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1. The word of the day is clusterfuckiest. Trufax.

2. I'm a big fan of the part where a summer camp that rented a pool in north PhillY for $1900 were told they weren't welcome, because they changed the complextion of the pool. Keep it classy, racist assholes!

3. If I think too hard about the confirmation hearings, I might stroke out, so...

4. YAY, Leverage premieres tonight!

5. And Matt Damon is going to be on Entourage! So, that means that Matt and Ari are going to be hanging out. And I didn't even have to write it! Yeah, I know, who's the man? All they need now is RDJ... you know since I write it and it happens. Excuse me, I have to go write myself winning ten million dollars. BRB.

6. Ryan Gosling is releasing his album in October. I WANT IT NOW.

6a. Anybody got the new Regina Spektor album (Far) that they wanna share with the class.

7. An Offer: Anybody who wants to come over here and give me a photo prompt that maybe might result in some drabble porn to make the masses happy is more than welcome.

If you just want to picspam the pretty to you know, help the general mood, that's awesome too. In fact, feel free to come and post photos and write your own porn too! But it's gotta be a photo. And SFW. It can be a party!

Mostly I'm just trying to make [livejournal.com profile] romanticalgirl smile, so help a sister do a good deed.
From: [identity profile] hackthis.livejournal.com
Two words: Nate's hands.

Look how long his fingers are!

He's pointing at something on the laptop and Brad's like, hmmm. Long fingers. Long fingers are good. They're good in my mouth. Good up my ass. Wrapped around my cock. God, I wonder what it's would be like to suck on the LT's fingers why he's reaming my ass. Trying to make me be quiet, his cock so thick and hard, his balls slapping against my ass....

God, we are ALL going to hell. At least we'll be there to keep each other company.
From: [identity profile] alethialia.livejournal.com
...I never even thought about Nate's hands. I FAIL at porn!

Then obviously Brad's new mission in life is to get Nate to point to things. And Ray knows something's up but cannot fathom why looking at a map with the LT makes him so goddamn happy. Beyond that it's, ya know, the LT and Ray's well-aware that Brad's being an LT fanboy. But still. Encino Man got them lost, it's a goddamn map, it's a million degrees out...no one should be that happy.
From: [identity profile] hackthis.livejournal.com
Are you kidding?! I am total hand bitch. If the fingers are puny, I'm not interested. Long, strong fingers, callused palms? I AM ALL OVER THAT SHIT! Brad's happy anytime the LT's pointing at anything and that one time when the LT's fingers brushed over the back of Brad's hand while they were looking at something on a map, Brad almost came in his pants. Might've gasped just that tiny tiny bit that nobody could hear that wasn't listening very hard for it.
From: [identity profile] alethialia.livejournal.com
Might've gasped just that tiny tiny bit that nobody could hear that wasn't listening very hard for it.

Nate pays attention to these things. This might've been his first clue, the Brad-hand thing.
From: [identity profile] romanticalgirl.livejournal.com
Heee. I was just about to comment on those fingers.

Brad holds Nate by the wrist and rips the MRE open with his teeth. He turns Nate's hand over so it's palm up and squeezes the silver packet until two of Nate's fingers are covered with jalepeno and cheese. Nate's smiling but trying not to and he starts to lift his hand to his mouth when Brad's grip stops him.

Nate raises an eyebrow as Brad leans in and does it for Nate, taking both fingers into his mouth, sucking them hard and tight. Nate's cock jerks as Brad scrapes his teeth over them and then sucks again. Brad looks up at Nate and Nate groans, moving his fingers in a slow thrust, fucking Brad's mouth.

"Do you like that, Sergeant?" Nate whispers against Brad's ear. "Do you like me fucking your mouth?"
From: [identity profile] hackthis.livejournal.com
What she said. I think Brad observes Nate's hands intently, when there's dirt under the nails, when his nails are jagged, the tiny cuts on his fingers that get coated with dirt. Brad wonders what it would be like to have Nate's hands on his hips, fingers digging in bruises as he pounds into Brad's ass. What it would be like to have Nate's fingers in his mouth, his tongue swirling over his fingerprints.
From: [identity profile] alethialia.livejournal.com
OF COURSE YOU WENT THERE! Hell, it just makes sense. Bard's two favorite things, the best of both worlds.
From: [identity profile] romanticalgirl.livejournal.com
There's a REASON Brad wants more jalepeno and cheese.
From: [identity profile] svilleficrecs.livejournal.com
Mmmm. Toppy Nate. More and more, he's becoming my favorite. V. nice.

