fault.
Spencer looks past Brendon, his mouth opening but saying nothing, until, “This.”
This kiss is unexpected, in that Brendon never expected Spencer to make a first move. It’s also weird, Spencer’s mouth nothing like the pillows Brendon’s used for practice or even the back of his hand. Spencer’s mouth is better, much better, warm, his lips soft and when he touches his tongue against Brendon’s Brendon gets so hard so fast it leaves him dizzy.
Spencer pulls back slightly, looking at Brendon. “That’s okay? You wanted it too.”
And all Brendon can do is say, “Yes.”
“Good.” Spencer smiles and picks up a pillow which he throws at the door, making it close. “Because I want to do it again, and this time it’ll be better.”
Which is a good idea, a fantastic one even, except for one little thing and Brendon has to ask, “What about Ryan?”
“He can find his own boyfriend to kiss,” Spencer says, and then, more serious, “He’ll only come over when I call him.”
Brendon rests his hand on Spencer’s hip. “You planned this.”
Spencer simply says, “Yes.”
were_duck and sassbandit's killjoys origin story last night. I do not regret that decision at all. ( It's been on my to-read list since they posted it but got pushed to the top of the list yesterday, because it seems my fic tastes are known and easily exploited ) I haven't actually finished it yet as it got to after midnight and I still had over half to go, so considering I had to get up in less than 6 hours I was an adult and went off to bed. I'm also being an adult now by not looking at the tab because if I do I'll get sucked in and will be sitting in my pjs still reading when Corey gets in from school. But tonight, oh yes it shall be mine. #wantstoreadnowToday I intend to write more BBB, yet another Frank masturbating scene, I swear it's all the guy has been doing, and in fact the title of the story should be. Stroking One Out -- or how Frank Got a Clue.
I wrote another kiss yesterday, bringing my total to four. I think I'll repost them here after I answer the question for the meme that never ends.
Jumping topics completely, we picked a fabulous courgette yesterday. Eat your heart out, Jamia, our courgettes are amazing.
23 – When you post, where do you post to? Just your journal? Just an archive? Your own personal site?
I used to have a personal site but that's gone now. So I post to LJ/DW and then tell myself to post AO3. Then many months later I'll actually remember to do so
Okay, kisses. None are beta read so the read at your own risk warning applies.
Gerard/Mikey -- On school property
“My best memory is leaving this place,” Mikey says, and wraps his hands around the bars of the fence. Despite his thick mittens he can feel the cold of the metal, seeping relentless into his fingers. “The worst was the day you left first.”
Gerard takes a step closer and puts his hand on the bar next to Mikey’s. He holds on, his breath steaming white as he says, “I couldn’t stay, not even for you.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted you to.” Mikey looks at the school, and even now, when he’s older and wiser and most of all, successful, the memories hold tight. “I hated this place.”
“Fucking school.” Gerard laughs, abrupt and brittle. “I want them to ask us to speak, then I’d tell them to fuck off.”
“No you wouldn’t.” Mikey blinks against an icy wind and tucks his chin down close to his chest, when he breathes the fur surrounding his hood tickles his cheeks. “You’d come back to talk to the kids, to tell them that you’d made it.”
“We made it,” Gerard corrects, and then, “I want... come on.”
Mikey follows -- he always follows, his head down and hands tucked deep in his pockets. This late the sidewalk is empty, any after-school programmes long finished, and the main school itself is deserted, the windows dark shadows.
Mikey tracks those windows, counting five from the side entrance. And for a moment he’s travelling back years, heavier, his eyesight shitty and having to suffer through each day. It’s remembering a different time and a different life and Mikey says, “They said I’d end up with a job in the mall.”
“You were never meant for a mall.” Gerard sounds sure, certain in the way he always is about Mikey.
“Mr Sargent said that I was.” Mikey comes back to the present, watching as Gerard turns the corner and steps onto the grass, his feet breaking through frost at each step. “You want to go in?”
“No,” Gerard follows a trampled earth path that ends at the fence. Grabbing hold, he pulls at the loose bar, years of use meaning it easily swings up to one side.
Mikey eases himself through the gap, metal brushing against the front and back of his jacket. Inside he steps back, waiting for Gerard.
“At least I fit through now,” Gerard says, and momentarily he’s over-shadowed by the boy who continuously sucked in his stomach, his shoulders hunched and head held down. “Me and my fucking fat ass.”
