PB VIII = Grey's Anatomy, NCIS, The West Wing
TITLE: Lasting Impression
PAIRING: Virginia/Richard (Grey's Anatomy)
RATING: en.sea.xvii
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone!
SPOILERS: None
NOTES: For the eighth Porn Battle. The prompt is: Grey's Anatomy, Virginia/Richard, on-call and it can be found here in the comments of the PB8 post.
Richard groaned as he hoisted the awkwardly but gorgeously leggy woman and pressed her into the wall as he thrust his erection up into her channel and tried to find that release he had been craving since she pulled him aside by the surgery board and whispered eight incredibly potent words.
"I want to have sex with you again."
He asked her when they could schedule it in---more as a joke, because since their secret tryst a couple of weeks ago, he couldn't fathom that it would happen again---and he had been surprised to see her smile and point towards the on-call room in response.
She was gripping the frame of the bunk beds with one hand and scratching his shoulder with the other. Her head was tipped back---she had been muttering scientific facts under her breath earlier, but when his thrusts increased in intensity, quiet noises of pleasure were bubbling up from her throat and past her lips.
He watched her smile flicker between sounds, a spark on the surface of the reflection of pleasure she was willing to share with him. It was a fascinating show; the corners of her lips curled and the smile seemed to flash through the rest of her features before dissolving into a moan or a whimper and the desperate expressions associated with each sound.
"Don't stop," she whispered hoarsely. "Please, don't stop, Richard."
He obliged until he couldn't any longer. She had come apart wedged between him and the wall, cursing and gasping while tightening her grip on his shoulder. He succumbed to his own climax shortly after she did to hers; he dropped his head to her chest and groaned when his abdominal muscles tightened and flexed his hips.
Her fingers brushed over his head, stroking gently until he relaxed.
They dressed, parted ways, and went off to deal with their respective realms.
From that moment on, whenever he had an idle second to himself (and sometimes, whenever he didn't), he found he was being haunted.
"Don't stop... please, don't stop, Richard."
Her voice---her desperate, lust-filled voice, as it echoed off of the walls of the on-call room---seemed to be permanently embedded in his mind.
&&&&
TITLE: Giving In
PAIRING: Gibbs/Tony/Abby (NCIS)
RATING: en.sea.xvii
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone!
SPOILERS: None
NOTES: For the eighth Porn Battle. The prompt is: NCIS, Gibbs/Tony/Abby, surrender and it can be found here in the comments of the PB8 post.
Jethro tried to push both of his lovers off of him. They had pounced on him when he fell asleep on the sofa---as they watched a movie, as he tried to ignore the movie and read the newspaper---and he woke up to feeling hands removing his clothes and mouths exploring his skin.
"What the---"
"Stop, Gibbs," Abby insisted. She put one black-nailed finger to his lips. "We want to do this for you."
"Do what?"
Abby smirked and kissed him. Her makeup had been removed earlier in the night, so there was no lipstick stain on his mouth.
He wouldn't admit it, but he missed the taste of the red cosmetic product.
"Tony's going to suck your cock," she said, sounding so casual about the act itself---as if it was 'cook you dinner' or something much more benign. "And I'm going to do everything else."
He looked down and saw Tony watching him.
"Why?" Jethro asked.
"Because you take care of us," Abby reminded him. She put a hand on her collar---she loved touching hers but Tony never succumbed to the same impulse, as if the object was too valuable to paw---and she smiled. "And now, you lie back and let us take care of you."
Tony didn't wait for Jethro's approval. He opened his mouth and lowered his head, stretching his lips over the head of the erection in his hand.
It was a strange distortion of Tony's face, but the sensations he was causing felt so good. Jethro was sure his insides were heating and melting under Tony's ministrations; when Abby bent her head and kissed his chest, he thought he felt sparks along his skin that were just as hot as the pit of desire in his abdomen.
He surrendered, muttering and moaning under his breath as his two lovers treated him with some very focused and skilled attention.
&&&&
TITLE: In the House of the Rising Sun
PAIRING: Amy/Toby (The West Wing)
RATING: en.sea.xvii
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone!
