The Heroes Kink Meme Rides Again!
YES! It's that time again! It's either still a month to go until the premier, or, if you're like some of us, the show is already dead to you, but KINKY FIC IS ALWAYS WELCOME!:
The Heroes Kink Meme Rides Again
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT:
1) ALL characters MUST be 16 or older and sentient (ie, no beastiality unless someone's a werewolf) to play.
2) NO " ( Read more... )
The Heroes Kink Meme Rides Again
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT:
1) ALL characters MUST be 16 or older and sentient (ie, no beastiality unless someone's a werewolf) to play.
2) NO " ( Read more... )
He peels off the tie and casts it aside and undoes the top button of his shirt and the next one down. He's getting hard, and he's thinking of Natalie's hand on his shoulder and her lips by his ear, urging him on as a concrete floor digs into his knees and another man's cock pushes down his throat.
A man like this guy, like Nathan Petrelli, who is all control and old school masculinity, the kind you don't see any more. It's not brutishness or cruelty. Rather, it's pure, comfortable dominance that has been accepted as a birthright and is wielded with the comfort of a fork and a knife, like any act learned from infancy and perfected to the point of unconscious grace. The few curls of chest hair that spring out of Nathan's shirt in the mirror now only add to that sense: they're a glimpsed hint of the male body that lurks under the refined suit.
Adrian sighs softly and tilts his head back further, shutting his eyes. He slides his hand down the front of wardrobe's white, silk shirt, feeling his own body underneath with a sharp attention he rarely devotes to himself. The geography of hard, lean muscle passing under his hand feels different and unfamiliar. He's lost weight quickly recently, and it adds to the illusion, to the sense that it's not his body he's feeling, but someone else's, someone who runs a few more miles than he does before breakfast every morning, someone who watches what they eat without letting anyone watching them notice them doing it. His breath quickens when his hand reaches the waistband of his--of Nathan's--slacks.
Go on, whispers a voice in his head that sounds just like his but isn't, Take it out. Touch it.
Unsteady, Adrian reaches out and his hand lands on the mirror, splayed open flat on the cool, smooth surface. Without opening his eyes, he slides his hand down lower. It isn't sensation from his cock that makes him jump, it's the one from his fingers, curling around the hard shaft of a erection embraced in slick-smooth cashmere. He exhales a shuddering breath and grips tight, hearing Yeah, that's it. That's good. Keep going.
He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, because to open them now would be to just see himself, desperate and alone and coming undone. He relies instead on touch to find the tiny zipper pull and drag it down His mouth is watering and empty as he reaches inside, pulls that hot, hard dick out of microfibre briefs and finally has the bare flesh of it in his hand.
Jack me off, boy.
One hand pressed hard to the mirror, he jerks frantically with the other. He's gasping and sweating and his hair's broken free of the gel into his usual tangled mess and he'll never, never be what Nathan Petrelli is, he's just him, goofy and neurotic with a fashion sense that could kill a buffalo and Christ, he's close, he's so close, oh fuck.
He comes frantically, all over the mirror that he's still leaning on, hard.
Panting, eyes still shut, he's coming down slowly from the high, and he whispers, hearing his own voice cool and rough in the silence, "Good boy. That's a good boy."
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"Jack me off, boy."
In-fucking-sane. This was amazing.
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