“Don’t.” They're standing at the outskirts of the playing fields and while he can’t see them Mikey imagines he can feel countless cigarette butts under his feet, defiance littering the school grounds. “You’re not that person any more.”
“We got out.” Gerard looks past Mikey, his attention wholly on the school. “They didn’t know anything, they didnt know us.”
Mikey sniffs, and rubs the back of his hand under his nose. “They never knew us.”
Gerard turns then, looking at Mikey. “If they asked I’d say yes. I’d tell the kids to follow their dreams and shoot for the fucking stars, screw authority and what's supposed to happen.”
“You’d start a fucking riot,” Mikey says, and then, “Why here?”
“For this.” Gerard grabs hold of handfuls of Mikey’s coat, and pulls him forward, holding on tight as he presses his mouth against Mikey’s.
Gerard’s lips are cold and his tongue hot, Gerard putting on a show that lasts only for seconds, then slows, easing into something simple and real. His body pressed hard against Mikey’s, but buffered by padded jackets and hoodies and layers of denim.
Mikey wraps his arms around Gerard, holding him close, says against Gerard’s mouth. “That’s your answer?”
Gerard relaxes his hold, and uncurls his fingers. Sliding his hand between their body he cups Mikey’s cheek. Mikey turns his head and kisses the side of Gerard’s mitten, on the join between finger and thumb.
Gerard doesn’t smile, just says, “They didn’t know us back then.”
“No, they didn’t,” Mikey says in reply.
Gerard/Lindsey -- welcome home
Gerard’s lying between Lindsey’s spread legs, one hand on her thigh and his face wet as he works his tongue over her clit. Repeatedly he changes rhythm, making her gasp and squirm against him, swearing under her breath with each abrupt change.
Gerard loves hearing her, loves eating her out, the taste of her cunt and how responsive she is always, how her whole body tenses, her back arching when she gets close.
They’re moments Gerard revels in, knowing he could pull back and leave her panting, desperate for more, or push her over the edge with one last use of his tongue.
Tonight it’s hard and fast -- they both need it that way -- and Gerard takes in a breath through his nose as he slips two fingers into her cunt. They go in easily and he finger fucks her while using his tongue, matching the rhythm until she’s pulled tight, her legs trembling and making sounds that have no resemblance to actual words.
Gerard gives that last push, his fingers deep inside her and tongue pressing hard. In response Lindsey gasps, her cunt tightening and her thighs snap together, clamped around Gerard’s head. Sometimes he thinks he could die like this, his breath stolen and air replaced by hot heat, but Gerard doesn’t care.
He lies still, hard and fucking turned on, moving his fingers minutely as slowly, Lindsey relaxes, her legs falling open until finally, Gerard can take in a breath.
He pulls back, slides out his fingers and presses a kiss against her inner thigh as he props himself up on his arms, making no attempt to wipe at his mouth as he grins and says, “Just call me the king of eating you out.”
Lindsey’s hair has fallen into her face and her skirt is bunched up, crumpled around her waist, she grins as she uses her toes to poke at his calf. “Get up here already.”
Gerard goes, awkwardly crawling over Lindsey’’s body, his pants trailing behind him where they’re still caught on one boot. Kneeling over her stomach , he rests the flat of his hand against the hall wall, his legs spread wide as she runs her fingers over his thighs. It’s a movement that tickles, and Gerard’s desperate for more, his cock in her mouth or held in her hands, her fingers slid deep in his ass.
But not here. Not yet.
Gerard sits still, taking her in, her lipstick smeared mouth and flushed cheeks, how the ribbon in her hair has become untied and is loose against her shoulder. And as hard as he tries, through music or words or painted scenes, there’s no way he could ever say how much he loves her.
But that’s okay, somehow she knows.
Bob/Mikey -- double dog dare
Bob stares at the tar pool and simply says, “No.”
“If you think you can’t make it....” Mikey shrugs his shoulders and turns to the side, as if Bob’s some kind of idiot who can’t see through his tactics.
“I can make it,” and Bob can, it’s just he doesn’t see why he has to prove that. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s tradition.” Mikey takes a step forward, the toe of his boot against the black rim of tar. “Everyone does it.”
“Really?” Bob asks, and then, “Who?”
“Everyone,” Mikey repeats, watching the tar that seeps up close to his foot. “Frank’s jumped it two times.”