SPOILERS: None
NOTES: For the eighth Porn Battle. The prompt is: The West Wing, Amy/Toby, rough and it can be found here in the comments of the PB8 post.
Amy's fingers dug into the wooden surface of the desk underneath her. Her cheek was pressed into a briefing memo on the importance of gender equality in job salaries. Condensation fogged up the ink blotter under and in front of her with each moan and whimper that escaped her lips.
She was having a good night---new Manolos, a couple phone numbers, a potential new job if Sam decides to run for Congress...
...and the best post-victory sex.
Toby's fingers were curled into her hips and his grip was bruising. Her dress was bunched up around her waist, and she knew it would be wrinkled but she couldn't bring herself to care.
The light that shone through the red scarves made it difficult to see much of anything. She could hear people celebrating outside the bullpen and she knew they should be careful, but Toby's thrusts were hard and fast and just a little bit angry and she loved that. She loved that the man---who wasn't the most handsome, who was still not-so-secretly in love with his ex-wife, who could make someone weep in joy or sadness with the words he put to paper, and who was quiet and withdrawn unless provoked---could put so much passion into sex to reduce her to begging.
Or to reduce her to her version of begging.
"Harder," she insisted quietly.
"Didn't hear you?"
"Fuck me harder, Toby," Amy growled.
She could almost feel him smirking. It was insane; her skin crawled, her stomach tightened, and her cheeks flushed more. She knew he was looking down at her, folded face-down over CJ's desk with her eyes scrunched shut and her dress bunched around her waist, and that he was smirking in the way he did when he knew he was finally getting to her. She just knew it.
"I'm sorry... I didn't hear the magic word."
The word she had been preparing---'bastard'---got lost in her throat as Toby shifted her hips and thrust a little bit deeper. The word turned into an almost-gargling moan and a flailing of her arms to get a better grip on the desk.
"Toby... please."
Rough, celebratory sex with Toby was always an excellent time. Even if she had to concede to him with a word like 'please.'
She hoped he'd still be around after the midterms.
PAIRING: Virginia/Richard (Grey's Anatomy)
RATING: en.sea.xvii
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone!
SPOILERS: None
NOTES: For the eighth Porn Battle. The prompt is: Grey's Anatomy, Virginia/Richard, on-call and it can be found here in the comments of the PB8 post.
Richard groaned as he hoisted the awkwardly but gorgeously leggy woman and pressed her into the wall as he thrust his erection up into her channel and tried to find that release he had been craving since she pulled him aside by the surgery board and whispered eight incredibly potent words.
"I want to have sex with you again."
He asked her when they could schedule it in---more as a joke, because since their secret tryst a couple of weeks ago, he couldn't fathom that it would happen again---and he had been surprised to see her smile and point towards the on-call room in response.
She was gripping the frame of the bunk beds with one hand and scratching his shoulder with the other. Her head was tipped back---she had been muttering scientific facts under her breath earlier, but when his thrusts increased in intensity, quiet noises of pleasure were bubbling up from her throat and past her lips.
He watched her smile flicker between sounds, a spark on the surface of the reflection of pleasure she was willing to share with him. It was a fascinating show; the corners of her lips curled and the smile seemed to flash through the rest of her features before dissolving into a moan or a whimper and the desperate expressions associated with each sound.
"Don't stop," she whispered hoarsely. "Please, don't stop, Richard."
He obliged until he couldn't any longer. She had come apart wedged between him and the wall, cursing and gasping while tightening her grip on his shoulder. He succumbed to his own climax shortly after she did to hers; he dropped his head to her chest and groaned when his abdominal muscles tightened and flexed his hips.
Her fingers brushed over his head, stroking gently until he relaxed.
They dressed, parted ways, and went off to deal with their respective realms.
From that moment on, whenever he had an idle second to himself (and sometimes, whenever he didn't), he found he was being haunted.
"Don't stop... please, don't stop, Richard."
Her voice---her desperate, lust-filled voice, as it echoed off of the walls of the on-call room---seemed to be permanently embedded in his mind.
