Teh Pron! Teh Pron!
Jun. 7th, 2005 04:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveI was taught to put your money where your mouth is... unless you're at a strip club, then that's just filthy. I couldn't decide who should be getting the action so I went for the anonymous thing again.
Rated: 'P' for porn.
Pairing: Whomever you want it to be.
Dedicated to all of you. (But especially for those non-permanent account lot, because we have to stick together.)
Bent
It's hard to think when your face is smashed against the wall, and you have someone's fingers in your ass. It doesn't matter if the fingers are thick and short or slender and long –- the important part is the fingers. Correction: the important part is the lubrication and the condoms, and he has no idea when they started walking around prepared to fuck anywhere.
He can think about it later.
Sex is about prioritizing. Fingers first, mouth second, cock third –- or something like that. Order is not important when you're getting fucked; he's learning this first hand. He's had his suspicions -– but everyone has their suspicions, because people are nosy and they can't keep their opinions to themselves. People ask him about them all the time -– but it's none of their fucking business.
If they're fucking at home, or in the back of a car, or against the side of a building at three in the morning, it's nobody's business but theirs –- but they are never fucking in the back of a car again; he couldn't walk properly for two days afterwards.
The sex was fucking fantastic, of course, it always is, but -- Jesus, fuck.
He wants to say something, to participate, that would be nice, but he's kind of busy having his cheek rubbed raw against the stone wall in front of him.
The wall is so cold, but his face is hot, he can feel himself flushing, and god, his body doesn't even know how to respond to the onslaught of sensation. It's fucking confused, and he can't really blame it. The teeth numbing pain of his face against concrete, the whimpering ache of teeth tugging insistently on the back of his neck, and those fingers sliding in and out and --fuck -- in again.
He's busy shuddering, because there are warm lips whispering in his ear about cocks and blow jobs, and how hot he is, and how beautiful he looks with his trousers and pants down around his ankles, and oh God, they've been waiting for this all day.
He thinks they've been waiting forever.
They're always waiting for something.
He got so tired of waiting, and when he pushes back against the intrusive fingers, he gets a sharp hiss in response. He wants more. He's always going to want more.
The tips of his fingers are being rubbed raw as he claws at the cool surface, and it hurts, his nails are breaking and being worn down to stubs, and it feels so fucking good. The pain and pleasure are fucking with his head so much, his brain might break, and it won't matter as long as he has this. This feels so fucking good, and if he'd known the teasing would've gotten him here -- warm, calloused hand wrapped around his cock, jerking him off, and thick fingers in his ass -- they could've cut out all that other shit before.
If he'd known that all he had to do was tilt his head to the side and narrow his eyes just that little bit, well, who fucking cares about what if, because he has this, right now. He wants to close his eyes to feel this, but if he closes his eyes, then he can't see him in his periphery –- and he wants to see him.
He's absolutely breath-taking, and it's so stupid to say, but it's true, and the fingers are scissoring and searching... searching...
He lets out his high-pitched whine when the fingers brush against his prostate, and the hand leaves his cock to cover his mouth. The palm over his mouth is flat and damp, the surface is salty because he's licking himself, and he moans when the fingers go away, but he keeps licking.
The voice in his ear is so deep and guttural, it makes his stomach curl, and he whimpers against the hand over his mouth when he hears the explicit details of him getting fucked.
Somebody's been thinking about this one for a long time, and he flattens his own palms against the wall, because his fingers are throbbing and raw, and he wants to be able to push back. He wants. Fuck.
The first blunt push inside him is like having his head removed, used for a bowling ball, and then put back on. It makes his eyes wobble in their sockets, and he pushes back hard, because momentary pain is nothing compared to the greater gain. The second push is just as eye-watering as the first, and he breathes harshly through his nose, like he just got done with running forever.
There are lips behind his ear, brushing the side of his neck, he loses them at the collar of his shirt, but he can have them back there later. They can be completely naked later; this isn't about that. This is about primal need and being fucked and held and owned.
The thrusts are punishing, and if he's sinned or they've sinned, he doesn't care. He has this. Everybody else can fuck off.
He can feel himself being pushed into the wall, and the hand over his mouth is back on his cock. Fingers are stroking him, and there's a thumb pressing against the underside of the head, his mind can't keep up with this. He's being fucked hard, so hard, the stretch and the slide and the fullness are killing his brain cells. He'll feel this until they do it again. They have to do it again. It's never enough.
He turns his head at the feel of stubble along his jaw, and the kiss doesn't even meet, it's just tongues in the midnight air and guttural noises escaping from their throats.
His orgasm is like being hit with a pliable two-by-four, he feels weak but doesn't hurt, and he uses the wall to press back against the body behind him. He gives way to the man inside him, and when it's all over they bend against the wall to catch their breath.
-end-
Notes: Title from the Matt Nathanson song. I heart Matt.
Rated: 'P' for porn.
Pairing: Whomever you want it to be.
Dedicated to all of you. (But especially for those non-permanent account lot, because we have to stick together.)