“Frank also climbed a bone tree and pierced his dick.” Bob steps close to Mikey, the thick steam swirling around them. “They’ll be back soon.”
“I know.” Mikey looks up and for a moment every fear is laid bare, the uncertainty that he mostly keeps hidden. “We should go and raid some pup.”
Bob waits a moment, fighting what’s sensible with what’s right.
“Not until we’ve jumped this.” Tar squelches, sucking at Bob’s boots as he gets close to the edge. “Who am I to fuck with tradition?”
“We,” Mikey says, sounding surprised. “The dare’s not for me.”
It’s not for Bob either, but sometimes he realises that you have to do something stupid, like jump a tar pool when the rest of your family are off on their own mission. But that doesn’t mean he’s jumping alone. “Double dog dare you.”
Mikey frowns, stumbling back when a tar bubble pops close to his foot. “You’re double daring me, really?”
“If I jump you do too.” Bob holds out his hand, and this is something they don’t do often, but when Mikey takes hold it feels right. He looks at Mikey and says, “We jump on three.”
Mikey grins and holds up his thumb.
They don’t make it. Of course they don’t make it. Bob’s foot slips and Mikey jumps too soon and they’re dragging each other down, landing at the side of the pool.
Bob gasps, tar in his mouth and up his nose, coating his hair and skin. He feels like some kind of tar monster, and Mikey doesn’t look any better. He’s lying half submerged in the pool, his hair in clumps and his teeth a shock of white where he’s grinning.
“This is fucking disgusting.” Mikey’s still holding Bob’s hand and he squeezes his fingers, laughing for the first time in days. “At least it’s not boiling.”
“It could have been boiling?” If he could Bob would be frowning, instead he scoops up a handful of tar, flinging it at Mikey. “Of course it could have been boiling.”
“Most tar pools aren’t.” Mikey slithers forward, tar oozing around him. All the time he’s still smiling, and he brings up his hand, swiping it over Bob’s mouth. “Thank you.”
This kiss feels weird, Mikey’s lips coated, neither opening their mouths for fear of being poisoned.
Bob holding on as responsibilities and fears are dropped for a much needed moment.
Brendon/Spencer -- high school sweethearts
Brendon’s clutching his bag and nodding as Spencer talks about math class and how the meat they got served at lunch was probably horse and is Brendon staying for dinner because his mom’s cooking a pot roast.
Which is good -- it’s great -- Brendon likes listening to Spencer talk and watching how he moves so easily, grinning as he waves at his mom and dodges his sisters and yells, “Brendon’s staying for dinner,” as he runs up the stairs.
Brendon flashes a smile at Ginger and follows.
“I think. I’ve got... Yeah.” Spencer’s stretched out over his bed, his sneakers kicked off and his head close to the floor. He looks up and blows at his hair that’s fallen into his face. “Come in already.”
“You’ve got?” Brendon prompts, and takes a step into the room.
“I’ve got this.” Spencer rolls onto his back and then sits, showing a DVD of The Goonies. “It’s got a pirate ship.”
“Well in that case,” Brendon says. He looks at the bed, weighing contact against personal space and second-guessing as always. He steps over Spencer’s bag and sits close to the pillows. “Pirates are awesome.”
Spencer nods and slides off the bed. Kneeling he leans forward and puts the disc in the drive. Brendon swallows and takes off his glasses, using his sleeve to rub at the lenses. That way he can’t see how Spencer’s jeans are pulled tight at his ass, how his t-shirt has ridden up at the back.
Spencer presses play and looks over his shoulder. “Ryan likes Andy, I keep telling him she’s out of his league.”
Brendon polishes a lens once again, says, “Is he coming over?”
“Probably.” Spencer’s sitting back now, his shoulder against Brendon’s leg. “Mom always keeps him a plate.”
“Oh,” Brendon says, and he’s got no right to be disappointed, because this is Ryan’s space as much as it is Spencer’s -- a situation where family means more than a name. But Brendon is disappointed, and he slips on his glasses, blurred lines made sharp.
There’s a beep then, and Spencer hooks his bag with his foot, dragging it across the floor. Looking inside he pulls out his phone, reading a text before saying, “Brent’s coming too.”
“Awesome,” Brendon says, and even sounds like he means it.
“He does a great Sloth impersonation,” Spencer says, and yet again Brendon’s reminded that as friends go he’s part of the outside, distanced by circumstance and time. He stares at the screen, yelping when Spencer suddenly grabs his leg and pulls.
