I'm back and I offer fic involving hippos. Um, yes.
I’ve been taking a little break from LJ (ooooh, all of 36 hours!) to have lunch and culture in London with fyrethief , and because of my wrists. However, I couldn’t resist trying to write up just one of the prompt fics I sketched last weekend with my voice recognition software.
It’s Africa!fic, very slight and very silly and, um, just about the closest I’ve ever written to PWP! It also took me hours because, remember, I had to SAY ALL OF THIS! And I’m at my parents house. So, yes, it got interesting sometimes…
From a prompt by strayhaven : “James hated the desert. He hated the sand, the blinding sun, but he hated the hippopotami the most.”
Pairing: Jeremy/Richard, James/Richard.
Words: 1,272.
Rating: NC-17.
Warnings: Fairly meaningless PWP. Richard is a slut!!! Spoilers for the Africa special but NO MENTION OF OLIVER!
James hated the desert. He hated the sand, the blinding sun, but he hated the hippopotami the most.
Those bloody hippos! With their shiny, purple-brown arses and their innocently portentous doe eyes, wallowing away as if they didn't have a care in the world! It didn't matter that they were herbivores and they were unlikely to ravage him, or that their river was about quarter of a mile from the tents. It was because of those bloody hippos, and the ideas they’d put into the juvenile minds of his co-stars, that he was lying here now, sweltering, sweaty and hard as hell.
And listening to Jeremy and Richard in the next tent, shagging as if the moon was falling in and there was no tomorrow.
It had all started earlier when Jeremy, improvising the script as they went along, had said: ‘So, Hamster. You pretend to put the cow's head in James' tent, but ‘accidentally’ put it in yours. Then cut to a shot of the hippos, you’ll look like an arse and we’ll be stuck there! Hilarious!'
James could still see the delirious grin on Jeremy's face as he suggested it; he had instantly read the all-too-blatant subtext: ‘Okay, so the whole hippo thing will be created in the edit,’ Jeremy had been thinking. ‘This is a marvelous excuse - as if one was needed - for you and I to get cosy in your tent!’
And so they did, and they had and, after they'd kicked the cow’s head away into the undergrowth, the rumpus under the canvas had made the ground shake. There'd been the thud of discarded clothing against the narrow fabric walls, the yelps of laughter, and now the hitched breaths, the moans and the exhilarated panting.
James ripped open his own sleeping bag and shoved his hand down his boxers.
It didn't take much to picture the scene.
Jeremy was flat on his back and drenched with sweat, his thighs sticking and chafing against the shiny, hot sleeping bag. Richard was straddling his thighs, fizzing with raw energy and nerves, easing himself onto Jeremy's erect cock. He was throwing his head back and swearing viciously, getting off on the pain, and the endurance of it all, as well as that bloody fantastic feeling of having Jeremy inside of him.
Grasping at his own cock, he knew Richard was grinding away as if it meant winning a race - which it still sort-of did, in his mind at least. Jeremy was grunting and thrusting, water welling in his eyes, wondering how long he can keep this up before his body imploded on him?
He would keep going, naturally, because of the sight of Richard, his taut stomach flexed with the effort of thrusting, the perspiration dripping off his sun-kissed shoulders; and because the exquisite feel of Richard’s tight arse sliding and contracting around his cock was so bloody good he’d endure it forever. His fingers dug into Richard’s protruding hipbones, his whole frame racking with currents of pleasure so intense that they hurt.
Richard swore again; Jeremy groaned piteously. In the next tent, James exploded messily over his hand.
‘Oh cock - and on the bloody sleeping bag!’
He lay there for a minute, listening to those mumbled terms of abuse - that translated as so much endearment - in the tent next door. And then he reached for a baby-wipe and made everything as ship-shape as possible, before pulling the clammy cover up to his neck and making a futile plea for sleep.
Of course, it never came.
The thick air bore down on top of him like a shroud and the tension in his body still hummed like a live-wire. He cursed through gritted teeth as Jeremy's distinctive snores, soft but so sonorous, wafted through the silence.
‘It's bloody well all right for some!’
‘Too right, mate. Can’t sleep either, then?’
James eyes flew open, and there was Richard, wearing nothing but a pair of snug, black boxers, and squatting just inches from his side; he'd been so absorbed in his own discomfort, that he’d not even heard the tent flap open and Richard slip in. Either that, he decided, or his suspicions about witchcraft and magic in this part of the world (suspicions he harboured about regions of England, too), might just have something in them.
‘What are you doing, Hammond?' The tiredness in James's voice just about concealed his accelerating heartbeat.
Richard shrugged. ‘Apart from watching a naked, middle-aged man squirming about in a sleeping bag? Not much.’ He beamed, teeth flashing predatorily. 'Why? What do you want me to be doing?’
‘Buggering off out of here so I can suffer my insomnia in peace!’
Richard affected an excruciatingly plausible expression of wide-eyed hurt. ‘Aw, but I might get eaten by the hippos! You wouldn't want that?'
‘I wouldn't mind as long as they did it quietly! And please don't swear too loudly when they chew your leg off…'
He trailed off as Richard slithered over him, silently and deftly as a snake, his weight rested on his spread knees, toes and palms. His face hovered just inches above James’.
‘You love it when I swear,' husked Richard. His hair was every bit as damp and glistening as James had pictured it before, sticking in wanton streaks to his forehead. ‘You want to make me swear loudly now, don’t you?’
There wasn’t any time for an answer because now Richard was kissing him hard, his tongue pushing James's teeth apart, hopelessly energetic and wired. James guessed that if his insomnia was bad, Richard’s must be worse. Then he stopped thinking about it, overwhelmed by the realization that Hammond’s hard, lithe body was hovering just inches over his cock, which was feeling bloody needy again. His tongue still in Richard’s mouth, he took a fistful of his hair, cupped his arse with his other, and urged him down on top of him so his cock dug hungrily into his thigh.
‘You slut, Hammond,' he moaned, when he finally broke away through fear at asphyxiation.
‘Whatever,’ muttered Richard. He rolled off James only to rip off his boxer shorts and fumble about in James’ pack for the lube, before clambering back on for the ride. Feeling his arse pressed down into the ground under the weight, James threw his head back onto the hard blow-up pillow; he thought of making a lewd remark about not wanting 'soiled goods' but it seemed rather ungracious.
Damn it, there was just something about knowing Richard was doing the rounds tonight, and that Jeremy had been the one lying there just half an hour before, that made it all twice as sordid, and ten times as hot.
Richard’s lips curled almost into a snarl as he roughly slicked James’ cock, his eyes still fizzing with that live-wire energy that had made Jeremy writhe and moan. But James didn’t mind coming second tonight.
And, right now, James didn’t even hate the hippopotami any more.
Whoops! Thanks for reading. Corrections and con. crit. appreciated as ever!
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