![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveDearest Adrian:
It is very hard for me to have resolve about, oh, ANYTHING, when you are posting videos like this. Plz to do this at least twice daily. It's a good thing I've put you on the no-RPS list (as the only occupant) or we'd both be in a lot of trouble.
Love,
Me
In other news, I am going to write a story or two for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sameoldhope because she made me ART! And I would show you the art, but then that would spoil you for the stories that I am, err, not writing. I'm having some false starts issues. Here, have some false start snippets!
Dirty Laundry
Triggers are everywhere. You never know what will set someone off. Obviously some people can be conditioned to react certain ways to certain stimuli -- Alex in A Clockwork Orange immediately comes to Peter's mind -- but that's not really a train of thought he's interested in following tonight.
Peter's thinking about triggers because he's thinking about Nathan. Yes, Peter is always thinking about Nathan -- about what excites him, what upsets him, what sets Nathan off. Peter likes to know what Nathan's triggers are. What buttons he can push to get Nathan to react to him. Peter likes to discover new Nathan triggers. Like tonight, it's another fundraiser for another politician, another person that Nathan will schmooze for his rising ascent in the District Attorney's office. Nathan is working and Peter is drinking and avoiding their father. Their mother is off doing the things that she does. Right at this very moment in time though, Peter's got an eyelash in his eye, and he's juggling his champagne flute while he trying to get the eyelash out. It's a complicated affair after six drinks, but pretty much everything Peter does is a complicated affair. There's probably going to be an accident.
"Why are you twitching like you've developed some sort of palsy?" Nathan gripes good-naturedly from over Peter's shoulder.
Peter's got one eye currently trying to blind him, but when he spins around he can see Nathan out of the other, and he automatically surrenders the flute that Nathan plucks out of his hand. "I'm sorry," he snipes, "I'll be sure to tell my eyelashes to behave at the next cocktail hour."
Nathan snorts, even as he's cupping Peter's head and guiding it into some random place that only makes sense to Nathan. "How do you manage to do these things to yourself?"
Peter bristles when Nathan shoves the flute back into his hand, and then Nathan's thumb and index finger are prying Peter's eye open and Nathan's blowing softly.
The pain disappears automatically. Peter's college psychology professor would say his pains are psychosomatic. Whenever he's not around Nathan, Peter develops a pain. Except he knows he really did have an eyelash in his eye, but now that he has Nathan's attention, nothing else matters.
Nathan is Peter's trigger. Or maybe Peter's eyelashes are Nathan's trigger. All Peter can tell you is that one minute his brother is blowing in his eye, and the next Peter's got the sort of erection that could leave him with permanent brain damage from all the blood loss.
He doesn't know what he says or what he does. He knows he straightens a tie he can't see, that he scratches his collarbone through the thin fabric of his Oxford shirt, and then licks his lips because they go dry. Thirty minutes later Peter is being fucked up against the wall of the wine cellar in the basement of the Grammercy Park house, and he's scrabbling at a stone wall hard enough that in the morning the tips of his fingers will be raw and his nails will be jagged and worn away.
In the morning, there will also be a rust colored blood stain on the cuff of the same Oxford shirt, and Peter will have slept on his stomach, because he's found that sleeping on his back isn't really all that comfortable anymore. He will set the stain with dishwashing liquid before he goes to his first practical of the day, and when the RN talks about changing sheets, Peter will think of how often he does his laundry these days.
This is Peter's life now. He loves it passionately.
There are socks in Peter's drawer that are too long in the heel and don't fit his feet. There are shirts in his dirty laundry that advertise places he has never been and has no plans to go to. Peter washes his sheets every other week, not because he is fastidious, but because it makes Nathan happy, and what makes Nathan happy, Peter wants to provide. So, Peter wears suits to Nathan's black-tie affairs, and he spends time with the rest of his family, because he knows Nathan will be there and this will in turn bring him to Peter.