Brendon hits the ground with a thump. Scowling, he rubs at his back and says, “If you don’t want me on your bed just say so.”
Spencer rolls his eyes, which is rich considering he’s the one who’s hauling Brendon around. “I don’t want you on my bed.”
“Fine,” Brendon snaps, and he doesn’t even know why he keeps trying. “Ryan can have the bed.”
“He’s not having it either.” Spencer’s cheeks are flushed and in the background the movie plays unwatched. “It’s not that.”
“So what is it?” Brendon’s got every right to ask because Spencer asked him here and never said anything about the others and now he’s glaring as if somehow it’s Brendon at fault.
Spencer looks past Brendon, his mouth opening but saying nothing, until, “This.”
This kiss is unexpected, in that Brendon never expected Spencer to make a first move. It’s also weird, Spencer’s mouth nothing like the pillows Brendon’s used for practice or even the back of his hand. Spencer’s mouth is better, much better, warm, his lips soft and when he touches his tongue against Brendon’s Brendon gets so hard so fast it leaves him dizzy.
Spencer pulls back slightly, looking at Brendon. “That’s okay? You wanted it too.”
And all Brendon can do is say, “Yes.”
“Good.” Spencer smiles and picks up a pillow which he throws at the door, making it close. “Because I want to do it again, and this time it’ll be better.”
Which is a good idea, a fantastic one even, except for one little thing and Brendon has to ask, “What about Ryan?”
“He can find his own boyfriend to kiss,” Spencer says, and then, more serious, “He’ll only come over when I call him.”
Brendon rests his hand on Spencer’s hip. “You planned this.”
Spencer simply says, “Yes.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-07-15 11:24 am (UTC)(And speaking of easily exploited tastes, Frank masturbating is *definitely* relevant to my interests! ::grin::)
no subject
Date: 2011-07-15 02:57 pm (UTC)Oh man, I may as well label my wave 2 Frank/masturbation. It's ridiculous.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-15 03:58 pm (UTC)This is. . .not a problem for me!
no subject
Date: 2011-07-15 01:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-15 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-15 02:52 pm (UTC)Good luck with your writing!
PS I think it would be a good thing if you didn't just put the pairing/prompt in the cuttag but in the post itself too. When you have the post open already there's no way to know which ficlet is which, or even where they begin and end.
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Date: 2011-07-15 02:55 pm (UTC)Thank you.
Gah, I've been told that before and still forgot. I'll change that now.
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Date: 2011-07-15 03:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-16 05:20 am (UTC)::looks forward to that time::
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Date: 2011-08-09 03:48 pm (UTC)It fits! OMG, the story is insane.
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Date: 2011-07-25 02:31 am (UTC)Today I intend to write more BBB, yet another Frank masturbating scene, I swear it's all the guy has been doing, and in fact the title of the story should be. Stroking One Out -- or how Frank Got a Clue.
*fans self* I look forward to reading that fic SO MUCH, T! >:D!
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Date: 2011-07-26 06:00 pm (UTC)*fans self* I look forward to reading that fic SO MUCH, T! >:D!
I think final wank count was one in the shower, one in the bath, one in Ray's bathroom, many off screen and one that's part of a place holder. Frank dick was very chafed by the end.
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Date: 2011-07-15 08:58 am (UTC)And I read the Brendon/Spencer kiss and that was absolutely adorable; really sweet and tender ♥
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Date: 2011-07-15 09:03 am (UTC)Thank you ♥
Are you off or are you sneaking time at work?
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Date: 2011-07-15 09:22 am (UTC)Lol I'm sneaking time at work! I did say being an adult was hard work, right?
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Date: 2011-07-15 09:12 am (UTC)This sounds EXCELLENT. The title, the fic, ALL OF IT. I would read 8741234687325 words of Frank stroking one out. So looking forward to this story. :DDDDDDDD
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Date: 2011-07-15 09:20 am (UTC)A story about gross boys, masturbation and far too many mentions of sweat.
I'm sure it would be picked within seconds for art.
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Date: 2011-07-15 12:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-15 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 12:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-26 06:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-26 08:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-26 09:24 pm (UTC)You can see it here (http://youtu.be/cZnYpOuS4jA)
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Date: 2011-07-26 09:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-26 09:36 pm (UTC)Each time I watch I end up laughing.