Part I

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Part II

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Re: Part I

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From: [identity profile] alethialia.livejournal.com
Well do I know. I got your back, baybee!
From: [identity profile] dissident.livejournal.com
Oooh, pretty picture that I don't recall seeing!

Is this a production still or a promo pic?

(And yes, someone please, please write about this one.)
From: [identity profile] alethialia.livejournal.com
I assume it's a production still, but really have no idea. People just link me to things.
From: [identity profile] dissident.livejournal.com
Well it made my day.

But the most important question is, which of them owns that aqua green beach towel?
From: [identity profile] svilleficrecs.livejournal.com
Brad totally keeps reaching out and pointing at the same spot as Nate, his hand accidentally brushing Nate's. It sparks for Brad and he knows - from subtle body language shifts caught in peripheral vision - it sparks for Nate too. Brad's the flint and Nate's the steel, he thinks later, in the privacy of his own mind in his own grave. Or maybe Brad's the flint, Nate's the steel, and Nate's restraint is the wood.

Maybe not today. Maybe not ten days into the AO. But as the days pass and the stress cooks them all, Nate's tinder gets drier and drier. Brad feels the crackle in his own bones and hunched over maps and trackers, Brad keeps striking. You don't bang the flint right down on the steel (no matter how badly he might like to bang Nate to the ground and... and... his mind spins into a thousand possibilities) you glance off it with delicate precision. You don't press the flint down against the steel, that won't start a fire. Brad doesn't trap Nate's hand.

He just keeps up these glancing, brushing touches. One day, he sees embers. He feels Nate's gaze after one such touch in the dead of night. They point at the same thing and Brad's thumbnail scrapes Nate's wrist. Nate's eyes flare, then he closes his eyes and smothers it. That's fine. The tinder's still dry and getting drier.

Brad discovers other points of contact, standing close during a briefing, the side of his hand accidentally bumps Nate's ass. Shoulder against shoulder too. But hands are exposed.Hands are skin. Nate's hand is the steel and Brad's got the flint, sparking, sparking, sparking with a quarter-second strike. When you're in the woods, trying to start a fire, it's about patience. You know one of the sparks will catch, you just have to keep striking, which Brad does.

Until one night, close to Baghdad but far enough from the chattering crowd, Brad makes another strike - like breathing now, enjoying the sparks that rain down on him. He hardly thinks about it now, forgets about the goal of fire just enjoys the light, when something catches in Nate. Because Nate's quick hand turns and seizes, catching Brad's, thumb thrust into palm, fingers revealing the barest edge of nail digging into the top of Brad's hand.

Brad's gaze shifts slowly from the map to their hands. He memorizes that terrain just carefully as he does the one spread on the hood of the humvee. Then, he turns his attention to Nate's eyes. Finally. Finally there's a blaze and Brad coaxes it, blowing slowly by twisting his hand in Nate's grasp, soft belly of his palm turning upward then brushing his palm along Nate's fingertips.

And then, it's no longer about sticks and steel and ancient rocks, its about electrons. Completing the circuit. No more thoughts of smoke, only a switch they've finally flipped, and a filament growing brighter and brighter until Brad has to close his eyes against it. As Nate squeezes once then slips his hand from Brad's, Brad sees the afterimage. Then, before Nate walks away, the ghost of a touch, deliberately slow, along the back of Brad's neck.

"Stay frosty," Nate says under his breath, and as Brad savors the burn, he knows it's a promise.
Edited Date: 2009-07-17 05:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] alethialia.livejournal.com
Brad's thumbnail scrapes Nate's wrist. Nate's eyes flare, then he closes his eyes and smothers it.

Oooh. Such lovely imagery in this.

"Stay frosty," Nate says under his breath, and as Brad savors the burn, he knows it's a promise.

::is dead:: The - the - the heat! And anticipation! It's fabulous!
From: [identity profile] hackthis.livejournal.com
Stress cooks.

I think that may be the profound and accurate description of stress ever. For reals. Sometimes you simmer, sometimes you boil, sometimes you get baked...

the side of his hand accidentally bumps Nate's ass.

By accident. I coped a feel by accident. Riiiiiight Brad. Tell me you can't deny with the best of them and I will scoff in your face.

Finally there's a blaze and Brad coaxes it, blowing slowly by twisting his hand in Nate's grasp, soft belly of his palm turning upward then brushing his palm along Nate's fingertips.