When Nathan shows up unannounced, Peter thinks nothing of it. In this city everyone has intercoms, everyone has doormen -- people with keys don't follow the same rules as the people who have to ask for permission. Peter has never learned how to ask for permission; he's much better at asking for forgiveness after the fact. He doesn't think he has to apologize when Nathan walks in his front door on a Sunday afternoon, and Peter's masturbating on the sofa in Nathan's clothes. It's Peter's apartment. The clothing is in his apartment too. Nathan's never asked for it back and he never said he was coming over, so if he walks in on Peter living his life, that's not Peter's fault.
Peter does pause though, with his boxers around his ankles and his hand on his dick. He's not pausing for Nathan, but because his grip needs some adjusting. He's not worried about making a mess. Peter lives for messes. There are Chinese food stains on the duvet on Peter's bed from very late take out dinners after Nathan's been working too late for too long. There are semen stains on Peter's sofa and on the back of his front door. Peter lives for messes.
"Am I interrupting something?" Nathan asks, shutting the door behind him.
Peter licks his lower lip and gives his cock an experimental tug. The porn was okay, but the guy on the TV only reminded him of Nathan because he had dark hair and hazel eyes. The real deal is so much better.
[I think sex is supposed to happen now]
The Skin I'm In
Peter has fading bruises around his wrists. They are two completely different sets of bruises although they were created at the same time.
On Peter's right wrist the bruises are more prominent, darker, starker. Those were created with a belt, his belt to be more exact. It was a cloth belt; Nathan never would've used a leather belt. These bruises look more like dark lines. The bruises on Peter's left wrist, thankfully, aren't as jarring, they don't look quite as painful. These were made by a tie. Nathan's tie in fact.
It took a lot of demanding for Peter to get Nathan to tie him up, and truly, Peter's only regret was that he didn't have a footboard for Nathan to tie up his legs too.
This isn't about bondage though, as strange as it may sound, this is actually about clothing. Nathan's clothing. And Peter's clothing too, but mostly just Nathan's.
This is about Peter's reaction to Nathan's clothing, to the way Nathan wears his clothing, to the way he fastens his shirts with cufflinks and always straightens his tie when he passes by a reflective surface and he thinks no one is watching.
Peter is always watching, but this isn't about that either.
Actually, that's not true. It's always about that. Peter is always about watching Nathan and the way Nathan moves and the way he stands. The way he tilts his head slightly to the side and slides his hands into the pockets of his pants, but only when he's not at work or all 'family appearances' time.
Today, it's the tie. Not just any tie, but Nathan's tie. Nathan's ties do strange things to Peter's skin. The way Nathan's ties are always perfectly straight, perfectly clean, the way the double-Windsor knot is always perfectly done make Peter's skin itch.
Getting dressed is a complicated business. There are innumerable ways to err: greying underwear, the wrong color shirt, wrinkled trousers, mismatched socks, a fading belt, a tie in slightly the wrong shade. Peter tries to make things as simple as possible on himself: a tee shirt, a pair of jeans, sneakers. If he's going to see Nathan he may chose a nicer shirt, one with fewer stains, one without holes. He's in college, these sorts of things are far more passable than they will be in a few years.
It's not that Peter doesn't understand the importance of his sartorial best, but sometimes he wants something softer, something less hard, less combative. Clothing is armour and protection and defense, it can chafe. It can hide. Clothing is evasion, it says don't look at me, look at this. Well, not for everyone. Some people wear their clothing for diversion, and then there are people like Nathan.
Nathan fully clothed is temptation in the flesh. Nathan in a nice suit is just asking for Peter's fingers, and Peter's hands and Peter's messy messy self to just come along and dirty things up a little bit.
Sometimes, mostly at weddings and funerals, Peter will stare at his brother and wonder if Nathan knows what's on his mind. It's not hard to tell, at least it isn't to Peter. He thinks he's being obvious with the way he brushes his fingers over his mouth and finds himself taking strange shuddering breaths at all the wrong times, but Peter is the eccentric one. He's not quite right, a little too soft, a little too not there, and people ignore him, because his clothing wears him and not the reverse.
