obstinatrix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obstinatrix) wrote2009-11-18 01:34 pm
obstinatrix) wrote2009-11-18 01:34 pm
Ficlet: (untitled last minute pornings)
I wrote this in a coffee shop. Public porn ftw!
Title: [untitled]
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Shatnoy
Disclaimer: This is fiction.
Summary/Notes: Shameless, pointless PWP.
He doesn't need to say it. He doesn't need to twist his hands in Leonard's hair to guide him; doesn't need to gasp a breathless there there there as Leonard takes him deep and swallows. But then, it isn't as if any of this is about need, in its usual sense. He doesn't need to arch his back off the bed when Leonard flicks his tongue over the head of his cock, deft and quick and skilful in ways Bill doesn't want to contemplate too deeply; ways that speak of practice Bill can't think about. He doesn't need to be naked for this, the yellow shirt unsealed along the hidden seam by Leonard's clever fingers; the ridiculous boots kicked into the corner in their haste. Hell, they don't even need to kiss, really; there is no sense or logic in the deep slide of Leonard's mouth over his, or the hot path tongued down over Bill's skin from clavicle to thighs.
They aren't doing any of this because they need to, after all. Bill drives himself to the back of Leonard's throat, hips jerking under restraining hands, and breathes out fuck and oh and there and he doesn't need to say it, not any of it; but Leonard likes to hear it, so he gasps for breath and says it anyway.
This is unnecessary, Bill thinks; all of this is unnecessary. At any time, he could walk away from this: the giving way when Leonard presses him back against the dressing room wall; the hard kissing, all teeth and tongues and hands that grip to hurt. Leonard's fingers inside him; Leonard's cock, and its heavy perfect pressure. Leonard's mouth on him, slick and wanting and appreciative, for once, of the way it makes Bill shudder and thrust and cry out.
He doesn't need to say any of this to Leonard; doesn't need anyone else to tell him it's a lie. This is unnecessary, but Bill cannot even conceive of walking away.
Leonard's mouth is wet heat and brightness, dexterous and fierce in a way that succeeds in turning this most submissive of actions into an act of aggression, lips and tongue telling him how to move and when, determining, commanding. Bill clings to Leonard's shoulders and bites back a sound in the back of his throat, but Leonard's fingers on his hips, Leonard's tongue licking over the underside of him disapprove of this, and he throws back his head ultimately and cries out, as they both knew he would. Leonard doesn't need to say anything for Bill to know what his tongue is demanding. Bill doesn't need to ask for Leonard to make him come.
Afterwards, he licks the taste of himself out of Leonard's mouth, thighs going slack around Leonard's hips until Leonard's fingers find him, work him open, make him hard again with a surety he had thought was lost with adolescence. Leonard doesn't need to say let me, and Bill doesn't need to cant his hips like this, grip Leonard's waist, say fuck, yeah, come on; fuck me.
But Leonard likes to hear it, so he says it anyway; arches his body and clenches his fingers at the small of Leonard's back, pulling him deep and deeper.
They don't need to do this, any of this. But that doesn't mean it isn't inevitable.
Title: [untitled]
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Shatnoy
Disclaimer: This is fiction.
Summary/Notes: Shameless, pointless PWP.
He doesn't need to say it. He doesn't need to twist his hands in Leonard's hair to guide him; doesn't need to gasp a breathless there there there as Leonard takes him deep and swallows. But then, it isn't as if any of this is about need, in its usual sense. He doesn't need to arch his back off the bed when Leonard flicks his tongue over the head of his cock, deft and quick and skilful in ways Bill doesn't want to contemplate too deeply; ways that speak of practice Bill can't think about. He doesn't need to be naked for this, the yellow shirt unsealed along the hidden seam by Leonard's clever fingers; the ridiculous boots kicked into the corner in their haste. Hell, they don't even need to kiss, really; there is no sense or logic in the deep slide of Leonard's mouth over his, or the hot path tongued down over Bill's skin from clavicle to thighs.
They aren't doing any of this because they need to, after all. Bill drives himself to the back of Leonard's throat, hips jerking under restraining hands, and breathes out fuck and oh and there and he doesn't need to say it, not any of it; but Leonard likes to hear it, so he gasps for breath and says it anyway.
This is unnecessary, Bill thinks; all of this is unnecessary. At any time, he could walk away from this: the giving way when Leonard presses him back against the dressing room wall; the hard kissing, all teeth and tongues and hands that grip to hurt. Leonard's fingers inside him; Leonard's cock, and its heavy perfect pressure. Leonard's mouth on him, slick and wanting and appreciative, for once, of the way it makes Bill shudder and thrust and cry out.
He doesn't need to say any of this to Leonard; doesn't need anyone else to tell him it's a lie. This is unnecessary, but Bill cannot even conceive of walking away.
Leonard's mouth is wet heat and brightness, dexterous and fierce in a way that succeeds in turning this most submissive of actions into an act of aggression, lips and tongue telling him how to move and when, determining, commanding. Bill clings to Leonard's shoulders and bites back a sound in the back of his throat, but Leonard's fingers on his hips, Leonard's tongue licking over the underside of him disapprove of this, and he throws back his head ultimately and cries out, as they both knew he would. Leonard doesn't need to say anything for Bill to know what his tongue is demanding. Bill doesn't need to ask for Leonard to make him come.
Afterwards, he licks the taste of himself out of Leonard's mouth, thighs going slack around Leonard's hips until Leonard's fingers find him, work him open, make him hard again with a surety he had thought was lost with adolescence. Leonard doesn't need to say let me, and Bill doesn't need to cant his hips like this, grip Leonard's waist, say fuck, yeah, come on; fuck me.
But Leonard likes to hear it, so he says it anyway; arches his body and clenches his fingers at the small of Leonard's back, pulling him deep and deeper.
They don't need to do this, any of this. But that doesn't mean it isn't inevitable.