Nghhhhhh. Yes, quite.
From: [identity profile] svilleficrecs.livejournal.com
Brad wants to cook Nate, all right. Skewer him and roast him.

random baked porn 1

Date: 2009-07-18 06:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] svilleficrecs.livejournal.com
"sometimes you get baked..."

I'm still quite attached to the idea (and the hope of response to the porn skirmish prompt) of Brad being surprised to see and delighted by finding a quite baked Nate at a party, post Iraq. Nate is Always So Tense. And to see Nate so loose... does things.

He's also pleased to see that Nate isn't one of those people who are uber-uptight in their sober life and then fucking obnoxiously ridiculous when they're buzzed. Not that he's not used to seeing marines drink themselves into stupidity - or more stupidity. And not that he doesn't drink himself stupid sometimes too. But baked Nate...

Baked Nate luxuriating in it. Baked Nate in sneakers and cargo shorts and a t-shirt so well fitted to him that it's borderline fruity-rudy, with his button-down short sleeved shirt from earlier spread across the prickly grass. Nate on his back on the grass, head on that shirt, one knee bent, swaying back and forth to the strains of the music from the house. Staring at the lake behind ______'s house. Big fat moon is low and streaking light across it, so that must be fun to look at. Unlit, 2/3rds smoke joint resting on his belly, a black smudge on white t-shirt beneath it.

Scent still hangs around him, stinky and sweet.

Brad sitting beside him on the grass, an arms length away, nothing he needs to say. Fucking aching to touch, though, and knowing he'd be able to get away with it. Knowing Nate would probably let him right now. Knowing it wouldn't be hard to get Nate thinking it was his idea, and knowing Nate wouldn't make a problem out of it tomorrow, even if he regretted it.

And the thought of taking advantage of Nate when he's like this makes him so hard, he's got to bend his outstretched legs and lean forward, crossed arms on his knees, chin resting on his arms. He could probably just start rubbing Nate between his legs right now, no words, and Nate would probably just moan and arch up against it.

"You look like you need a hug," Nate says, a strange, slow cadence to it that could mean joke or come on or total lack of brain mouth filter. "But that's nothing new."

Brad's eyebrows go up. So the third, then. "Marines don't need hugs."

"Everybody needs hugs, Brad." Nate sounds like he's talking to a five year old.

"I don't need a hug."

"I didn't offer." Nate smiles and sighs. "I am not going to offer you a hug, Brad."

Brad shakes his head. "Did you smoke all of that?"

"I'd just take it." Nate sounds a prissy now. Like he's in an argument with himself. "If I was going to, I wouldn't ask, I'd just take it."

"You don't take a hug. You give it."

"Maybe the way you hug. But you don't hug."

"I hug." Brad glances over to find Nate staring up at him guilelessly, one hand behind his head, the other resting low on his belly, pinky and ring finger beneath his waistband, thumb under the hem of his t-shirt. He looks like porn. He looks like he's asking for it. Brad should go.

"But you don't need to. You can stop any time you want," Nate teases, smilingly broadly. Terribly proud of his joke as only children the altered can be.

"The corps might give me a hug test when I go back on active duty. I'd rather not risk it."

Nate rolls his eyes. "Good thing I'm not in the corps anymore."

"No it's not."

Nate's smile fades. "Everyone needs hugs, Brad."

"But you're not offering."

"No. And I'm not asking either."

"But you want one."

Nate shrugs, then shakes his head, then rolls it so he's giving Brad the back of his head, one Opie ear facing the moon.

Brad chuckles, despite the tension in his throat in chest. He can feel the gears stripping. "You're so high."
(cont'd)

random baked porn 2

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(no subject)

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From: [identity profile] romanticalgirl.livejournal.com
Oh, lovely hot (no pun intended) imagery. I love when they're playing at each other and this - He hardly thinks about it now, forgets about the goal of fire just enjoys the light. I *love* that.
From: [identity profile] park-hye-in.livejournal.com
HANDS! guh. yeah, i'm easy. *g* this is yum.

Date: 2012-05-27 03:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] noeon.livejournal.com
He just keeps up these glancing, brushing touches. One day, he sees embers. He feels Nate's gaze after one such touch in the dead of night. They point at the same thing and Brad's thumbnail scrapes Nate's wrist. Nate's eyes flare, then he closes his eyes and smothers it. That's fine. The tinder's still dry and getting drier.

You can't be this good. I'm sorry. It's strictly forbidden.


More politely, I'm really enjoying your work. Thank you for it!

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