It's not always this way though. Sometimes Peter wears his clothing, sometimes he uses it to show what he wants. Rolled-up sleeves after an entirely too long dinner with extended family are Peter's way of showing how much he wants to get his hands dirty. Peter's unloosened tie after another wedding of another thrice-removed cousin he's never met is Peter showing Nathan where he wants to be marked.
Peter lets his clothing wear him, because most of the time he would rather be without it, but he knows Nathan would frown on any sort of nudist tendencies -- at least the ones that don't occur within the walls of Peter's apartment.
Another Goddamn Amnesia Story
Peter likes Vancouver. He likes the weather and the people and the cleanliness. He likes the furnished apartment on the water that he shares with his brother. Peter likes being alive. Correction: Peter loves being alive. But even more than that Peter loves his new life. He's never had Nathan all to himself before. When he was little he had to share Nathan with their mother and father and Princeton and all of Nathan's friends. When he got older he had to share Nathan with the Navy and the District Attorney's office and Heidi and Monty and Simon. For the first time ever, he has Nathan all to himself. It's greedy and selfish and wrong, and Peter doesn't care. He knows he should, but he doesn't. He can't. He's died for this world once, twice, doesn't he get something for that?
If he has to keep up certain pretences to keep Nathan with him is that really so wrong either? Nathan has to know that Peter doesn't really have amnesia. He has to know that Peter's just looking for a reason to keep Nathan with him. Every time Peter gets too close or stares at Nathan for too long, Nathan has to know why. Peter came back for Nathan; there's no way he wouldn't know Nathan no matter where they are.
I now go back to the drawing board. Or something.
It is very hard for me to have resolve about, oh, ANYTHING, when you are posting videos like this. Plz to do this at least twice daily. It's a good thing I've put you on the no-RPS list (as the only occupant) or we'd both be in a lot of trouble.
Love,
Me
In other news, I am going to write a story or two for
sameoldhope because she made me ART! And I would show you the art, but then that would spoil you for the stories that I am, err, not writing. I'm having some false starts issues. Here, have some false start snippets!Dirty Laundry
Triggers are everywhere. You never know what will set someone off. Obviously some people can be conditioned to react certain ways to certain stimuli -- Alex in A Clockwork Orange immediately comes to Peter's mind -- but that's not really a train of thought he's interested in following tonight.
Peter's thinking about triggers because he's thinking about Nathan. Yes, Peter is always thinking about Nathan -- about what excites him, what upsets him, what sets Nathan off. Peter likes to know what Nathan's triggers are. What buttons he can push to get Nathan to react to him. Peter likes to discover new Nathan triggers. Like tonight, it's another fundraiser for another politician, another person that Nathan will schmooze for his rising ascent in the District Attorney's office. Nathan is working and Peter is drinking and avoiding their father. Their mother is off doing the things that she does. Right at this very moment in time though, Peter's got an eyelash in his eye, and he's juggling his champagne flute while he trying to get the eyelash out. It's a complicated affair after six drinks, but pretty much everything Peter does is a complicated affair. There's probably going to be an accident.
"Why are you twitching like you've developed some sort of palsy?" Nathan gripes good-naturedly from over Peter's shoulder.
Peter's got one eye currently trying to blind him, but when he spins around he can see Nathan out of the other, and he automatically surrenders the flute that Nathan plucks out of his hand. "I'm sorry," he snipes, "I'll be sure to tell my eyelashes to behave at the next cocktail hour."
Nathan snorts, even as he's cupping Peter's head and guiding it into some random place that only makes sense to Nathan. "How do you manage to do these things to yourself?"
Peter bristles when Nathan shoves the flute back into his hand, and then Nathan's thumb and index finger are prying Peter's eye open and Nathan's blowing softly.
The pain disappears automatically. Peter's college psychology professor would say his pains are psychosomatic. Whenever he's not around Nathan, Peter develops a pain. Except he knows he really did have an eyelash in his eye, but now that he has Nathan's attention, nothing else matters.
Nathan is Peter's trigger. Or maybe Peter's eyelashes are Nathan's trigger. All Peter can tell you is that one minute his brother is blowing in his eye, and the next Peter's got the sort of erection that could leave him with permanent brain damage from all the blood loss.