&&&&
TITLE: Giving In
PAIRING: Gibbs/Tony/Abby (NCIS)
RATING: en.sea.xvii
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone!
SPOILERS: None
NOTES: For the eighth Porn Battle. The prompt is: NCIS, Gibbs/Tony/Abby, surrender and it can be found here in the comments of the PB8 post.
Jethro tried to push both of his lovers off of him. They had pounced on him when he fell asleep on the sofa---as they watched a movie, as he tried to ignore the movie and read the newspaper---and he woke up to feeling hands removing his clothes and mouths exploring his skin.
"What the---"
"Stop, Gibbs," Abby insisted. She put one black-nailed finger to his lips. "We want to do this for you."
"Do what?"
Abby smirked and kissed him. Her makeup had been removed earlier in the night, so there was no lipstick stain on his mouth.
He wouldn't admit it, but he missed the taste of the red cosmetic product.
"Tony's going to suck your cock," she said, sounding so casual about the act itself---as if it was 'cook you dinner' or something much more benign. "And I'm going to do everything else."
He looked down and saw Tony watching him.
"Why?" Jethro asked.
"Because you take care of us," Abby reminded him. She put a hand on her collar---she loved touching hers but Tony never succumbed to the same impulse, as if the object was too valuable to paw---and she smiled. "And now, you lie back and let us take care of you."
Tony didn't wait for Jethro's approval. He opened his mouth and lowered his head, stretching his lips over the head of the erection in his hand.
It was a strange distortion of Tony's face, but the sensations he was causing felt so good. Jethro was sure his insides were heating and melting under Tony's ministrations; when Abby bent her head and kissed his chest, he thought he felt sparks along his skin that were just as hot as the pit of desire in his abdomen.
He surrendered, muttering and moaning under his breath as his two lovers treated him with some very focused and skilled attention.
&&&&
TITLE: In the House of the Rising Sun
PAIRING: Amy/Toby (The West Wing)
RATING: en.sea.xvii
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone!
SPOILERS: None
NOTES: For the eighth Porn Battle. The prompt is: The West Wing, Amy/Toby, rough and it can be found here in the comments of the PB8 post.
Amy's fingers dug into the wooden surface of the desk underneath her. Her cheek was pressed into a briefing memo on the importance of gender equality in job salaries. Condensation fogged up the ink blotter under and in front of her with each moan and whimper that escaped her lips.
She was having a good night---new Manolos, a couple phone numbers, a potential new job if Sam decides to run for Congress...
...and the best post-victory sex.
Toby's fingers were curled into her hips and his grip was bruising. Her dress was bunched up around her waist, and she knew it would be wrinkled but she couldn't bring herself to care.
The light that shone through the red scarves made it difficult to see much of anything. She could hear people celebrating outside the bullpen and she knew they should be careful, but Toby's thrusts were hard and fast and just a little bit angry and she loved that. She loved that the man---who wasn't the most handsome, who was still not-so-secretly in love with his ex-wife, who could make someone weep in joy or sadness with the words he put to paper, and who was quiet and withdrawn unless provoked---could put so much passion into sex to reduce her to begging.
Or to reduce her to her version of begging.
"Harder," she insisted quietly.
"Didn't hear you?"
"Fuck me harder, Toby," Amy growled.
She could almost feel him smirking. It was insane; her skin crawled, her stomach tightened, and her cheeks flushed more. She knew he was looking down at her, folded face-down over CJ's desk with her eyes scrunched shut and her dress bunched around her waist, and that he was smirking in the way he did when he knew he was finally getting to her. She just knew it.
"I'm sorry... I didn't hear the magic word."
The word she had been preparing---'bastard'---got lost in her throat as Toby shifted her hips and thrust a little bit deeper. The word turned into an almost-gargling moan and a flailing of her arms to get a better grip on the desk.
"Toby... please."
Rough, celebratory sex with Toby was always an excellent time. Even if she had to concede to him with a word like 'please.'
She hoped he'd still be around after the midterms.