It's hard to think when your face is smashed against the wall, and you have someone's fingers in your ass. It doesn't matter if the fingers are thick and short or slender and long –- the important part is the fingers. Correction: the important part is the lubrication and the condoms, and he has no idea when they started walking around prepared to fuck anywhere.
He can think about it later.
Sex is about prioritizing. Fingers first, mouth second, cock third –- or something like that. Order is not important when you're getting fucked; he's learning this first hand. He's had his suspicions -– but everyone has their suspicions, because people are nosy and they can't keep their opinions to themselves. People ask him about them all the time -– but it's none of their fucking business.
If they're fucking at home, or in the back of a car, or against the side of a building at three in the morning, it's nobody's business but theirs –- but they are never fucking in the back of a car again; he couldn't walk properly for two days afterwards.
The sex was fucking fantastic, of course, it always is, but -- Jesus, fuck.
He wants to say something, to participate, that would be nice, but he's kind of busy having his cheek rubbed raw against the stone wall in front of him.
The wall is so cold, but his face is hot, he can feel himself flushing, and god, his body doesn't even know how to respond to the onslaught of sensation. It's fucking confused, and he can't really blame it. The teeth numbing pain of his face against concrete, the whimpering ache of teeth tugging insistently on the back of his neck, and those fingers sliding in and out and --fuck -- in again.
He's busy shuddering, because there are warm lips whispering in his ear about cocks and blow jobs, and how hot he is, and how beautiful he looks with his trousers and pants down around his ankles, and oh God, they've been waiting for this all day.
He thinks they've been waiting forever.
They're always waiting for something.
He got so tired of waiting, and when he pushes back against the intrusive fingers, he gets a sharp hiss in response. He wants more. He's always going to want more.
The tips of his fingers are being rubbed raw as he claws at the cool surface, and it hurts, his nails are breaking and being worn down to stubs, and it feels so fucking good. The pain and pleasure are fucking with his head so much, his brain might break, and it won't matter as long as he has this. This feels so fucking good, and if he'd known the teasing would've gotten him here -- warm, calloused hand wrapped around his cock, jerking him off, and thick fingers in his ass -- they could've cut out all that other shit before.
If he'd known that all he had to do was tilt his head to the side and narrow his eyes just that little bit, well, who fucking cares about what if, because he has this, right now. He wants to close his eyes to feel this, but if he closes his eyes, then he can't see him in his periphery –- and he wants to see him.
He's absolutely breath-taking, and it's so stupid to say, but it's true, and the fingers are scissoring and searching... searching...
He lets out his high-pitched whine when the fingers brush against his prostate, and the hand leaves his cock to cover his mouth. The palm over his mouth is flat and damp, the surface is salty because he's licking himself, and he moans when the fingers go away, but he keeps licking.
The voice in his ear is so deep and guttural, it makes his stomach curl, and he whimpers against the hand over his mouth when he hears the explicit details of him getting fucked.
Somebody's been thinking about this one for a long time, and he flattens his own palms against the wall, because his fingers are throbbing and raw, and he wants to be able to push back. He wants. Fuck.
The first blunt push inside him is like having his head removed, used for a bowling ball, and then put back on. It makes his eyes wobble in their sockets, and he pushes back hard, because momentary pain is nothing compared to the greater gain. The second push is just as eye-watering as the first, and he breathes harshly through his nose, like he just got done with running forever.
There are lips behind his ear, brushing the side of his neck, he loses them at the collar of his shirt, but he can have them back there later. They can be completely naked later; this isn't about that. This is about primal need and being fucked and held and owned.
The thrusts are punishing, and if he's sinned or they've sinned, he doesn't care. He has this. Everybody else can fuck off.
He can feel himself being pushed into the wall, and the hand over his mouth is back on his cock. Fingers are stroking him, and there's a thumb pressing against the underside of the head, his mind can't keep up with this. He's being fucked hard, so hard, the stretch and the slide and the fullness are killing his brain cells. He'll feel this until they do it again. They have to do it again. It's never enough.
He turns his head at the feel of stubble along his jaw, and the kiss doesn't even meet, it's just tongues in the midnight air and guttural noises escaping from their throats.
His orgasm is like being hit with a pliable two-by-four, he feels weak but doesn't hurt, and he uses the wall to press back against the body behind him. He gives way to the man inside him, and when it's all over they bend against the wall to catch their breath.
-end-
Notes: Title from the Matt Nathanson song. I heart Matt.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-06-07 11:28 pm (UTC)It's the hotter-than-hell-choose-your-own-people porn!
YEY!
no subject
Date: 2005-06-07 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-07 11:59 pm (UTC)Thank you. A great bedtime treat again, your timing is perfect.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 01:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 02:09 am (UTC)::wipes. . .brow::
no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 03:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 06:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-08 02:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-09 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-09 04:45 pm (UTC)...better late feedback than never...
Date: 2005-06-29 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-07 05:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-07 05:45 pm (UTC)