He doesn't know what he says or what he does. He knows he straightens a tie he can't see, that he scratches his collarbone through the thin fabric of his Oxford shirt, and then licks his lips because they go dry. Thirty minutes later Peter is being fucked up against the wall of the wine cellar in the basement of the Grammercy Park house, and he's scrabbling at a stone wall hard enough that in the morning the tips of his fingers will be raw and his nails will be jagged and worn away.
In the morning, there will also be a rust colored blood stain on the cuff of the same Oxford shirt, and Peter will have slept on his stomach, because he's found that sleeping on his back isn't really all that comfortable anymore. He will set the stain with dishwashing liquid before he goes to his first practical of the day, and when the RN talks about changing sheets, Peter will think of how often he does his laundry these days.
This is Peter's life now. He loves it passionately.
There are socks in Peter's drawer that are too long in the heel and don't fit his feet. There are shirts in his dirty laundry that advertise places he has never been and has no plans to go to. Peter washes his sheets every other week, not because he is fastidious, but because it makes Nathan happy, and what makes Nathan happy, Peter wants to provide. So, Peter wears suits to Nathan's black-tie affairs, and he spends time with the rest of his family, because he knows Nathan will be there and this will in turn bring him to Peter.
When Nathan shows up unannounced, Peter thinks nothing of it. In this city everyone has intercoms, everyone has doormen -- people with keys don't follow the same rules as the people who have to ask for permission. Peter has never learned how to ask for permission; he's much better at asking for forgiveness after the fact. He doesn't think he has to apologize when Nathan walks in his front door on a Sunday afternoon, and Peter's masturbating on the sofa in Nathan's clothes. It's Peter's apartment. The clothing is in his apartment too. Nathan's never asked for it back and he never said he was coming over, so if he walks in on Peter living his life, that's not Peter's fault.
Peter does pause though, with his boxers around his ankles and his hand on his dick. He's not pausing for Nathan, but because his grip needs some adjusting. He's not worried about making a mess. Peter lives for messes. There are Chinese food stains on the duvet on Peter's bed from very late take out dinners after Nathan's been working too late for too long. There are semen stains on Peter's sofa and on the back of his front door. Peter lives for messes.
"Am I interrupting something?" Nathan asks, shutting the door behind him.
Peter licks his lower lip and gives his cock an experimental tug. The porn was okay, but the guy on the TV only reminded him of Nathan because he had dark hair and hazel eyes. The real deal is so much better.
[I think sex is supposed to happen now]
The Skin I'm In
Peter has fading bruises around his wrists. They are two completely different sets of bruises although they were created at the same time.
On Peter's right wrist the bruises are more prominent, darker, starker. Those were created with a belt, his belt to be more exact. It was a cloth belt; Nathan never would've used a leather belt. These bruises look more like dark lines. The bruises on Peter's left wrist, thankfully, aren't as jarring, they don't look quite as painful. These were made by a tie. Nathan's tie in fact.
It took a lot of demanding for Peter to get Nathan to tie him up, and truly, Peter's only regret was that he didn't have a footboard for Nathan to tie up his legs too.
This isn't about bondage though, as strange as it may sound, this is actually about clothing. Nathan's clothing. And Peter's clothing too, but mostly just Nathan's.
This is about Peter's reaction to Nathan's clothing, to the way Nathan wears his clothing, to the way he fastens his shirts with cufflinks and always straightens his tie when he passes by a reflective surface and he thinks no one is watching.
Peter is always watching, but this isn't about that either.
Actually, that's not true. It's always about that. Peter is always about watching Nathan and the way Nathan moves and the way he stands. The way he tilts his head slightly to the side and slides his hands into the pockets of his pants, but only when he's not at work or all 'family appearances' time.
Today, it's the tie. Not just any tie, but Nathan's tie. Nathan's ties do strange things to Peter's skin. The way Nathan's ties are always perfectly straight, perfectly clean, the way the double-Windsor knot is always perfectly done make Peter's skin itch.
Getting dressed is a complicated business. There are innumerable ways to err: greying underwear, the wrong color shirt, wrinkled trousers, mismatched socks, a fading belt, a tie in slightly the wrong shade. Peter tries to make things as simple as possible on himself: a tee shirt, a pair of jeans, sneakers. If he's going to see Nathan he may chose a nicer shirt, one with fewer stains, one without holes. He's in college, these sorts of things are far more passable than they will be in a few years.
It's not that Peter doesn't understand the importance of his sartorial best, but sometimes he wants something softer, something less hard, less combative. Clothing is armour and protection and defense, it can chafe. It can hide. Clothing is evasion, it says don't look at me, look at this. Well, not for everyone. Some people wear their clothing for diversion, and then there are people like Nathan.
Nathan fully clothed is temptation in the flesh. Nathan in a nice suit is just asking for Peter's fingers, and Peter's hands and Peter's messy messy self to just come along and dirty things up a little bit.
Sometimes, mostly at weddings and funerals, Peter will stare at his brother and wonder if Nathan knows what's on his mind. It's not hard to tell, at least it isn't to Peter. He thinks he's being obvious with the way he brushes his fingers over his mouth and finds himself taking strange shuddering breaths at all the wrong times, but Peter is the eccentric one. He's not quite right, a little too soft, a little too not there, and people ignore him, because his clothing wears him and not the reverse.
It's not always this way though. Sometimes Peter wears his clothing, sometimes he uses it to show what he wants. Rolled-up sleeves after an entirely too long dinner with extended family are Peter's way of showing how much he wants to get his hands dirty. Peter's unloosened tie after another wedding of another thrice-removed cousin he's never met is Peter showing Nathan where he wants to be marked.
Peter lets his clothing wear him, because most of the time he would rather be without it, but he knows Nathan would frown on any sort of nudist tendencies -- at least the ones that don't occur within the walls of Peter's apartment.
Another Goddamn Amnesia Story
Peter likes Vancouver. He likes the weather and the people and the cleanliness. He likes the furnished apartment on the water that he shares with his brother. Peter likes being alive. Correction: Peter loves being alive. But even more than that Peter loves his new life. He's never had Nathan all to himself before. When he was little he had to share Nathan with their mother and father and Princeton and all of Nathan's friends. When he got older he had to share Nathan with the Navy and the District Attorney's office and Heidi and Monty and Simon. For the first time ever, he has Nathan all to himself. It's greedy and selfish and wrong, and Peter doesn't care. He knows he should, but he doesn't. He can't. He's died for this world once, twice, doesn't he get something for that?
If he has to keep up certain pretences to keep Nathan with him is that really so wrong either? Nathan has to know that Peter doesn't really have amnesia. He has to know that Peter's just looking for a reason to keep Nathan with him. Every time Peter gets too close or stares at Nathan for too long, Nathan has to know why. Peter came back for Nathan; there's no way he wouldn't know Nathan no matter where they are.
I now go back to the drawing board. Or something.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 04:42 pm (UTC)Why in the WORLD would you put him on that list?!?! Seriously? Please explain!
no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 05:04 pm (UTC)Aw, Milo and Adrian... *shakes head*... those two are going to bring down nations. I have to say though, if I didn't like Jack Coleman before, I absolutely adore him now. He's quick-witted and plays off of Adrian's quirky humor so well.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 06:17 pm (UTC)Agrees.
Am off to convert the Pasdar vids to iPod-compatible formatting!
no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 05:05 pm (UTC)I don't have time to read the snippets just now, but I'm putting this post in my Memories and coming back to it tonight!
no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 05:34 pm (UTC)*loves*
I can't remember if you commented or not--I finally tracked down the movie (in Chinese) that Adrian did with John Lone. If you haven't seen the post I did on it, it's here. Every single one of Pasdar's loveslaves should own this movie--eBay has it as "Shanghai 1920".
no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 06:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 09:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 12:22 am (UTC)See now, that's what I like to hear. Also,
no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 11:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-05 03:19 am (UTC)And your writing? SO much ♥ Maybe they're false starts or whatever you want to call them but they read like perfect drabbles of a sort :D